Substance and Shadows

This will be a very short post. I just need to say that today I learned something. In my relationship with God, I am the changeable one. When I sin, God is faithful. When I choose righteousness, God is faithful. When I am sad, God is faithful. When I am happy, God is faithful. He is loving all the time, just and holy all the time, slow to anger all the time, and perfectly, perfectly, gracious--all the time. His steadfast love does not change with the seasons, and his love is not shaken by my inconsistency. Isn't that a beautiful thought?

There is a reason Aquinas describes God as the Unmoved Mover. O, Lord, let me live at the still point, where you are.

On Acedia and Beginning Again

"You don't have acedia, because you still care. If you care enough to read a book about acedia, you don't have acedia." --A friend

I'm reading the book Acedia and Me, by Kathleen Norris. I've been meaning to read more of Norris' writing ever since I read Cloister Walk in college. Norris is a protestant writer who fell in love with Catholic liturgy and became a Benedictine Oblate. I love her because she reminds me that I am not alone in the world. When I am feeling too lazy to write, or am having trouble explaining why something moves me, reading spiritual memoir is incredibly helpful. It's necessary. The spiritual writings of women like Norris, women like Anne Lamott or Lauren Winner, give voice to my internal spiritual and emotional tensions, serving as spiritual direction when I have lost my way.

In her book, Norris defines acedia as a lack of care: a spiritual and psychological malaise that combines the worst bits of sloth and depression. I began reading this book several months ago, but put it down because the heavy tone of the book and its correspondence to my own life was too much for me to carry. Also, I was visiting Chicago at the end of winter; the season itself had succumbed to acedia. But I have taken the book up again this fall, because the topic still spoke to me. I am nearly done with it now, in the final chapter, and I am so glad to have walked with Norris thus far. She knows the things I ought to know. She knows that constant meditation on the Psalms is deep, good, sweet food for the soul. And she is incredibly gracious with herself. I mean, unbelievably. And that same graciousness has unexpectedly encouraged my Christian walk more than anything else has in a long, long time.

I have a tendency to see God as an irritated, disapproving, wrathful taskmaster, as a person waiting for me to make mistakes so he can fall out of love with me. But when I speak of these anxieties with others, with people who have walked with God more closely than I, I always get the same response: "You don't have to try so hard."

Norris quotes Evagrius, and many others who have written and lived in the monastic tradition. Have I ever mentioned that the very word monasticism draws me in with an irrepressible force? It does. Somehow, on some level, I am a monastic. It's my nature. Anyway, there is one section where she quotes an elder monk speaking to a brother on the nature of life. He says, "Brother, the monastic life is this: I rise up, and I fall down, I rise up, and I fall down, I rise up, and I fall down." 

This is an incredibly helpful statement, and it relates to Calvin's doctrine of the perseverance of the saints. Sometimes I struggle with understanding how I can lose so much ground in an area of my life that I had previously excelled in. I used to be so good at monasticism! I used to carry around a book of common prayer, and illustrate miniature manuscripts of the Psalms to hang on my walls to meditate on throughout the day. I used to shun television because I wanted only holy thoughts to be stuck in my head, and it worked, and it was well with my soul. But I have almost forgotten how to live this way, and I only sort of care.

But, Norris reminds me, the Christian life is all rising and falling. But the life of the faithful one, the one to whom Christ offers a white robe, the one who endures, is the one who continues to rise and fall. The faithful life is one which is full of new beginnings. The faithful person is one who does not give way to acedia after falling yet again into an old vice. The faithful person continually begins again. This is how I want to think of my life, and this is what I mean when I say that Norris is unbelievably, incredibly gracious. She can accept her own humanity. Isn't that beautiful?

In other news, Norris also brought to my consciousness the idea that I am not immortal. I mean, I am going to live in heaven forever with God, but first, I will die. This is actually a very refreshing thought, because it is easy for me to become discouraged in what Norris calls the "endless cycle of now," that I envision as my future. The thought that time is not an unlimited resource is difficult for me to believe, but accepting this truth is essential if I want to live free of acedia. If time is limited, then it is precious. And if time is precious, then it actually does matter how I spend it. I am re-resolving to live faithfully. Therefore I will feed on the Psalms, I will write daily, and I will always begin again.

The "cure" for acedia, as I see it, apart from therapeutic and spiritual intervention, is faithfulness. Faithfulness is just another term for beginning again. The faithful person joyfully seeks the monochromatic repetition of each day, knowing that it is in these hopelessly boring rituals that faithfulness is wrought in the soul. So I'll leave you, dear reader, with this prayer, which Norris quoted in her book:

This is another d.ay, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.

Psalm 103:14

"For he knows our frame;

he remembers that we are dust."

"He knows us inside and out,
    keeps in mind that we’re made of mud."

