On Taking All of Me

A child across the street is playing with a ball. I hear him practicing with his football as I sit practicing with my piano. He does seem to get more joy of it, too. It’s uneven, not regimented, taking its path with the path of the ball, that falls where it will. And he can play like this for hours.

            The piano teacher makes the remark: “You have the knowledge to play this piece, but you don’t yet have the skill.” The word skill, which once meant ‘understanding’, comes from an Anglo-Saxon past where the meaning was ‘distinction’. And ‘distinction’ refers in its turn to discrimination or distinguishment between things that are separate, or distinct. Hence, understanding. Yet now it preferences its secondary meaning of superiority, or particular favour. The idea is that skill, dexterity, mastery, is specially favoured and distinct.

            ‘Dexterity’ contains a fluency, or flowingness: the grace with which right-handed people use the right hand, while their left acts comparatively awkwardly. In the not distant past, right-handedness was considered natural, so the idea of a dexterous left hand took time to assimilate. Alas for me, playing the piano requires the dexterous use of both hands.

            It’s said that mastery of any skill takes at least 10,000 hours of practice. I’ve tried to become skilful at many things in my days, and at 10,000 hours each I get the feeling that each of them wants to take all of me. Of course there’s not enough of me to go around. The main difficulty is time for practice.

            There are many kinds of skills: physical skills, like riding a bicycle, relying on balance and muscle memory below the level of consciousness; mental skills like arithmetic and spelling that call upon and interpret symbols. And there may be spiritual skills, like the ‘skilful means’ of the Buddhists who practice the noble eight-fold path. Anger, for example, is generally one of the less skilful ways of dealing with other people.

            Paul invited the Galatians to ‘live by the Spirit.’ This would produce the ‘fruits’ of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. And he particularly warned them against being ‘desirous of vain glory’ (St. Ignatius Loyola agreed with him, thinking this was Satan’s portal), or competitive, or envious. If we take a look at our own culture, and people we see in public life, aren’t these the distinguishing features of society: competition, envy, lust for fame?

            We have plenty of time to put in the 10,000 hours of practice on patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control and all the others. We don’t need a bicycle or a piano or even a football to practice. You can do it all day, even on public transport, even on the road. Living in the spirit results in the fruits, but it also is the fruits. And you can play with it, like the child with the ball, following the Way, that falls where it will.

On Hands and Voices

I’ve been reading the biography of Sabine Baring-Gould, author, in his own day, of many best-selling novels, but now remembered for a number of hymns that are still sung. A man slated by his father to become an engineer, who counted on his fingers, alas, to the end of his days, he went to Cambridge as a classicist and fell in love with the Oxford Movement, only being allowed to take Holy Orders after his two younger brothers declined their father’s invitation to take the younger son’s place in the Church.

            Baring-Gould spent the last forty-five years of his long life, according to his biographer, doing nothing but exactly what he wished to do. His living of Lew Trenchard, where he was the loved and honoured Rector, was also his manor, where he was the respected squire. He had fifteen children, some of whom he didn’t recognise when he met them. He wrote standing at a writing-desk all day: novels, histories, lives of the saints, theology, church history, poetry, antiquities, translations. His lovely translation of the fifteenth-century hymn “Come down, O love divine” remains in the hymnal, while “Onward Christian Soldiers” has fallen out of favour, perhaps partly due to Sullivan’s stirring (imperialist?) tune: Baring-Gould wrote it for Sunday-school children to sing, and set it to a slow movement from Haydn. “Onward Christian Soldiers” was controversial in its time: the line, “With the cross of Jesus going on before” was considered too papist for some, especially since the hymn was written for the children’s procession.

            He set his hand to many things. He was an amateur archaeologist — especially of his local district — when amateurs were held in high regard. He considered his most important work the collection of English folk-songs; he compiled an immense volume of the old song-men’s repertoire, rushing to the side of these aged singers to catch the works before they died. His biographer believes he could have achieved more lasting work had he restricted his interests: he might have made his mark in literature, theology or history. But he set his hand to many things.

