The Shield of Perseus—and Paul

Feel paralyzed looking at all the chaos, cruelty and harm going on? Consider looking through a mirror.

The word we keep hearing over and over is “paralyzed.” It’s how many people feel right now. Assaults on the law and standards of decency are coming so fast it can be all-consuming. But instead of being energized for action, we freeze up.

In many great stories, the hero knows there are some creatures you cannot look at directly. To stare is to be petrified, turned to ash. But if the warrior can’t face the dragon, how does he fight?

In the Greek myth of Perseus, his impossible task is to behead the Gorgon, Medusa. Anyone who looked at Medusa would be turned to stone, so Athena gives Perseus a bronze shield.

This shield is not just a hunk of metal to fend off the enemy’s spear and sword. It’s a beautifully-wrought work of art—bronze polished to a mirror-like finish, which Perseus uses to locate Medusa in her cave. Walking backwards, Perseus keeps his eye on the monster…but only through the mirror shield.

The base meaning of the word shield is “divide, separate.” What we need is a shield, something to stand between us and the deliberate chaos. We hold it to mark the space between us and the forces which seek to envelop us. And we hold it to make sure that our direct vision is focused on God and the good. That is what we gaze upon. We absolutely refuse to stare at the dragon because that is what the dragon wants.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul speaks of the “shield of faith.” The essence of faith is seeing the invisible reality which is greater and more powerful than what is seen. For that, Paul knew, we need a shining shield—a sure way to keep our gaze fixed upon eternal Love. That gaze puts everything else in perspective, and we are able—safely, effectively—to see the Gorgon as a mere reflection.

In these days, I have to keep reminding myself: Choose what you want to look at; choose to gaze upon Love. Not a rosy feeling, but a fierce commitment to self-sacrifice for someone besides myself and my team, a preference—like God’s—for the weak and vulnerable and poor, the ones who always suffer most when the privileged powerful come to make things “right.” In the light of Love, maybe I can see aright. Maybe I can see my own complicity in the things I decry. Maybe I can act—but act in love so that I don’t become what I despise.

That shining shield is not the same for everyone. Some will find it in prayer and meditation, some in sacred reading, some in quiet walks, some in music, some in art.

We can all be like Wendell Berry, who knows where to find his shield.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

So, friends, find your shield. And hold on.

“The Peace of Wild Things,” by Wendell Berry