Music despite everything
If you want to hear laughter, tell God
your plans.
We must be willing to let go of the life
we have planned so as to have the life that
is waiting for us. Joseph
Campbell
One moment of full attention is one moment
fully lived. Roger Housden
During the Bosnian War, Serbs surrounded the city of Sarajevo. And the people of Sarajevo knew that sniper fire could kill anyone, indiscriminate; whether they stood in a bread line or were collecting a child from school.
Even so, in the midst of this, members of the city orchestra brought their instruments into the town square, where they played day after day, for hours. They played in defiance of the madness of war. Their music symbolized the indestructibility of the human spirit, despite everything. Their music, in essence, became a place of sanctuary for the people of Sarajevo.
Or, in the words of the ancient poet, CP Cavafy, "We must admit there will be music despite everything."
I cannot imagine the horror of war. But the story of music and resilience strikes a chord somewhere deep down inside of me. I do know this: I want to live in that spirit.
Even if we haven't been in a war, we all know what it is like to feel diminished or torn or pulled or overwhelmed or exhausted or belittled. And when we do, we need a place of sanctuary.
A sanctuary is a place that restores us.
Renews us.
Refreshes us.
And reminds us of what is really important.
A sanctuary is a place where we pay full attention.
I received this email recently.
"Dear Terry, sanctuary (Sabbath) is easy for you. You live on an island. You have a big garden. What about those of us with normal lives?"
I wrote back, "You want my garden, it's all yours. As long as you realize you just inherited the unremitting daily monotony of pulling weeds."
This past week I was not on my island. I was in the big city of Chicago. And I had a busy week, with big plans and lists and obligations which all required logistics and timing. We kept our fingers crossed that everything would go smoothly. But everything seldom does.
And when we get derailed, it is soooo easy to play the victim. Of whatever is the inconvenience. In effect, we set aside this moment, for some more perfect moment yet to be (you know, the one we "planned for").
On Friday, we had one day to finish the list. It required being outside. The weather, uncooperative, threatened to disrupt the day. The entire region was engulfed by a thunderstorm. Not just any kind of storm. This one seemed apocalyptic. Any to-do-list I had seemed beside the point. So from my hotel window, I watched, enthralled by the drama. The sky roiled, menacing and angry. Lightening bolts cleaved the sky, extending from heaven itself, as if into the very core of the earth. Cracks of thunder echoed, and the hair raised on the back of my neck.
When we narrow our focus only to our plans or our expectations, we miss so much of life. And our spirit is diminished if we are afraid to acknowledge that life is bigger and wilder and more splendid and more unpredictable and more marvelous -even at the very heart of the mundane.
So here's the deal. Sanctuary is not about where (as if it is only some magical place we retreat to). Sanctuary is about what happens.
In other words, sanctuary is already within us.
So we can take sanctuary with us, which gives us the permission and courage to embrace life-wholeheartedly-even in the middle of the storms, or the undone, or the complicated, or the prickly, or the unplanned.
Here's my take: If we don't bring it with us, we're not going to find it there. Which means that we not only "bring sanctuary with us" (into places of complexity or struggle or chaos); we--like those musicians in Sarajevo--literally become sanctuary to those around us. My friends, with their gift of laughter and embrace this past week, reminded me so well.
I am now back on my island. From my study window it is dusk light, and I watch thunderstorms roll through our southern sky. It is as if the Midwestern storm clouds have followed me home. My rose shrubs, loaded with blooms, bow with acceptance and submission to the weight of the pounding rain. Several branches are broken beyond repair. Even in that state, their splendor reminds me that there will be music, despite everything.
(Note: The Sarajevo story is adapted from the book, ten poems to change your life again and again.)
When the greatness of the Tao (or God) is present, action arises from one's own heart.
When the greatness of the Tao (or God) is absent, action comes from the rules.
Tao Te Ching
WHAT THE LIVING DO
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
Marie Howe
(What the Living Do, Norton, 1997)
Lord, it is night.
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.
It is night after a long day. What had been done has been done;
What has not been done has not been done; let it be. The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you.
The night is quiet. Let the quietness of your peace enfold us, all dear to us, and all who have no peace.
The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen.
New Zealand Prayer Book
From last week: Sabbath Moment friend Luisa sent this wonderful link for SimpleTruths.com, blessyoumovie.com
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Sabbath
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Becoming More by Doing Less
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