            This is Baring-Gould’s story. Story, of course, comes from the voice and makes meaning of events as we tell them to ourselves, whether past or future events.Thus a baby may be predicted as “Daddy’s little princess” or a father remembered in “Dad’s mission was to take care of his family — and he did!” Stories we tell in preparation, celebration, commemoration.

            The work of hands is somewhat different. Hands make the present, repair the past, structure the future. The presentness of hands is made present to me whenever I play a wrong note on the piano: everyone can tell what I’m thinking! (or not thinking, as is often the case). Keeping the eyes on the keyboard to assure a fingering or a rhythm I can see time: past time flowing into present into future. Is it better to set our hands to many things, or to attain the starry skies by handing on only one thing?

            One thing only is necessary, according to the Gospels, and maybe Baring-Gould did just as well setting his hands to many things, and doing exactly what he wished to do, in the context of a verse he wrote that was left out of Hymns Ancient and Modern:

            ‘What the Saints established

            That I hold for true,

            What the Saints believeth

            That believe I too.’

Too papist? Or maybe not.

           

Graduation Day: On Cleansing the Thoughts of the Heart

I have just completed a course of New Testament studies that has taken me five years in its latest incarnation. During this time, interrupted by illnesses and events having as much to do with spirit as text, I have finished a master’s degree and passed a test of my character. Or so I think.

            I learned a great deal about the values and ideas of classical antiquity, for the sacred scriptures are thousands of years old. And I was made to question my own values. Things like honesty, loyalty, humility and perseverance proved important.

            Today we know that the heart is a pump, moving blood around the body, and so mechanical. It symbolises feeling or emotion, from hot-blooded passion to icy broken-heartedness. Blood, naturally, both symbolises and is life, and when the heart ceases to beat we die.

            But for the ancients, the heart symbolised mind, or thought, from the wicked mind of violence to the righteous thoughts of the blessed. The heart is a storehouse of memory; thinking happens in the heart, unless the heart is so hardened that a person’s judgement and personal relationships are closed off, for the kind of thinking done in the heart isn’t separate from feeling. Indeed, the thoughts of the heart must be informed by feeling, most especially the feeling of reverence towards God.

            Why undertake a course of study? To get a job, a ticket to work? If the subject has no likelihood of future prospects, how then are you spending your time? I came to the conclusion that cleansing the thoughts of the heart had something to do with it.

            The heart, in this ancient sense, can become fouled like the bottom of a boat covered in barnacles and seaweed. Our judgement can be clouded by regrets, uncompleted actions, wrong turnings, bad decisions, and even worse, the arrogance of an unrealistic sense of responsibility as if every matter in the universe needs to be referred to us for improvement. And a heart that thinks no wrong of itself is obviously out of touch with real life.

            Study forces you to clear out some debris. You have to refine ideas, to separate the strands and make choices. You may learn both how much you can do, and how little you can get by on. You may find friends in unexpected places, recover from betrayals, be given second chances, get up to fight another day. You can gather grains of wisdom.

            Cleansing the heart is a spiritual effort, informed by the spirit, leading to right reverence and clear thinking. Study, then, isn’t a matter for the intellect alone. Indeed, without love, we may say that study is empty, void at the heart. And love is never lost.

            I think we must inform the mind, or heart, as to our best love, to love what is worthy,

lovely, and sacred, apart from mere advantage and overcoming others. Look around the world, and away from yourself: imagine in your heart, how much there is to love.

           

On Orphaned Objects

In my work at the Carmelite Library I have a great deal to do with books that have lost their homes. Change through time causes convents, monasteries, even parishes to close, move, or downsize, resulting in boxes and boxes of drifting books. It’s a worthy effort, saving the libraries of the monastic houses. We rescue books and take them on board.

            Other books belong to the class of orphaned objects, whose owners have died or departed. Some astonishing collections appear: all the Icelandic sagas in the original, for instance. Some rare and precious volumes surface. Sometimes these have been rescued at the last minute from the tip; sometimes they’ve been donated by concerned heirs with no space to keep them.

