Monday, May 24, 2004
I Exist
No, this is not some sort of conclusive statement about the reality of my being. I’m quite secure there (though I’m not telling you which way).
But upon some serious self-reflection recently, I’ve begun to notice a pattern, a theme, a consistent but curious state of be-ing. It hit me like two tons of cinderblocks (my weak attempt at avoiding cliché) while reading an excellent article in Road to Emmaus , which for what my opinion’s worth, is one of the best Orthodox publications in existence.
In this particular issue (Spring 2001), I was reading part three of an interview with Fr. Artemy Vladimirov , who has written some fantastic children’s books on Orthodox Spirituality, including Bless O Lord and The Path to Confession. He is a Russian priest, who in this series of articles relates his experiences and insight into working with English-speaking converts.
But it was something said as almost a side note in this article that stood out to me. It is an idea that I have encountered in other readings, but not really had a perspective to incorporate into my thinking until I encountered it in light of my thinking about my own life. At the end of the article, which in total is almost 90 pages between the three issues, after all of his wonderful insight into both the Orthodox and the western minds, he writes the following:
Yes, I think that the days we are living in are the very days that were prophesied by St. David: Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men, and we are to understand the spiritual measure of modern people-both shepherds and sheep....The last decades have brought us great changes; our real spiritual fathers have gone the way of the earth....We live on the earth by God’s Providence, but we are all chicks and neither the shepherds not the sheep have yet broken out of their shells.
We are all in darkness. What are we all talking about? No one knows. What does this or that statement mean? Nothing! Who can say anything for sure? No one! Who is truly enlightened? I don’t know! Therefore, the only thing left to do is to pray and to wait for the time when God himself will help us to peck through the shell, when we will become sons of Light, and walk without stumbling. Until this day comes, let us cry without despair, smile without arrogance, pity one another without sentimentality, be patient, be tolerant, bear our neighbor’s burdens without irritation-for we are all patients of one hospital.
He finishes here with an idea that I very much long for. He describes the unmoved life, the life that exists, that is not shaken about or stirred by the winds. He describes a goal, and then the ways of life that help us to stray from it, the passions we embrace that distract us. He describes what we strive for, that place of living constantly in the reality of God; the simple existence of that place.
But you see, I already live a constant existence. My entire life is already almost always unshaken. As I said a couple of entries ago, even those things that probably should shake me do not most of the time. Karl, in the comments, offered, “It could be that you don't feel panic because you are really putting your trust in God. Just a thought...” I would like to believe this, and I really do appreciate that thought Karl. But the reality, I think, is that I do live a fairly constant existence, but it is one of my own choosing and not one that always glorifies God.
You see, I like my life the way it is, for good and for bad. Add to that the fact that I only know how to live in very patterned, habitual ways. Without my habits, my life would fall apart. I am not someone who can just one day decide to change, and then never be like I was formerly. Some people can, but change for me happens when I establish new habits. I cannot even begin to comprehend the flexibility that some people have. I don’t really know how to be flexible. This is both a blessing and a curse.
So when something new or unforeseen comes along, I don’t have a place to put it. When my wife is sick, it is difficult to deal with, because I don’t have an established pattern to fit it into. When it’s time to change anything, from the mundane to the serious, I fail a lot, because I have to establish new patterns. In this existence, I don’t have a means for incorporating these changes easily into my life, so frequently I just keep existing the way things were before, even when I should be another way.
I picture it this way. There is a cavernous divide that separates my constant existence and the one I ought to strive for. But at one end of the divide, there is this crazy zipper that slowly pulls the two sides closed (please, bear with my lame analogy here). But kinda like when your packing for a three day trip and you decide you need to fit your entire wardrobe into that damn suitcase, closing that zipper is torturous. It pulls at my fabric, stretching it to the point that I think it’s just gonna rip. Sometimes, I know I just can’t do it, so I have to pull something out, but only one thing. That won’t affect me too much, and then I spend another ten minutes (or ten years) trying to close that zipper another inch.
And it’s not even that I really like that shirt. I’ve just always had it, and like an old pair of underwear, it may not even look good, but damn it’s comfortable.
Maybe someday I’ll peck my head out of the shell too......
