Morrie, Tanja, and Wellington

I guess that I should go ahead and warn you reader(s) that I will sometimes use this blog in order to reflect upon theological, pastoral, or philosophical things. I mean, what did you expect--me just ranting about my experiences in some country thousands of miles away from home? Come on...

This post is one such instance.

At times, it may seem as if I ramble, but please linger with me. I at least try to go places with my words. If it turns out that I don't, let me know.

I invite you to reflect along with me. I also invite you to dialogue and/or disagree with me upon such things. Just realize that this is my blog and if I don't like your post, I'll delete it.

I worry. I worry about big things, medium things, and small things. I worry about what I'm doing while I'm working. I worry about what I'm not doing while I'm sitting. I worry about my family, my friends, my acquaintances. I worry about enemies, strangers, passers by. I worry about things that matter. I worry mostly about things that don't matter. I worry about my future. I worry about my present. I worry about my past. I worry about how much I worry.

If you are reading this blog, chances are that you know me and you therefore already know that I worry. But I guess that worry isn't really the best word for what I do. I would like to call it thinking too much or anxiety or getting on people's nerves. But none of those words really fit.

Worry is too strong of a verb. Think mostly connotes a good action. Anxiety isn't a verb at all.

So I guess that I should probably say that I do. No matter where I am, it seems that I just always do.

I walk. I watch. I read. I preach. I ponder. I sip. I write. I wear. I ride. I eat. I iron. I laugh. I cook. I wash. I play. I open. I ask. I place. I brush. I give. I drive.

I do.

And throughout all of my doing, it seems as if I never find any contentment, any sobriety, any clarity.

But I haven't just noticed this problem. No, I have spent a while seeking some sort of remedy of all of this stress that I carry from constantly doing. Trust me, I've searched, and heaps and heaps of material exist concerning the relief of stress, anxiety, worry, depression, doing, insert word here. Just wander through the Self Help section at Barnes and Noble and you'll find plenty. Many of these materials offer a certain number of "simple steps" or "key tips" on how to get rid of these things.

But this topic is nowhere near simple. I suggest that it takes years to develop these habits, and so it unfortunately takes longer than 3 weeks to a "non-cluttered" desk and a "non-cluttered" mind.

***

I took this morning off. I woke up at around 8 o'clock and read for a little while. The material of choice was Tuesdays with Morrie, a memoir of a dying professor of sociology and his impact on the world around him. One of my mentors for the summer, Mark Jent, gave me this book to read and I have enjoyed every page. Morrie was a fun old man who used to enjoy teaching, eating lunch with students, and dancing at a local church every Friday night. Then he contracted ALS and his body began to wither. This book captures his final few meetings with a former student.

Morrie has taught me a lot thus far, but an interesting excerpt from this morning caused me to pause. Morrie speaks of a Buddhist ritual to imagine a little bird on one's shoulder every day and ask, "Is today the day for me to die, little bird? Is today the day?" I admit that I have always been a bit cynical about the "Live Like You're Dying" philosophy of life, because it seems as if the thought strikes many of us for about a week and then we get on with our lives. But Morrie's little bird taught me a lesson today. When that little bird chirps, one thinks of loved ones, experiences, deep rooted joy. One doesn't immediately think of do. Morrie tells that maybe if we thought of this little bird a little more, we wouldn't work so hard. Or do so much...

Then I traveled to a little cafe about ten minutes away called Tanja's (pronounced tan - ya). I sat in the shade, continued my dialogue with Morrie, and ate pancakes. I watched the people around me every now and then (a rude habit, I know; but come on, you do it, too) and enjoyed sharing the bright, sunny morning with them.

After finishing breakfast, I continued up the road to the northernmost spot in Wellington Point. A park rests on the edge of the beach at Wellington Point. I walked to the end of the pier there and watched some fishers cast their lines. I peered across the water at some seagulls who swam across the water, enjoying a cool bath. I then walked across the beach, sometimes into the water, and enjoyed the tranquility of the morning. I listened to the calls of the gulls, the lapping of the water against the shore, the barks of dogs running across the sand, the laughter of children standing in the water. As I returned to my car, I noticed that more and more visitors arrived at the beach with fishing poles, sunscreen, and noise.

***

I rested this morning. When a thought of worry entered my mind, I let it go. I was present, no matter where I was. And while I read, I ate, and I wandered, I didn't do anything. Instead, I was.

In the Exodus narrative, when Moses asks God what God's name is, God responds, "I AM (or WILL BE)."
In the same narrative, when Moses delivers the Ten Commandments, the fourth states that everyone in Israel should keep the Sabbath day of rest because God himself rested on the seventh day.
In the Psalter, one of the psalmists describes the turmoil of the earth and the dangers therein and then quotes, "Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."
In Mark's Gospel, Jesus calms a storm on the sea by saying, "Be silent; be quiet."

It seems to me that I have rambled into two areas here: 1) being, and 2) resting. But it also seems to me that one feeds into the other. One may not be without habitual rest. The danger into which many of us fall whenever we constantly do is that we forget to be. I do not think that doing things is bad, or else nothing would ever really get done. But the challenge comes with being fully present wherever we are. God describes himself as "being" and "will being" because he is always fully present. The Fourth Commandment implies that in order to be like God, we must rest. The psalmist sees all of the bad around him and then looks to God for help and God replies, "Be still." Jesus stills a violent tumult by saying, "Be quiet," and then tells his disciples to have more faith.

When we rest, we tell God that we trust him. When we rest, we look forward to the eschatological rest that God has promised us. When we rest, we are.

Lord, give our minds rest so that we might be fully present wherever we are. Give our minds rest so that we might be fully present in whatever we are doing. Give our minds rest so that we might look forward to the Second Coming of your Son, and we enjoy rest with you and all of your saints. All glory, honor, and praise be to you.
Amen.

cf. Exodus 3, Exodus 20, Psalm 46, Mark 4