Living Room
April 07, 2008
It seems to me that I have greater peace
and am
closer to God when I am not 'trying to be a
contemplative,' or trying to be anything
special, but
simply orienting my life fully and completely
towards
what seems to be required of a man like me at a
time like this. Thomas Merton
Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music
and rhythm and grace and song and laughter?
Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and
the beauty of flesh and the living colors of
the earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid
to love, I who love love? Eugene
O'Neill
"Years ago I had the experience of sitting
around in a living room with a bunch of
people and singing and playing. And it was
like a spiritual experience. It was
wonderful," Emmylou Harris says, on the Nitty
Gritty Dirt Band CD, Will the Circle Be
Unbroken. "Over the years of making
records we've all gotten a little too
technical and too hung up on getting things
perfect. We've lost the living room. The
living room has gone out of the music.
Today, we got it back."
Most of us can relate. Even so, we still want to ask, "So what do we need to do, to get the living room back?" It is our knee jerk response. Because our western mentality finds solace in the five steps that allow for some resolution.
Like the medical school who found their fifth year students had lost the enthusiasm and warmth and empathy that had characterized their freshman year. So, they offered a mandatory class on "Compassion."
Or, the story of the adults watching a group of very young kids playing sandlot baseball, using discarded boxes for bases, a potpourri of equipment, and an odd formula for deciding teams and scoring. The air is filled with whopping and cavorting and unmitigated pleasure. The adults, however, wanting to be helpful, decided to step in, in order to give the kids instruction, tips and a clearer understanding of the "rules." And the adults wondered why some of the kids decided to quit playing because the game wasn't fun anymore.
Our good intentions for control don't necessarily benefit us. So focused on the right notes, we miss the music.
I know this. . .
If I am to focused on evaluating, I cannot bask in the moment.
If I am measuring and weighing, I cannot marvel at little miracles.
If I am anticipating a payoff, I cannot give thanks for simple pleasures.
If I am feeling guilty about not hearing or living the music, I cannot luxuriate in the wonders of the day.
Did you see Mr. Holland's Opus? About Glenn Holland's lifetime of teaching music to a high school band. In one scene he is giving a private lesson to Gertrude. She is playing clarinet, making noises that can only be described as other-worldly. He is clearly frustrated. As is she. Finally Mr. Holland says, "Let me ask you a question. When you look in the mirror what do you like best about yourself?"
"My hair," says Gertrude.
"Why?"
"Well, my father always says that it reminds him of the sunset."
After a pause, Mr. Holland says, "Okay. Close your eyes this time. And play the sunset."
And from her clarinet? Music. Sweet music.
Sometime today, I invite you to set aside the manual, or the list, or the prescription.
Take a Sabbath moment. . .close your eyes and play the sunset.
Mary Oliver describes such a moment this way, ". . .a seizure of happiness. Time seemed to vanish. Urgency vanished." Because, in such a moment, we are in, quite literally, a State of Grace. In other words, what we experience here is not as a means to anything else.
I have a friend who went into his garden to pray. The fragrance undid him. He was smitten by an Asiatic lily, intoxicating, mesmerizing. He spent the next twenty minutes giddy as a kid, he told me. "I was so undone," he lamented, "I forgot to pray."
"And I felt chastised and guilty. Until it hit me. Being undone by the lily, and savoring its beauty was my prayer."
In that moment, my friend got the living room back.
Most of us can relate. Even so, we still want to ask, "So what do we need to do, to get the living room back?" It is our knee jerk response. Because our western mentality finds solace in the five steps that allow for some resolution.
Like the medical school who found their fifth year students had lost the enthusiasm and warmth and empathy that had characterized their freshman year. So, they offered a mandatory class on "Compassion."
Or, the story of the adults watching a group of very young kids playing sandlot baseball, using discarded boxes for bases, a potpourri of equipment, and an odd formula for deciding teams and scoring. The air is filled with whopping and cavorting and unmitigated pleasure. The adults, however, wanting to be helpful, decided to step in, in order to give the kids instruction, tips and a clearer understanding of the "rules." And the adults wondered why some of the kids decided to quit playing because the game wasn't fun anymore.
Our good intentions for control don't necessarily benefit us. So focused on the right notes, we miss the music.
I know this. . .
If I am to focused on evaluating, I cannot bask in the moment.
If I am measuring and weighing, I cannot marvel at little miracles.
If I am anticipating a payoff, I cannot give thanks for simple pleasures.
If I am feeling guilty about not hearing or living the music, I cannot luxuriate in the wonders of the day.
Did you see Mr. Holland's Opus? About Glenn Holland's lifetime of teaching music to a high school band. In one scene he is giving a private lesson to Gertrude. She is playing clarinet, making noises that can only be described as other-worldly. He is clearly frustrated. As is she. Finally Mr. Holland says, "Let me ask you a question. When you look in the mirror what do you like best about yourself?"
"My hair," says Gertrude.
"Why?"
"Well, my father always says that it reminds him of the sunset."
After a pause, Mr. Holland says, "Okay. Close your eyes this time. And play the sunset."
And from her clarinet? Music. Sweet music.
Sometime today, I invite you to set aside the manual, or the list, or the prescription.
Take a Sabbath moment. . .close your eyes and play the sunset.
Mary Oliver describes such a moment this way, ". . .a seizure of happiness. Time seemed to vanish. Urgency vanished." Because, in such a moment, we are in, quite literally, a State of Grace. In other words, what we experience here is not as a means to anything else.
I have a friend who went into his garden to pray. The fragrance undid him. He was smitten by an Asiatic lily, intoxicating, mesmerizing. He spent the next twenty minutes giddy as a kid, he told me. "I was so undone," he lamented, "I forgot to pray."
"And I felt chastised and guilty. Until it hit me. Being undone by the lily, and savoring its beauty was my prayer."
In that moment, my friend got the living room back.
Poems / Prayers
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
And the usual early morning stuff
That passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
Walking up the road
To deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
And on boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
They aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
Each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
And they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
Though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
Death and ambition, even love,
Doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
Unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really.
Any early morning talk about it.
Raymond Carver
Dear God,
I watch this morning
for the light that he darkness has not overcome.
I watch for the fire that was in the beginning
and that burns still in the brilliance of the rising sun.
I watch for the glow of life that gleams in the growing earth
and glistens in sea and sky.
I watch for your light, O God,
in the eyes of every living creature
And in the ever-living flame of my own soul.
If the grace of seeing were mine this day
I would glimpse you in all that lives.
Grant me the grace of seeing this day.
Grant me the grace of seeing.
Amen.
Old Celtic Benediction
Peace,
Terry Hershey
