My telephone was the victim of a hit-and-run accident about a week ago. A pair of moving trucks came down the lane that runs beside our house. I happened to be looking out the window, just in time to see an upper corner of the leading truck hook the electrical lines that run between a pole and our house.
The lines snapped.
The driver knew it had happened. He got out of his cab, came back, and held the dangling lines aside so the second truck could get through. Then he climbed back into his cab.
By that time I was out on our front step, yelling at him.
“Call the phone company,” he yelled back. And drove off.
Call the phone company? When you’ve just ripped out my phone line? With what?
I was still livid, half an hour later, when I went to my weekly recorder class. And I found I could not play the recorder. My efforts sounded like a piglet with intestinal cramps.
The woodwind instruments require carefully controlled breathing. As long as I was raging, I couldn’t modulate my breathing to produce disciplined notes.
You can’t make music when you’re out of control.
Now it’s possible that an angry drummer could beat the hell out of his drums. That a pissed-off pianist might pound her keyboard mercilessly. Or that a furious trumpeter could shatter chandeliers. It might be therapeutic. But I doubt if it’s music.
Similarly, I doubt if a sculptor would risk ruining a block of marble by attacking it too vigorously with his chisel.
A two-sided vice/virtue
Yes, we can certainly speak and act while angry. And we often do. But we often regret it later.
Because anger turns inward. It excludes other emotions. You can’t be loving and angry at the same time. You can’t be boiling and calm.
Years ago, I wrote about anger as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Those sins all have a paradoxical element. They’re also virtues – in the right place and time.
Anger, for example, leads to violence, impulsive behaviour, broken relationships. But without anger we would have no justice movements. Anger motivated the civil rights and anti-war movements in the U.S. It launched the American and French revolutions. It provided the impetus for Gandhi’s Salt Marches in India, for the opposition to apartheid in South Africa. Anger fuelled feminists and suffragettes.
Anger says – like Peter Finch’s famous rant in the movie Network – “I’m not gonna take it anymore!”
But first you have to bring that blaze under control.
For good reason, most meditation practices (possibly excluding self-hypnosis) focus on breathing. Breathing is the most basic act of life. The Bible considered it the evidence of life. In both Greek and Hebrew, the word for “breath” also means “spirit”.
If we are alive, we breathe. But breathing is also likely our least conscious act. We weren’t conscious of our first breath; we probably won’t be of our last. Most of the time in between, we’re not even aware of our breathing; we just do it.
Until something upsets us. Like a driver who lacks the common courtesy to come to the door and say, “Sorry.”
Slowly now, Jim, breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in….
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Copyright © 2016 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study groups, and links from other blogs, welcomed; all other rights reserved.
To comment on this column, write jimt@quixotic.ca
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YOUR TURN
Last week’s column, about seeing darkness as a blessing, evoked a surprising number of letters, and apparently prompted a number of memories.
Isabel Gibson found two “lovely thoughts” in the column: “I, too, know people who believe that their loved one waited to see them one more time and then, after they'd gone out, finally let go, sinking into the darkness alone. I certainly hope it's like falling asleep, when my turn comes.
“And a lovely image from Peter Clark in comments -- seeing God in the cheering on of the stragglers. No matter how accomplished, we all straggle somewhere, at something . . .”
Tom Watson: “Your speaking about your father's dying was most thought-provoking. Considering that animals slip away to a quiet place where they can be alone to die, I wonder why we human animals think it wrong for those we love to die alone. Are we being there for them, or for ourselves?
“Or maybe it's having that one last opportunity to say good-bye. My dad died very suddenly and without warning. I lived 1,500 miles away at the time. When I received the phone call that he was gone, it seemed so wrong for him to leave just like that, without our being able to speak one last time.”
James West wasn’t so sure about the animals: “About animals, though, we do not know for sure that ‘They want to be alone.’ Dying away from the center of the pack is observed behavior. The rest remains a mystery for us to ponder.”
But he liked the image of God speaking out of darkness: “Out of thick darkness... That's going to help with this Sunday's observance of the Transfiguration.”
Betty Darby and Betty Turcott both commented on darkness.
Betty Darby wrote, “I love this image of death – may it be so for those blessed to have a ‘normal’ end of life. So often death comes by violent means – and there is no soft blanket ending....only terror and struggle.”
And darkness brought back a comforting image from Betty Turcott’s childhood: “I was nine years old and critically ill in Sick Kid's Hospital in Toronto. There was no ICU so my bed was placed at the nurse's station. There were lights, phones, bells, and constant voices. I wanted rest. I longed for the comfort of the quiet dark. I 'prayed' silently, ‘Let me go to sleep’. I was soon asleep in the midst of all that confusion. Explaining it later I said that God came to me as warm, soft, darkness. I have been corrected many times when I have shared this story. I've been told, God is light, not darkness. That night, to a frightened little girl, God came as peaceful, comforting, quiet, darkness.
“I am now nearly 80 and I still love the night with its velvety peacefulness.”
Fran Ota referred to a couple of books: “Last year I read Barbara Brown Taylor's ‘Learning to Walk in the Dark’ -- an exceptional book helping us to recognise the goodness that the dark offers as well. When I heard her speak about it, she noted that so much of our theology is ‘light’ centred - and yet (for example) Psalm 139 says even the darkness is as light, to God. Moses in the cloud, walking in caves with no light, lying in the fields on a mattress looking at the sky, the healing darkness. If you haven't read it, I recommend it highly.