            Orphaned objects confront everyone who has to clean up a deceased estate, or deal with the effects of a relation retired to a nursing home. They may be sentimental or family treasures, pure trash, valuable works of art, tools and dishes, clothing from bridal gowns (I had to find a home for my grandmother’s) to running shoes. The possessions of artists, writers and musicians hold works and manuscripts that might be welcomed in galleries or university archives, but could also be just as unsaleable as they were in their creator’s life. What to do then?

            Tragic things happen to orphaned objects. Oscar Wilde’s books were instantly auctioned as he was sent to prison, a beautiful collection of the most lovely and fabulous examples of bibliographic art, damaged or destroyed in the hasty selling, split up and sent all over the world. Someone loved and treasured many of the things whose aura vanished with the person.

            Living orphans include animals and plants. I think of a plant breeder whose vast number of unique specimens died as the heirs dealt first with his illness and death, then with grief and many other complications: the plants couldn’t survive the neglect. Orphaned animals need homes with great urgency. As I write this, sitting on my back veranda, an elderly dog lies beside me: he was orphaned when his owner had a stroke and then died, so fortunately her daughter found safe homes for her dogs.

            All things are mutable. But not all things are ever new. It’s best to keep what you love, and let go of as much attachment as you can. Sometimes new attractions can be provoked as the object passes to a recipient who recognises its specialness. It’s not always better to give than to receive. Receiving an orphaned object can be a blessing.

            It’s said that everything is a loan from God, and can be requested again at any time. Abandoning it all to trust may be the only answer. Orphaned objects have to find their own way in the world, and we can but hope that we will find, and be, good guides.

             

On Achievement and Accomplishment.

As I get older, reflections of the past appear to me, and it becomes so much clearer that sometimes things work, sometimes they do not. That sounds simple, but as the images cross my vision, I see how we play our roles in events — different roles at different times — and things we thought our unique responsibility or our own fault are often shared by others in the same roles.

            I have known crooks and players, saints and spectators, and many bewildered souls caught up in actions predictable or unpredictable, but often cyclic in nature. And here I include myself.

            Recently I read that to unclutter your house you must first determine your values in life. (I do need to declutter my house). A list of possible values was provided — a very long list — containing everything from love to money to achievement.  Among these possibilities, the word ‘achievement’ caught my eye. ‘Accomplishment’ wasn’t offered as a value. What, I wondered, is the difference between achievement and accomplishment?

            If achievement is the attainment of some great and noble effect, accomplishment seems to have a wider meaning. The dictionary describes accomplishment as a process, an act of completion or fulfilment — as, a promise or a prophecy — the Latin at the back of this is the word absolvo, which is literally to loosen — as, bonds — to give freedom, to acquit — as, of guilt — but also to relate or narrate: to tell the story.

            The Easter story of Jesus’ death and resurrection brings the question: did Jesus achieve the salvation of humanity, or did he accomplish it? To be sure, it was the great and noble deed. Yet his words, in St. John’s Gospel, ‘It is accomplished’ mean also fulfilled, perfected, absolutely done. So I think it is both.

            Not all of us can achieve greatness. But we can attain accomplishment. Another meaning of ‘an accomplishment’ is an art, skill or grace acquired by the perfecting of our abilities, leading to humanitas: true human feeling, kindness and refinement of human nature. Our faith in Jesus Christ is such an accomplishment, accompanied by grace: like art, music, and poetry, it leads to fulfilment of the meaning of human life, for ourselves and for others.

On Finishing A Thesis

My thesis was involved with benefaction. To explore the role of benefactors in the Mediterranean during the first century of the years of Our Lord, benefactions donated by powers and principalities of this world, I had to view the entire social, political, and economic situation dominated by Roman imperial rule. On finishing my thesis, I found my local political, social and economic situation changing, and it becomes more obvious that many of the features of that ancient civilisation are alive and well in the present era.