 "Car il sait de quoi nous sommes formés, 

Il se souvient que nous sommes poussière."

Five Hundred a Year

I need to write. How many times have I said this, over and over, to you, dear Reader, and to myself? But I will say it again: I need to write. Today, I need to write because I feel compelled to do so. Because I am able and because I am free to do so. Last night, I read Virginia Woolf’s correct and beautifully crafted essay “A Room of One’s Own”. I read it because it caught my eye at the library on Friday, while I was laying in supplies for a Reading Party. The only Virginia Woolf I’d read before was the brief “A Mark on the Wall” in a Brit Lit Survey class in college. I like her, thus far, though I’ve not yet given her fiction a chance. We shall see. . .

I want to tell you that “A Room of One’s Own” fits perfectly, perfectly, into our discussion of voice this year. Woolf boils the whole subject of women’s writing into 2 points: to write, one must have five hundred a year and a room of one’s own. Reading Woolf renewed my growing conviction of the great difference opportunity can make in the lives of separate persons.

 These words—king, beggar, wife, husband, rich, impoverished, educated, illiterate—merely describe opportunities given or denied, they do not speak of innate qualities or potentialities. I want to highlight this idea of opportunity because I feel that it is an essential component in finding one’s voice. To have a voice, sorry, I should say, to use one’s voice, one must have the opportunity to do so. 

Everyone has a voice, but not everyone receives the tools to develop it, to give it form and meaning in language's soft vowels and scraping consonants. Those who are seldom heard--the poor, the marginalized, the illiterate, and the oppressed--have lacked opportunity, but are not voiceless. As Americans, we wonder why children in Asia tend to be better at math. Is it because American children are by nature stupid and slovenly? Are they less intelligent, or just more inclined to the arts? No. It is because children in Asia are given the opportunities necessary for excellence in numbers. We ask why, in America, white children in wealthy families are more likely to be successful than the ethnic inhabitants of inner cities. It's because of opportunity. Wealthy children tend to receive the opportunity of a better education, and are therefore more likely to find, and use, their own voices.

Woolf notes how difficult it is for a woman to write while acknowledging that her predecessors—her mothers and grandmothers—spent their lives crying out in child bed and otherwise living as mute ornaments to their husbands’ glory. Woman, Woolf notes, lacks the strong, certain tapestry of letters that man has claimed as part of his rightful dominion over the world. She cannot look back on thousands of years, reciting genealogies of female poets and playwrights. She instead looks back on a liturgy of housekeepers, servants, slaves, and sexual objects—possessions prized or disdained. Woman writing must, in hearing her own voice, recognize the silence of her sisters throughout time and space.

Because I have not been forced into one kind of life, and because I am not even among those who fought for the opportunity to speak, I get to be the Woman writing. I am able to use my voice, and I know what it sounds like. 

I am blessed. This is simply another way of saying that I have been given the opportunity to use my voice. 

Let's summarize. We have seen that to use one's voice one must first be cleansed of iniquity, otherwise all that one speaks is filth in the eyes of God. And to use one's voice, one must have a private space, and five hundred a year.

A Burning Coal

Happy New Year!

The theme for this year is voice, and I want to start thinking about this topic right now. Yesterday, while I was pondering the end of the year and the concept of using one's voice, I remembered that God made voices primarily for prayer and worship. When I think about this, and about how rarely my voice makes supplication or offers praise, I am humbled. I quoted from Isaiah chapter 6 last night, because I think it apt to begin a year-long attention to voice with a vision of holiness. The vision in chapter 6 begins with Isaiah transported into God's presence. The picture is majestic: the LORD sits on a throne surrounded by the voiced acclamations of terrifying angels while his robe fully inhabits the temple. Vision comes before voice for Isaiah, and his vision nearly renders him speechless. What Isaiah sees in God's throne room is not only God's glory, but also his own unworthiness. This is an appropriate place to begin, because what must come before voice is a recognition of my own inability to give voice to what is good. So, to begin the new year, we begin with a vision of cleansing.

    And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”

 Madeleine L'Engle refers to this need of purification in her writings on art and faith. At the moment, I can't recall any specific quotations, but L'Engle writes with the understanding that voice is a gift given to unworthy recipients.We are called to serve this gift, not to boast of our own worthiness to receive it.

    Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”

After visions of holiness---after receiving forgiveness--we speak. 


"O Lord, open thou our lips, and our mouths shall shew forth thy praise."

As with Ceaseless Voice They Cry

“O Lord, Open thou our lips, and our mouths shall shew forth thy praise.”

