THE THINGS THAT MAKE FOR PEACE II. "I Think Ya Done Me Some Good"

"Let us then pursue the things that make for peace and build up the common life." ~ Romans 14:19

Early in my ministry a young man phoned and asked if he could come in and talk to me. We made an appointment for later that day, and he spent about an hour in my office telling me about some things that were on his mind: mistakes he had made and some decisions he had before him. Later that evening he called to thank me and said, “I think ya done me some good!”

I remember this exchange (and those exact words) because it was the first of what has become a repeated experience over the years: I “helped” somebody primarily by sitting and listening. I don’t mean to be disingenuous; I probably contributed some humble skill in the “art of pastoral conversation” (as the title of one of my seminary texts had it), but, mostly, I listened.

And I’ve been on the other side of the desk, so to speak. Once or twice in the office of another professional listener, but more likely over a cup of coffee or glass of wine with a friend. And the load is lifted. (I have come to see this kind of therapy as almost mathematical: You have this weight you’re carrying around, you divide it in half and ask your friend to carry it with you.)

I suppose, dear reader, that this reflection strikes you as stating the obvious (and, indeed, I hope you have experienced this kind of restorative conversation), but it is such a basic item in the kit-bag of human interaction that I include it here as a part of this series: If the burden is heavy, find someone to talk to – either a professional whom you trust or, in the words of the old saying, “that’s what friends are for.”

I am blessed to live in a marriage in which Caryl and I talk to each other about anything and everything. Still, sometimes it seems as though one’s friend might add a needed perspective. And I remember the time when, after a rare “bad day,” Caryl was sharing her troubles with me. As I launched into a knowing reply, she interrupted me and said, “I don’t want you to fix it. I just want you to listen.” Physician, heal thyself.

And here’s another reason to seek out a friend:

I knocked today at my friend's door;
he answered, and I entered;
"I've the best possible reason for coming," I said.
"What's that?" he inquired.
"I've missed you."
I had no other reason.
I just wanted to stand up close,

shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart
with this, my friend.
We found it reason enough.

                        ~ Gerhard Frost

Next post: "The Anxiety Thermostat"

(Footnote: Clinical depression, of course, is another matter. Both as counselor and as friend I will sometimes suggest, “I think you should talk to your doctor.”)

THE THINGS THAT MAKE FOR PEACE

"Let us then pursue the things that make for peace and build up the common life." ~ Romans 14:19

I attended seminary during a time when our classes in pastoral counseling included a heavy emphasis on current psychological theories and therapeutic methods. Hanging out a shingle as a licensed therapist requires additional years of study and practice beyond the eight years of college and seminary, so we seminarians joked among ourselves that we were learning just enough psychology to be dangerous. I’m glad to report that we also learned the value and frequent necessity of referring parishioners to those licensed healers, recognizing the point at which – although one continues to walk with the parishioner as pastor – a more studied  knowledge of mental health and the healing of relationships is called for.

So, as is necessary in all callings and occupations, I know the limits of my training and abilities. However, as I look back over thirty-five years of ministry, I have discovered that some of those “Counseling 101” methods and techniques have actually been helpful and have stood me in good stead as I’ve sought – certainly imperfectly – to apply the communication arts as a husband, father, pastor, and friend.

In a series of posts to this web journal, I’m going to reflect on a number of these methods. (This is not just an academic exercise for me. I think these really work in everyday life, and I’m happy to endorse them.)

I. CAN WE TALK?

“If you are having a personal conflict with someone, and you go directly to that person and talk it out, it will never make the situation any worse, and it will probably make it better.”

I’ve put that sentence in quotes because it is exactly the way in which one of my mentors stated it to a group of young seminarians and college students. You might want to read it again. I think I have remembered it verbatim because I’ve applied it often through the years, and have always found it to be true.

True, yes, but not easy. It never really gets any easier to approach someone with, “I wonder if we could talk about what has happened between us…” (or some variation on that request). But the only thing harder than having an honest conversation about a problem in a relationship is not having the conversation.  Although I don’t want to give the impression that my life is peppered with these difficult occasions, I have found nine-and-a-half times out of ten that I have come away from such a session with a lighter heart and an easier mind – and a healed relationship. (The content of such conversations is, in part, what the rest of this series will be about.)

As with all of the tips in this series, this one assumes a basic level of mental health at work in both parties. As St. Paul advises, “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:18). Sometimes it may not be possible. But, “so far as it depends on you,” I recommend heartily this direct approach to reconciliation.

Next Post: “Ya Done Me Some Good!”      

DID I MENTION THAT I STUDIED AT OXFORD?

The very best continuing education experience I have had was two weeks at Keble College, Oxford, a few years ago. The subject was “The Eucharist,” the faculty was from Oxford and Yale, the student body (of about 25 people) was made up primarily of Lutherans, Episcopalians, (and even a few evangelicals) from the U.S., and, here’s the thing… it was in Oxford!

