It occurs to me…

Revisiting Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata, I am reminded of the wisdom of this passage:

“Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.  But do not distress yourself with imaginings.  Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.  Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.”

There is such a “yin and yang” in this.  Toughen yourself to deal with misfortune, but don’t worry too much.  Be disciplined , but be gentle with yourself.

It occurs to me that this is classic “in the world but not of the world” thinking which, as most things seemingly do, leads me back to Paul and Romans 12:2 – “do not confirm any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

Back to this Epicurus quote from a few weeks back:

 “Nothing is enough for the man to whom enough is too little.”

The modern day version from Skidelsky’s How Much Is Enough?:

“And of course, if enough means merely ‘enough to satisfy wants,’ there can be no such thing as wanting more than enough.  Avarice as a vice disappears from view.”

It occurs to me that “enough to satisfy wants” indeed puts us on a never-ending quest, one that not only tires us out but puts others at risk – think hamster wheel!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fd8vl5LJoM8

 

I have been reading How Much Is Enough?, which is a wonkish analysis of that age-old question.  Bemoaning the death of the concept of  the Aristotelian “good life” the authors write:

“For all its vestigial resonance, the idea of the good life no longer forms part of public discussion in the Western world.  Politicians argue their case in terms of choice, efficiency or the protection of firhgs.  They do not say, “I think this policy will help people lead fruitful, civilized lives….  If there is no such thing as the good life, then acquisition has no absolute goal, only the relative one of “as much as” or “more than” the others’ a goal that, since it is shared by those others, must recede forever into the distance.”

Okay, I noted it was “wonkish,” but their analogy is what caught me:

“Imagine, by way of analogy, two men walking to a certain town.  One their way they get lost, yet keep walking, now with the sole aim of staying ahead of their fellow walker.  Here is an image of our situation.  The vanishing of all intrinsic ends leaves us with only two options: to be ahead or to be behind.  Positional struggle is our fate.  If there is no right place to be, it is best to be ahead.”

It is, indeed, alarmingly easy to forget the “intrinsic ends” and lapse into “positional struggle.”  We can argue at length about the meaning of life, but it seems pretty clear that the answer is not schadenfreude.

Today has me thinking about belonging, which not coincidentally is the title of the Rachel Remen essay I read this morning.

“Not only have we disconnected from life, but many of us have disconnected from each other as well.  Such qualities as self-reliance, self-determination, and self-sufficiency are so deeply admired among us that needing someone is often seen as a personal failing.  A hundred years after the end of the frontier we still inhabit its culture.  Self-sufficiency was critically important where you lived a hundred hostile miles from your nearest neighbor.  We live in this way still, three thousand to a city block.  Needing others has come to require ann act of courage.  Is it surprising that so many people are secretly afraid to grow old?”

Perhaps nowhere is the “hundred years after” described better than in John Prine’s “Hello In There,” a song (like “Sam Stone”) that is such a downer so as to make it nearly impossible to listen to – like listening to a train wreck from a distance.

“You know that old trees just grow sronger

And old rivers grow wilder every day

Old people just grow lonesome

Waiting for someone to say, “hello in there, hello.”

So if you’re walking down a street sometime

And spot some ancient hollow eyes

Please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare

As if you didn’t care

Say “hello in there, hello.”

Photo taken recently at the grocery store.

I was thinking of blessings, being a blessing to others, after reading from Rachel Remen’s My Grandfather’s Blessings:

“Sometimes life’s power shines through us even when we do not notice.  We become a blessing to others then, simply by being as we are.”

In our active world it becomes easy to believe that we must, in response, DO something.  In support of that one only need think of the popularity of Nike’s three-word advertising hit – “Just do it.”  Indeed, when some tragedy befalls a friend or loved one, the initial response is often “What can I do?”

In this I am reminded of the story of Job.  After all the tragedy befalls Job early in the story, his three friends head over.  Later in the story, they render their advice of mixed value (though it serves its purpose in the story).  But their initial reaction is perhaps the most significant.  On seeing Job’s plight for themselves they don’t “DO” anything as we think of it.  They don’t bring a casserole.  Rather, “they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights.  No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.”

Sure, doing things for others can be, most often is, a good thing.  But it is easy to forget that often, the purest and most beneficial way too “do it” is simply showing up – being there and “being as we are.”

There is so much in Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech that we forget portions of it.  Listening to it today this stood out:

“Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.  Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.  Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.”

That bears repeating some 56 years later because it is timeless:  “Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive….  Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.”

“And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.  And when he had spent it all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.”  Luke 11:13-14

This short passage from the Prodigal Son parable contains two of my favorite phrases in the Bible.  For reasons I can’t explain other than to say it seems both poetic and efficient (two traits that don’t often interact in writing), I have always liked “wasted his substance on riotous living.”  Any reader is free to and can easily conjure up vivid images of what that “riotous living” looks like – no further description is needed.  Many have in fact painted their depiction of such – just undertake an image search of “riotous living” and you’ll see them.

I also like the phrase “and he began to be in want.”  Again, a subtle phrase full of meaning.  Subtle because while we can all appreciate being “in want,” the reader is allowed to fill in the blank.  What is the younger son “in want” of?  More “riotous living?”  More money and things (that didn’t serve him so well to this point)?  Food (it would appear so from the following verses)?  A place to stay?  A bus ticket home?

That is, of course, the power of the parable.  It provides just enough facts so as to allow us to connect that story to our own story, and allows us to fill in the blanks to connect them – and us — into a single story.

From Rachel Remen, My Grandfather’s Blessings:

“We avoid suffering only at the great cost of distancing ourselves from life.  In order to live fully we may need to look deeply and respectfully at our own suffering and at the suffering of others.  In the depths of every wound we have survived is the strength we need to live.  The wisdom our wounds can offer is a place of refuge.  Finding this is not for the faint of heart.  But then, neither is life.”

This of course, seems to defy the human inclination.  No one wants to see the photos of emaciated children with saucer-sized eyes gazing at us as we listen (or don’t) to the requests for donations.  I don’t like driving by the homeless center on my way home and being reminded of the suffering of those spilling out of the facilities provided.

Oh, I can change the channel on the TV or take another route home, but the suffering is there nonetheless.  The stark reality is that we can never hide from suffering – it is just part of life.  While the type, degree, and frequencies vary, suffering is a part of all lives.  The question, as Remen points out, is what we do with and about the suffering.  And to repeat her words: “Finding this is not for the faint of heart.  But then, neither is life.”