“I followed that book with John Philip Newell's ‘The Rebirthing of God’ - which is entirely light-oriented theology. Both are excellent books, but I preferred Barbara Brown Taylor.”
Peter Scott explored the same theme: “Darkness, it seems to me, and her sister silence, are the two most unpopular experiences in our culture today, and that is a tragedy beyond measure. I could rant about our obsession with all kinds of lights and sounds which can be good in moderation but become demonic in excess. Darkness and silence are that way too however. Balance is the key to harmonious living in the universe. As some wise person has already said, ‘too much of a good thing is a bad thing’. Thank you for reminding me of the blessing of darkness.”
Marjorie Gibson: “Jim, as you know, I am very old. Living in a seniors' residence, death is a reality that is ever present. It is difficult to explain but this ‘darkness’ wraps around us like a warm blanket. Not something to worry about, no attempt to avoid or hurry the event. Regardless of what lies ahead, or if nothing lies ahead but the comfort of a grave, I believe I will be content. Life should be enjoyed and valued. Should not death give at least as much?”
For Candace Harvey, “Memories of my Dad's death come floating to the surface. Of course, it's only been about 17 months. Dad had been struggling mightily with pain, getting weaker until he couldn't stand on his own anymore. He was suffering from Mesothelioma - asbestos cancer. A very painful surgery recovery proved that it was not going to disappear. He had an additional 3 months with us. On the day that he was declared Palliative, he died. My brothers and I, along with our beloved step-mom, Bee, were on and off at his side throughout the previous week, with Bee and I sitting vigil on the last day. Finally, around late afternoon, I took Bee home to get some much-needed nourishment and rest. We got a call from the hospital about an hour later -- the nurse felt that Dad's time was drawing to a close and to come back right away. Dad was gone by the time we arrived. I know in my heart that he knew he was dying. And I know in my heart that he did not want us there to see it happen. He loved us and was trying to spare us the last minute panic. It upset Bee terribly to not be there and I'm sorry for that -- of course we were all very grief stricken. I don't know if Dad was welcoming the darkness when he died but he definitely expressed that morning that he felt that he had had a wonderful life with lots of people to love him throughout it.”
Finally, Lewis Coffman had some thoughts about last week’s Psalm paraphrase: “I understand completely your comment about changing the ‘look up, look up to find God’ part of that Psalm. Like you I find God in many places in my life, not only “up there.” However, once in an Indigenous circle of friends, when the leader asked us to pray, he told us we should keep our eyes open and look up. He said when we bow our heads and close our eyes it is as though we are ashamed and submissive -- a possible reflection of abuse suffered by those in Residential Schools? He said we should be open to the Creator, be happy and responsive to all we have been given on this earth and let the Creator know that! Since that experience I have tended to keep my eyes open during prayers, listening to the words being spoken and following closely the petitions and admonitions offered. In a church setting I find an object that helps me focus on the prayer, or, if there is a window looking outside, to find the mystery of God there.”
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PSALM PARAPHRASES
The lectionary calls for Psalm 91:1-2 and 9-16 – I decided to go with only 9-16, using the metaphor of winter weather.
9 Let your faith be your umbrella;
Live your life under God's protection.
10 No rain clouds will ruin your picnic;
nor will thunderstorms drown your fondest desires.
11 The spirit of God will surround you like a shimmering bubble.
It will deflect the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
12 It will smooth your passage over speed-bumps and potholes.
13 Neither wind nor sleet nor hail nor snow--
nor stress nor illness nor peer pressures--
shall keep you from growing closer and closer to God.
14 For God says: "Because you trusted me,
I will give you more cause to trust;
Because you knew me enough to ask for help,
I will help you.
15 When you call, I will answer you.
When you fall down, I will pick you up.
16 I will accompany you through a long life;
I will never leave you lonely and afraid."
For paraphrases of most of the psalms used by the Revised Common Lectionary, you can order my book Everyday Psalms from Wood Lake Publishing, info@woodlake.com.
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YOU SCRATCH MY BACK…
Ralph Milton has a new project, called Sing Hallelujah – the world’s first video hymnal. It consists of 100 popular hymns, both new and old, on five DVDs that can be played using a standard DVD player and TV screen, for use in congregations who lack skilled musicians to play piano or organ. More details at www.singhallelujah.ca
Isabel Gibson's thoughtful and well-written blog, www.traditionaliconoclast.com
Alan Reynold's weekly musings, punningly titled “Reynolds Rap,” write reynoldsrap@shaw.ca
Wayne Irwin's "Churchweb Canada," an inexpensive service for any congregation wanting to develop a web presence, with free consultation. <http://www.churchwebcanada.ca>
Alva Wood's satiric stories about incompetent bureaucrats and prejudiced attitudes in a small town are not particularly religious, but they are fun; write alvawood@gmail.com to get onto her mailing list.
Tom Watson writes a weekly blog called “The View from Grandpa Tom’s Balcony” – ruminations on various subjects, and feedback from Tom’s readers. Write him at twatson@sentex.net
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TECHNICAL STUFF
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I write a second column each Sunday called Sharp Edges, which tends to be somewhat more cutting about social and justice issues. To sign up for Sharp Edges, write to me directly, jimt@quixotic.ca, or send a note to sharpedges-subscribe@quixotic.ca
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