Tag Archives: peace

What’s Next?

As a Christmas present to each other, Jeanne and I purchased our first HD television a few weeks ago–one equipped with access to Amazon, Netflix, and multiple other sites I have not had time to explore. As I wandered through Amazon offerings (I’ve been a “Prime” member for years), I encountered all seven seasons of “The West Wing,” probably my favorite television show of all time. We already own all seven seasons of the show in DVD, so this is a bit of overkill, but who could have enough of the best President ever, especially given our current executive office prospects?

I love all of the ten or so main characters from “The West Wing,” none more than President Josiah Bartlet himself. “The West Wing” premiered in September of 1999, bumper stickerjust a few weeks before the presidential election that eventually brought George W. Bush to the White House. During the two terms of the Bush presidency Jeanne and I had a Don’t blame me—I voted for Bartlet bumper sticker on our car. I think I’ll order a new one for the next four years. President Bartlet had Bill Clinton’s charisma and political savvy joined with the moral fiber of Jimmy Carter—what was not to like (especially for liberals and idealists)?

A typical episode portrayed the controlled chaos of a day or a few days in the White House, with several scenes each week taking place in the Oval Office itself. As Bartlet and his ever-present entourage move swiftly from issue to issue and one impending disaster to another, they multi-task with endless energy and Olympian ability. As one brush fire appears to have been temporarily stamped out and another awaits attention, there is no time to take a few extra breaths or reflect before pressing forward. bartlet entourage“What’s next?” the president typically would ask Leo, Toby, Sam, Josh, C.J., Charlie, General Fitzwallace, Mrs. Landingham, or whoever happened to be standing next to him. No time for savoring victories or regretting failures—there’s always more shit to get done.

I completely understand the energy of “What’s Next?” and was plugged into it for just about all of the eight years out of the last ten that I was an administrator on campus, first as chair of my department, then as director of a large interdisciplinary program required of all freshmen and sophomores. Teaching four classes per semester, usually with three separate preparations, is more than a full-time job in itself; adding the administrative tasks on top frequently pushed me close to the point of “I can’t do this.” Whats nextBut I did, in large part because I learned to be ultra-organized, looking at my calendar each morning to prioritize each of the dozen Whack-a-Moles that promised to pop up over the following hours, and seldom diverging from that prioritization. In service to my overall “What’s Next?” attitude I had a three page, single-spaced “Important Dates” document for the semester taped on the wall next to my computer just to remind me that things keep coming and disaster awaits those who don’t keep up. Rigorous organization, energy always directed forward, never looking back—these are necessary features of the “get it done” attitude of American success. And it’s no way to live a life.

As I described in my blog post a week ago, I learned during my Spring 2009 sabbatical semester that focus, centeredness and peace are available in the midst of the most manic schedule because I carry a space in which those welcome things live everywhere I go.

Clouds of Glory

I identified this space as the place where the divine in me hangs out, agreeing with C of genoaCatherine of Genoa that “my deepest me is God.” I also began to learn how to access that space deliberately by directing my attention properly. This new awareness and skill served me well during my four years as program director that began a year later—when I remembered to pay attention and make use of it. My mantra coming out of sabbatical was from Psalm 131—“Truly I have set my soul in silence and peace”—something I intended to use as the screen saver on my computer and to frame on my office wall when I returned to campus. But I did neither one; I was on my computer so much that it wouldn’t have mattered what I had on my screen saver. I established the practice of reading the Psalms from the daily lectionary every morning, a habit that served me well in terms of starting the day off in the right place. Get it doneBut the vortex of “What’s Next?” and “Get It Done” frequently sucked me in by the middle of the morning, swamping my space of intentionality and attention before I was aware of what had happened.

Away from work, I have done a better job over the past few years of avoiding the “What’s Next?” syndrome, but I still have to be very conscious and attentive to escape the guilt that often is paired with “doing nothing.” The key is to reject the nagging idea that one’s value and space on this planet has to be earned on a daily basis by what one does. We were talking about this not long ago in a monthly discussion group that I lead at church; one of the participants observed that there is not just a point about human psychology to be made here. It is not only good for a person’s mental and emotional well-being to find internal spaces of peace and quietness as resources for addressing a world that is anything but peaceful and quiet, but these also appear to be the very spaces where direct connections to what is greater than us are made. Tmustard seedhere are all sorts of theological reasons to conclude that what I do, my “works,” are not the key to a healthy relationship with the divine, but the authors of scripture have something deeper than right belief in mind when they continually emphasize the importance of stillness and quietness when seeking God. The divine is born in us as a tiny seed that is nurtured not by manic activity, but by patience, daily attention, and perpetual care. It is very challenging to be still when everything around us screams that time is of the essence and must not be wasted. God is said not to be a respecter of persons; God is most definitely not a respecter of our schedules.

