Rested

Mother Pollard was one of the elders of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama, during the bus boycott of 1955-56. When her pastor the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., suggested she go back to the buses because she was too old to keep walking, she told him, “I’m gonna walk just as long as everybody else walks. I’m gonna walk till it’s over.”

King marveled. “But aren’t your feet tired?” he asked.

“My feet is tired,” she replied. “But my soul is rested.”

My obligations stacked up this past week… or month.  I had too much to do and too many places to travel.  I admit that some of it is my own fault. It’s not that I forgot the word NO is in my vocabulary, I just figured I could get by without using it.

I gave in to a little self-pity (actually I milked it pretty good for an entire day). But it ends up as a kind of weight that makes you want to get in bed and pull the covers up over your head and listen to Patti Griffin sing, “sometimes I feel like I never been nothin’ but tired.”

There are times–it seems more frequent now–when we are not rested… tired, fatigued, weighed down, or just plain worn out.  Sometimes it is for good reason, sometimes it is not.  Add to the mix the reality that we absorb or consume three times the amount of information (daily) than we did in 1960.  We are, quite literally, bombarded.

So it’s not just about being tired. There’s something else going on. The composer Liszt talked about times when we suffer from a “fruitless virtuosity, a soulless, senseless delivery of masterworks.”

Have you ever had that? Almost like a paralysis, or disconnect. Those times when we are not present. Those times when we can’t absorb beauty. We go through the motions, as if we have lost touch with all the good stuff: longing, hunger, focus, zest, compassion, appetite, hope and passion.

So tired is one thing. Being soulless is something else altogether. Mother Pollard knew this.  I doubt she Googled it, or went to a workshop to figure it out.  She just knew in her bones this reality; regardless of my circumstances… “I am whole, and filled with grace and sufficiency.”

Which meant that for Mother Pollard, her rested soul allowed her to live fully into this life. (I read that the best beauty product is to actually have a life.)  She walked toward, and not away from, life.  This life, her life, which included the contradictions, frustrations, weariness, tired feet and injustices.  She was able to walk toward, because she had a rested soul.

So the question is this: where do we go to replenish the well?
Where do we go to nourish the soul?
Where do we go to be bathed in peace?

Here’s the deal: Sometimes we don’t have to go anywhere.  We just need to stop.  And pay attention. Did you see the movie Stand By Me?  The story of four adolescent friends–Gordie, Chris, Teddy and Vern–who set out on an adventure looking for the dead body of a local teenager.  It’s a story about growing up, and a story about friendship.  There is a poignant scene when the boys are camping in the woods.  Gordie wakes early, just at dawn light, and finds himself face to face with a doe.  He stands still, watching and drinking in a sense of wonderment and awe… and peace.  Later in his life, he recounts the story, “The freight woke up the other guys and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell them about the deer. But I didn’t. That was the one thing I kept to myself. I’ve never spoken or written about it until just now.”

Why did he keep it to himself?  I’m not sure, but I think I understand.  After all the challenging and draining things in the lives of Gordie and his friends–the death of his brother and the mistreatment from his parents; Teddy’s abusive father; Ray Brower’s death–perhaps the deer reminded him that some things in the world are still beautiful and life-bestowing, and can give us hope.

“I am whole, and filled with grace and sufficiency.”

Mother Pollard knew who she was. Her strength came from that place. Because she did see herself as a victim, she could live with intention, beyond circumstance or public opinion. In other words, tired feet was not an impediment. And from that soul flows tenderness, tenacity, compassion, delight and passion.

I don’t deny that there should be priests to remind men that they will one day die. I only say it is necessary to have another kind of priests, called poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet. GK Chesterton

Today, Mother Pollard is my priest and poet.

(NOTE: This story is an excerpt from my Monday Sabbath Moment.  If you would enjoy receiving Sabbath Moment, please sign up in the box in the left column, or go to THIS LINK.)

Like a path through the forest, Sabbath creates a marker for ourselves so, if we are lost, we can find our way back to our center. 
Wayne Muller