            We live in a time of high culture and technological development, so much that future generations may well look back on us with amazement. We also live in a time of extreme self-interest, greed, and corruption, and these features we share with the Roman world. In fact, my thesis taught me a good deal about how the world is constructed.

            This was a culture that valued power, celebrity and money. Sound familiar? Fame, or glory, was the driving desire of people who sought honour and exaggerated forms of respect every day of their lives. The dominant culture throughout the Roman world was actually Greek: it loved trips to the gym, sporting events, and competition. The great feature of interest was the physical body: beauty, bodily strength and physical skills. I think we see ourselves mirrored here.

            Many benefactions came as infrastructure: public buildings, roads, and aqueducts (the one built by Pontius Pilate using Temple funds caused a riot — put down with severity — in which many persons died). We see an emphasis on infrastructure today, accompanied by contempt of the land. Damage done to the earth by Roman mining methods can be seen from space.

            Although owning land was the chief means of wealth, money was important too. Taxes were heavy and money collected went straight to the top. In Palestine Herod the Great killed off traditional landowners and replaced them with money-hungry souls loyal solely to himself: he would level an ancient cemetery and ancestral tombs to build a city named for the Roman Emperor. Money pays troops, for one thing, and conquest and control were always in the Roman mind. Do we see an anything for money mentality today?

            More money, more power, more fame, more beauty, more strength leading to more money more power and more fame. In a situation of such high competitiveness, there was little mercy for the losers. “Money-lovers” is a term of contempt in the Bible. There are other values. The prophets can tell you about them.

            My thesis was a fascinating pilgrimage. It took me to some very strange places, and then it brought me back here to face the same situations and sins of humankind that have hardly changed throughout the ages.

On the Newness of the Year: A New Year's Wish.

I’ve recently started thinking about building a new door into my house, one that would lead directly out to the garden, so that neither I nor my elderly dog would have to climb the ramp to the back deck. This may never come to pass, due to lack of finances, but it touches off ideas about doors and gateways, entrances and exits, New Years and old ones.

            The Roman god Janus, who gave his name to January, was of course the god of beginnings as well as of gates. He held the key to the past as well as the future. He not only governed the gate, he was the gate, through which everyone passed into wise or dangerous times. So he was two-faced, naturally. So important was the gate, that Janus was invoked before all other gods, because what comes at the beginning is the first and thus most honoured,

            When we pass the gate of the New Year, do we really get a brand new year without any mistakes in it? What can we carry over the threshold? A lot seems to come with us. Egyptian Christians have appealed to the world that on this 31 December 2013 they’ll be attacked by their compatriots, bringing violence and destruction across the line from old year to new. That they can know the date is chilling; others have known the date before them and the world has done nothing to help. Should we feel pity and fear, as Aristotle said of tragedy, at the turning of each year? Instead of celebrating it with fireworks and champagne? Is the year ever new?

            In spite of danger and decline, people still are inspired to set New Year’s resolutions and try to carry them out. Why do we make so many mistakes, anyway?

Generally because we’re either half asleep, not paying proper attention, or full of expectations about our own alertness: probably both at the same time. We lack a clear assessment of our limitations. Our limitations travel with us, into the New Year for sure, and Proust seemed to believe that our mistakes and limitations defined our character: hence their repetitive nature.

            What chance do we have of realising our dreams, reaching our goals, slowing down, finding the love of our life, seeing the world, making a difference, or any of a hundred other designs and resolutions, in the New Year? Will we have time to take up painting and poetry for pleasure, like Noel Coward (in the midst of writing and performing in hit shows and films all year long)? Can we beget a dynasty? Will we put our financial house in order, mend the roof, forgive our enemies and move on? All of this is in process, and we do the best we can with it, taking our faults and failings with us as part of the ballast.

            Another one who, like Janus, not only controlled the gate, but is the gate, is Jesus, who in John’s Gospel spoke these words: “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” In contrast to those who steal, kill and destroy, Jesus carries across the threshold life, abundant life. All of our dreams, resolutions, emotions, ambitions, limitations and devotions amount to this: they are life. May you have, in the New Year, abundant life.