No, this is not some sort of conclusive statement about the reality of my being. I’m quite secure there (though I’m not telling you which way).
But upon some serious self-reflection recently, I’ve begun to notice a pattern, a theme, a consistent but curious state of be-ing. It hit me like two tons of cinderblocks (my weak attempt at avoiding cliché) while reading an excellent article in Road to Emmaus , which for what my opinion’s worth, is one of the best Orthodox publications in existence.
In this particular issue (Spring 2001), I was reading part three of an interview with Fr. Artemy Vladimirov , who has written some fantastic children’s books on Orthodox Spirituality, including Bless O Lord and The Path to Confession. He is a Russian priest, who in this series of articles relates his experiences and insight into working with English-speaking converts.
But it was something said as almost a side note in this article that stood out to me. It is an idea that I have encountered in other readings, but not really had a perspective to incorporate into my thinking until I encountered it in light of my thinking about my own life. At the end of the article, which in total is almost 90 pages between the three issues, after all of his wonderful insight into both the Orthodox and the western minds, he writes the following:
Yes, I think that the days we are living in are the very days that were prophesied by St. David: Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men, and we are to understand the spiritual measure of modern people-both shepherds and sheep....The last decades have brought us great changes; our real spiritual fathers have gone the way of the earth....We live on the earth by God’s Providence, but we are all chicks and neither the shepherds not the sheep have yet broken out of their shells.
We are all in darkness. What are we all talking about? No one knows. What does this or that statement mean? Nothing! Who can say anything for sure? No one! Who is truly enlightened? I don’t know! Therefore, the only thing left to do is to pray and to wait for the time when God himself will help us to peck through the shell, when we will become sons of Light, and walk without stumbling. Until this day comes, let us cry without despair, smile without arrogance, pity one another without sentimentality, be patient, be tolerant, bear our neighbor’s burdens without irritation-for we are all patients of one hospital.
He finishes here with an idea that I very much long for. He describes the unmoved life, the life that exists, that is not shaken about or stirred by the winds. He describes a goal, and then the ways of life that help us to stray from it, the passions we embrace that distract us. He describes what we strive for, that place of living constantly in the reality of God; the simple existence of that place.
But you see, I already live a constant existence. My entire life is already almost always unshaken. As I said a couple of entries ago, even those things that probably should shake me do not most of the time. Karl, in the comments, offered, “It could be that you don't feel panic because you are really putting your trust in God. Just a thought...” I would like to believe this, and I really do appreciate that thought Karl. But the reality, I think, is that I do live a fairly constant existence, but it is one of my own choosing and not one that always glorifies God.
You see, I like my life the way it is, for good and for bad. Add to that the fact that I only know how to live in very patterned, habitual ways. Without my habits, my life would fall apart. I am not someone who can just one day decide to change, and then never be like I was formerly. Some people can, but change for me happens when I establish new habits. I cannot even begin to comprehend the flexibility that some people have. I don’t really know how to be flexible. This is both a blessing and a curse.
So when something new or unforeseen comes along, I don’t have a place to put it. When my wife is sick, it is difficult to deal with, because I don’t have an established pattern to fit it into. When it’s time to change anything, from the mundane to the serious, I fail a lot, because I have to establish new patterns. In this existence, I don’t have a means for incorporating these changes easily into my life, so frequently I just keep existing the way things were before, even when I should be another way.
I picture it this way. There is a cavernous divide that separates my constant existence and the one I ought to strive for. But at one end of the divide, there is this crazy zipper that slowly pulls the two sides closed (please, bear with my lame analogy here). But kinda like when your packing for a three day trip and you decide you need to fit your entire wardrobe into that damn suitcase, closing that zipper is torturous. It pulls at my fabric, stretching it to the point that I think it’s just gonna rip. Sometimes, I know I just can’t do it, so I have to pull something out, but only one thing. That won’t affect me too much, and then I spend another ten minutes (or ten years) trying to close that zipper another inch.
And it’s not even that I really like that shirt. I’ve just always had it, and like an old pair of underwear, it may not even look good, but damn it’s comfortable.
Maybe someday I’ll peck my head out of the shell too......
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