Caryl came along, we stayed in college rooms, and while I attended morning sessions, Caryl enjoyed the campus quad, walked the winding streets of Oxford, and enjoyed the cozy aisles of Blackwell’s Bookshop. In the afternoon and evenings we walked everywhere – to 900-year-old pubs, the Ashmolean Museum, the Thames River path, and concerts in the Sheldonian. Of course we visited the “Eagle and Child,” where Tolkien and C.S. Lewis met over pints to discuss their work; The Turf Tavern (Oxford’s oldest), where, supposedly, Bill Clinton “didn’t inhale;” and the “The Trout,” where the fictional Inspector Morse relaxed and pondered his latest murder case.

Yes I know, these are the reflections of a tourist, but, as the old saying goes, “everybody’s a tourist – only in different places.” (I’ve noticed that Brits who come to my native South Dakota expect to see “red Indians;” when I go to the UK  I’m unashamedly looking for the wattle and daub of Merry Olde England.) And a stay of two weeks resulted in a relaxed sense of residency rather than the anxiety of following a tour itinerary.

This experience has caused me to say to anyone who will listen: No matter what your occupation or vocation – doctor, lawyer, Indian chief – find a continuing ed. program in Oxford and sign up because .. it’s Oxford!

You can Google “Oxford summer,” or “Oxford continuing education.” And it doesn’t have to be study: most of the colleges have “Bed and Breakfast” accommodations – meaning you’re staying in a college dormitory and eating breakfast in “The Hall.” Here are a couple of interesting links: Keble College,  (click on “About Keble,” and “Conferences”). Oxford Continuing Education. 

Photos: Top: "The Hall," Keble College, Oxford

Bottom: "Mary and Joseph Teaching the Infant Jesus to Read," The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford

AHA!

Jonah Lehrer (who looks like he’s about seventeen in his profile picture) is the author of “Proust Was a Neuroscientist” and “How We Decide.” In his blog, The Frontal Cortex, he reports on a study of how bran activity is involved in the enjoyment of music:

Before a pattern can be desired by the brain, it must play hard to get. Music only excites us when it makes our auditory cortex struggle to uncover its order. If the music is too obvious, if its patterns are always present, it is annoyingly boring. This is why composers introduce the tonic note in the beginning of the song and then studiously avoid it until the end. The longer we are denied the pattern we expect, the greater the emotional release when the pattern returns, safe and sound. Our auditory cortex rejoices. It has found the order it has been looking for.

I find this fascinating in its own right, and it causes me to speculate on something I’ve discovered over the years: I love a good academic or theological lecture, and find I am most stimulated when I am challenged at the outer limits of my understanding. I wonder if this is when and how true learning takes place – when the brain is actively making connections between what is already there (in one’s brain) and something brand new, and that this connection is enhanced (as in the enjoyment of music) by the surprise factor. (The “aha!” of learning being the intellectual cousin of the emotional response to music.)

There seems also to be an obvious connection between the studies of the brain’s response to music and reports that the aging brain is kept healthy by continuing to learn new things and departing from routine (as reported in this recent New York Times article).

On a more mundane level, this is why the Saturday New York Times crossword is more enjoyable than Monday’s.

THIS GARDEN AND THE OTHER

R.S. Thomas, in his poetry as -- I assume -- in life, wrestled with doubt and the absence of God, but emerged with faith nonetheless (often seemingly in spite of himself). He would have agreed with contemporary theologian Douglas John Hall that "the Bible-writers will give up on the glory of God before they'll deny the reality of human suffering," and with the writer of the 23rd psalm that human life is, in fact, a walk in the valley of the shadow of death.

In his poem, "Geriatric," Thomas looks straight at these verities (although with "rheumy" eyes), and discovers that not even God escapes the reality of suffering; he is "torn" by the brambles, too. As is typical of Thomas, he expresses a hope that sounds faint, but is actually so deep that it is beyond our ability to completely grasp.

(At the risk of providing cues that are an insult to the reader's intelligence: Charcot and Meniere are, like Alzheimer's, diseases. "Rabbi Ben Ezra" is the source of Robert Browning's line, "Grow old along with me! / The best is yet to be....")

GERIATRIC

What god is proud
      of this garden
of dead flowers, this underwater
      grotto of humanity,
where limbs wave in invisible
      currents, faces drooping
on dry stalks, voices clawing
      in a last desperate effort
to retain hold? Despite withered
      petals, I recognise
the species: Charcot, Meniere,
      Alzheimer. There are no gardeners
here, caretakers only
      of reason overgrown
by confusion. This body once,
      when it was in bud,
opened to love's kisses. These eyes,
      cloudy with rheum,
were clear pebbles that love's rivulet
      hurried over. Is this
the best Rabbi Ben Ezra
      promised? I come away
comforting myself, as I can,
      that there is another
garden, all dew and fragrance,
      and that these are the brambles
about it we are caught in,
      a sacrifice prepared
by a torn god to a love fiercer
      than we can understand.

As I write, I have two friends walking into the valley's shadow, caught in the brambles. Here's to green pastures and the fragrance of that other garden.

Douglas John Hall quote (from memory) from God and Human Suffering, Augsburg, 1986

The poem, "Geriatric," from No Truce With the Furies, by R.S. Thomas, Bloodaxe Books, 1995

More on R. S. Thomas here.