My New Year’s resolution is committing myself to the retooling and honing of my practices of attentiveness, silence and peace. I find that in spite of my regular failure to access my core of centeredness over the past few years since I first became aware of its existence, my inner attunement to it has become stronger without my even being aware. thin placesIt takes less time to get there than it used to—like water seeping through a rock, the wall between outer demands and inner strength has become one of those “thin places” that various writers love to ruminate about. Or at least thinner—it’s always a work in progress. My hope for the New Year is that each of you find your own thin places. The places where the divine is always waiting to say “hello.”

Reboot and Retool

There are many modern conveniences that Jeanne and I could at least try to do without for a while. For instance, while she was in Vancouver for work this past weekend, our almost-twenty-year-old dishwasher finally decided to give up the ghost. It has been residing in our kitchen since we moved into the house in May 1996.dishwasher We have been expecting it to croak for a while (a few features stopped working months ago), but it was still a bit of a shock to push the “start” button and have nothing happen. So I bought a cheap dish drainer at Walmart and we’ll see how long we can go old school without a dishwasher. My guess is that we’ll be fine until the next time we have people over for a party.

But there are some things we absolutely cannot do without. Our Verizon FIOS cable/wireless service is one of them. We watch a lot of television (only the good stuff, of course) and often are not able to watch our favorite shows at their normal air time. Hence the importance of a working and reliable On Demand service. on demandThis service is particularly important to help us navigate Sunday evenings when at least two and sometimes three of our favorite shows are on either at the same or at overlapping times. Recently, this indispensable part of our daily lives has not been behaving properly. Every time we watch something “On Demand,” about twenty minutes into the show we get a blank screen. After fifteen seconds that feel like an hour, the show either picks up where it left off or kicks us back to a previous screen where we have to click “Resume program” to start watching again. Repeat this process every twenty minutes—very annoying and inconvenient. Imagine having to waste fifteen seconds of our valuable television viewing time doing nothing.

The problem escalated when Jeanne was away last weekend; as I tried to watch an On Demand movie, the blank screen appeared once again. After the allotted fifteen seconds this time, though, a message from the FIOS authorities came up on the screen. The message said something along the lines of “we are trying to get you back to your program, but are unable to do so at the present time. rebootPlease try again later. Should this problem persist, we suggest that you reboot your router and/or your cable box.” This made a certain amount of sense to me, since I have known for a long time that computer problems can be solved ninety percent of the time by shutting one’s computer down, letting it rest while one gets a drink, then starting it up again. Furthermore, whenever I have called Verizon for help with wireless issues, the person in India who I get after a half hour of muzak always starts addressing my issue by asking “have you rebooted the router?” I rebooted the router (which did not solve the problem), then the box a couple of days later (which seems to have solved the problem—fingers crossed).

How many things that you “cannot do without” could you actually do without? This has all the earmarks of a “first-world” question, but it’s one that the ancient Stoics regularly urged anyone who would listen to consider carefully. Stoics claimed that our natural human tendency is to rely on external things, things outside our control, to dictate the quality of our lives to us, even though the only true source of control over and value in our lives is to be found internally. In various letters to a friend’s son, SenecaRoman senator and Stoic philosopher Seneca suggested a regular practice that might help to establish what is necessary and what is a luxury.

Set aside a certain number of days, during which you shall be content with the scantiest and cheapest fare, with coarse and rough dress, saying to yourself all the while: “Is this the condition that I feared?” It is precisely in times of immunity from care that the soul should toughen itself beforehand for occasions of greater stress, and it is while Fortune is kind that it should fortify itself against her violence. In days of peace the soldier performs maneuvers, throws up earthworks with no enemy in sight, and wearies himself by gratuitous toil, in order that he may be equal to unavoidable toil. If you would not have a man flinch when the crisis comes, train him before it comes.