Well, friends. It's the end of another year. I'm feeling quite glad about the frequency with which I've written in this blog over the last 12 moments. Moments seems like a more apropos word than months suddenly. I'd like to keep up this blog and improve it if I can. I have another, secret blog, which I write in purely for the sake of my own feelings, and every year I select a theme to form my thoughts around. I'd like to do the same for this one. Since I have two blogs, I'll need two themes. I've decided to go with Vision for the other blog, and Voice for this one. I'm choosing voice as a theme for the year 2013 because I've been realizing, in the dregs of this year, how important it is to use one's voice and how damaging it can be, sometimes, to remain silent. I'm choosing vision for the secret blog because vision is the thing that precedes voice. One must have thoughts before one can have words. The type and content of my posts shouldn't change much, they'll just all be formed around the subject of voice. Voice can mean lots of different things, you'll see. . .

I've also realized that there is another connection between vision and voice. Prophets are strong in both of these areas. A prophet's task is to give voice to what is visible, and prophecy is one of the spiritual gifts that is supposed to be desired.

    And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”
    Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”
(Isaiah 6:5-7 ESV)

Holy Nativity: Bright Paint and Sweet Anger

God in three persons, Holy Trinity.

Well, it's Christmas Eve, and as usual, I've failed to keep this blog abreast of the progress of my Nativity Fast. I'm feeling really glad that Lent is coming up in a few months. I think, maybe, I'm getting used to the rhythm of fasting and feasting. I failed several times during this fast, and abandoned my reading plan half way through. But still, being in the general mindset of fasting was invaluable during this frenzied, noisy holiday season. I'm shockingly calm. Calm and prepared are the two words that best describe my mood this year.  I think this is due entirely to my experience of God in this fast. One day I will be good at fasting, I tell you! One day. In the meantime, I am going to learn to fight legalism and slovenly habits as I align my life to the Christian calendar.  

I'm learning things about myself this fall. Mostly, I've been learning a lot about what I picture when I use the word "home", and how far my actual home falls short of this image. I think, sometimes, I feel guilty about wanting to be comfortable. I have the personal tastes of Marie Antoinette, but I try to live like John the Baptist. This is maybe irrelevant to this post, but for me to feel at home, the walls have to be painted in bright colors. Or at least, I have to be surrounded by lots of brightly colored, beautiful things. No, the walls really, actually have to be painted in bright colors. I have tried several times in my adult life to live without this, and each time, the experiment has failed. It's always the same. I buy a few things: a colorful bedspread, a whimsical piece of artwork, and feel like I have accomplished the goal of setting up a nest for myself. But it always fails. White walls make me crazy. The earth is not my home, this is sure, but it is a place to practice living real, eternal life. I must do that in a place that feels like home. I should have painted my apartment. I should've painted, and I should've bought a lot of furniture. I am not a nomad, I am not a desert father, I am an Ayodele. And Ayodeles need their houses to be decorated like Anthropologie stores.

Also, I've learned about my general lack of assertiveness. Again, this is not a new lesson. Why must I learn everything 85 times? I hate being angry; I gravitate towards tranquility. But, as I'm human, I cannot escape human emotions. I spent a lot of time this fall, during this Nativity Fast, incensed. I wonder what the etymology of the word incensed is. Anyway, I'm learning again that it is OK to be mad, that when I am angry I cannot make myself otherwise, and that the swiftest path to righteousness is speaking the truth in love. "I feel mad when you. . ." At the moment, it is nearly impossible for me to communicate anger to another person. I fear conflict, and I fear my own ability to handle anger appropriately. But I must work on this.

What does any of this have to do with the Incarnation? Well, both of these things, colored paint and assertive language, affect my ability to feel at home in my own flesh. Since I am incarnate, I cannot live peacefully if I'm always trying to just endure ugly, glaring white paint or situations that make me angry. Sometimes you just have to work to make things better, instead of trying to survive them. This is the truth.

I think this fast has made it easier to hear God when he speaks. Maybe that is what fasting is about, telling God that you're listening. Fasting is living in a posture of listening.

Speaking of my natural inclination toward extravagance, I may at least congratulate myself on the way I observed Christmas this year. Christmas is so important to me. And I love all of it. I love the shopping, and the brass bands playing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" on the street corners, and the trees, and the lights, and the office holiday parties, and the presents. I cannot cut corners on Christmas. Lucky for me, I planned ahead this year. I put up my tree 2 days after Thanksgiving, ordered and sent out Christmas cards, and used an Advent Wreath. This is my first year using an Advent Wreath. I made it myself and everything. I will do it every year. I think lighting the Advent candles helped me to get a handle on the time. Isn't that what fasting is about? Getting a handle on the time? I knew exactly how many days it was until Christmas, and I was able to focus on the right things, like Love, Hope, and Joy--at least on Sundays. So, some part of my brain chose to act according to common sense this year. Hooray! I love the Advent season.

Now I need to go complete another Christmas tradition, and finish reading On the Incarnation.

Merry Christmas!