A FAIR BALANCE

Although there is nothing especially biblical about capitalism, it has been raised to the level of an inerrant religion among some economic and political communities of this and other nations. (And why, I wonder, this curious link between what might be called conservative Christianity and conservative capitalism, when a literal reading of the New Testament calls for an economy that sounds like communism or socialism?) Therefore it may be appropriate to point out that the adherents of capitalism apply the same pick-and-choose literalism to their holy book (Adam Smith) as many Christians do to the Bible (as discussed in an earlier post). One oft-cited case in point is the recent bail-out of high stakes bankers and investors (including the subsidizing of enormous bonuses for those who lost the money). Ironically, truly conservative capitalist thinkers point out that this violates capitalism's tenet of "moral hazard," which holds that the only way to keep a capitalist honest is if true risk is involved. Those who proposed (perhaps for good reason) and those who accepted the rescue money must of necessity overlook this aspect of capitalism.

Another conveniently overlooked part of Adam Smith's work has to do with fair taxation. The "no-new-taxes" crowd of politicians (including our Minnesota governor Pawlenty) are simply catering to our selfishness. The idea of fair taxation -- or the degree to which taxation contributes to the good of a balanced society -- is never mentioned. Adam Smith, however (in a recent "interview" in Salon.com), states directly that

It is not very unreasonable that the rich should contribute to the public expense, not only in proportion to their revenue, but something more than in that proportion.

(Smith, in "The Wealth of Nations" as well as "The Theory of Moral Sentiments" also suggests that the rich will want to care for the poor simply as a matter of kindness and charity, but one recent study has shown that 80% of estates valued at a million dollars or more give nothing to charity.)

When comparing the economic and social systems of today with those of Jesus' time, it is appropriate for Christians to consider taxation as being included in our theology and practice of stewardship, and to see both our taxes and our church contributions as parts of the same whole: care for the poor and the good of society. To this point, St. Paul agrees with "St. Adam Smith" when, to the Corinthians, Paul writes (speaking of his appeal for contributions for the poor),

I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure on you, but it is a question of a fair balance between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may be for your need, in order that there may be a fair balance. As it is written, "The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little." (2 Corinthians 8:13-15)

I emphasize that I am speaking of Christian stewardship here, and do not mean to imply that a Christian analysis of capitalism necessarily applies to citizens in general. But to the degree that a citizen or a political leader claims a Christian basis or a Christian audience, it is wrong-headed or cynical to undergird a politics of no new taxes with an appeal to Christian faith. And, seductive as it may be to promote the lowest tax possible, let us call that philosophy what it is. There is nothing Christian about it. It is selfishness. (Which is a different matter entirely than what Adam Smith meant by "self-interest.")

How selfish soever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature which interest him in the fortune of others and render their happiness necessary to him though he derives nothing from it except the pleasure of seeing it. ~ Adam Smith, "The Theory of Moral Sentiments" (1759)

A MERRY COWBOY CHRISTMAS

For the last few years -- off and on -- my friend Warren and I have collaborated in a Christmas carol project. I write the lyrics and he writes the music. We've produced six or eight of them, and it's a lot of fun. (You can order a CD of these and other original carols from Warren's web site, here.)

Here's one I started a few years ago, but I haven't submitted it to War because I don't think it's really a carol. (I'm not sure what it is.) For now, as here in the midwest we await a great blizzard, it's my blog Christmas card and a prayer that all travelers make it safely home:

It had been the wrong time to be heading for town,
with the wind coming up and the snow coming down;
but, then, it was Christmas, it’d been a lean year –

and he wouldn’t let weather or a few wind-whipped tears

keep him from playing the Santa Claus fool….

Now he’s tryin’ to beat winter back home.

The drift was too high for the old pick-up truck,

so he’d saddled up Star and whistled for luck,

whistled “God Rest Ye” right into the gale,

but the only sound heard on the wind’s lonesome wail

was one little bell he had tied to the mane

of the pony before leaving home.

That dress in the window – he’d been just in time.

The toy at the dime store – he’d waited in line.

Everything closing – the roads piling deep,

still twenty miles – he hopes they’re asleep.

(Though he wished he had told her he was out here alone –

that he’s trying to make it back home).

Gifts of the magi in two saddle bags –

but this wise man’s just lost his way.

The sound of a little bell over the wind.

Will this cowboy be home Christmas Day?

Now the pony’s ahead and he’s fallen behind;

he stumbles in snowdrifts and prays for the sign

of those first Christmas cowboys who, lost in the night,

followed a star to the birth of the light.

As he falls, there’s a bell, and the warmth of the breath

of a pony to lead him back home.

And all he remembers, on each Christmas Eve,

is the feel of his cold fingers making a weave

in the pony’s warm mane – he was too weak to ride

but hung on for dear life at that dear pony’s side –

Then: a light in the window, the cry of a child,

the arms of a woman, and home.

Gifts of the magi in two saddle bags.

A wise man who can’t find his way.

The sound of a little bell over the wind,

and daddy is home Christmas Day.

And a pony named Star led the way.

© 2009, Richard L. Jorgensen