Seneca, of course, is referring to a lot more than living without a dishwasher or television on demand—he’s suggesting that each of us regularly practice denying ourselves of what we believe to be essential in order to discover what is truly essential. But each of us has to begin somewhere. The passage from Seneca actually sounds a lot like Lent—setting aside a number of days to shake things up and reorder one’s priorities.

In truth, rebooting also sounds a lot like Lent. I don’t know why rebooting one’s computer or router works more often than not—such technical details are way above my pay grade. As a non-technical person, IMG_9677I imagine that over time the device in question has been overworked, various small things have gone awry, and the down time involved with a reboot allows such askew items to realign and refocus. Talk about anthropomorphism—this is worse than projecting my thoughts and feelings into my dachshund’s tiny brain. But I do know from experience that the human equivalent to rebooting is a necessary component in my life—and I suspect I am not alone in this. We tend to treat ourselves like appliances, indispensable items whose energies we take for granted. Just like our dishwasher and cable service, eventually neglect, overuse, and the simple passage of time will reap unwanted rewards. What it means to reboot and retool will be as individual as people are different from each other. But create a space in each day, or at least in each week, in which you deliberately step outside yourself and take a look. Do a virtual reboot and shut yourself down for a few minutes. Ask yourself: How did this day, this week, fit with what I know to be my best self? What loose ends need to be gathered together? What frayed ends need to be trimmed off? As the Benedictine prayer recommends, experience the fertility of silence. You are worth the time—because you are indispensable.

Peace Be To You

Many of my best Christmas memories are related to music. Charles Harlan Clarke was the organist and choirmaster at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Cathedral in Laramie, Wyoming during the 1980s where during my late twenties I was earning my Master’s degree at the University of Wyoming. I was new to the Episcopal church and loved everything about it, saint matthewsparticularly the liturgy and the cathedral’s music ministry which was of higher quality than one might expect in the middle of a 7500-foot-high desert. Charles was glad to welcome me into his circle of musicians; soon I was playing the grand piano in the corner of the sanctuary on Sunday mornings as Charles played the beautiful organ that, when it was constructed in the early 20th century, was the largest organ west of the Mississippi.

One of the choir’s “go to” pieces was Paul Manz’s “E’en So Lord Jesus, Quickly Come,” a favorite because it was a capella (meaning that I could leave the piano and join the choir) and it fit the mix of voices in our collection of singers perfectly. It was particularly a favorite piece because of the story behind its composition. Charles was friends with Paul Manz, a renowned composer and organist, and loved to tell us the tale as Manz had told it to him. Manz and his wife Ruth often were a composing team for choral music, with Ruth writing the lyrics and Paul the music. At Christmas time in 1953, their three-year-old son was gravely ill; the manzesPaul and Ruth kept vigil at his hospital bedside as his doctors and nurses gently prepared them for their son’s inevitable death. Late one evening Ruth remembered some verses from the Book of Revelation that suddenly took on new meaning as their son lay dying. She worked with the text a bit and showed it to her husband.

Peace be to you and grace from him / Who freed us from our sins, / Who loved us all and shed his blood / That we might saved be.

Sing holy, holy to our Lord, / The Lord, Almighty God, / Who was and is and is to come; / Sing holy, holy, Lord!

Rejoice in heaven, all ye that dwell therein, / Rejoice on earth, ye saints below, / For Christ is coming, is coming soon!

E’en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come, / And night shall be no more; / they need no light nor lamp nor sun, / For Christ will be their all.e-en-so-lord-jesus-quickly-come-12

In an interview fifty years later, Ruth Manz told an NPR interviewer that “I think we’d reached the point where we felt that time was certainly running out so we committed it to the Lord and said, ‘Lord Jesus quickly come.’”

As Charles told the story, the medical staff finally convinced Ruth and Paul to go home to get a bit of sleep, promising that they would be called immediately if there was any change in their son’s condition. In the middle of the night the phone rang—it was the hospital. “Your son has woken up—his fever has broken. The doctor on staff has checked him out carefully and he appears to be fine. You can come and take him home.”

Every time the choir sang this piece someone in the choir was appointed to tell the story of how it came to be written before we sang it. As far as I can remember, no one ever made it through the story without crying—we finally had the story printed up and placed in the program each time we performed it. It is Paul Manz’s best known work—over one million copies have been sold. We live in a world that sorely needs light to shine into the darkness and hope to replace despair—miracles do happen. We will celebrate one tomorrow. Peace be to you—Merry Christmas!peace