Response to the Tenth Month 2005 Query by Jean Jones Andersen
THE PEACE TESTIMONY
“Do you live in the virtue of the life and power which takes away the occasion of all wars?”
Well, what does “occasion war”? No use looking in history books, because “history is written by the winners,” and winners tend to rationalize their own motives. So I have to ask “what occasions war in my spirit?” And then, “what takes away those occasions?”
First to mind come words like injustice, irresponsibility, incompetence – and direct threats to my well-being, as when someone invades my privacy, abuses or imposes on me. Anger often comes from finding I need to say “No”to a request (“They might not like me!”); or having to acknowledge my own limitations, and the fact that I neither can nor should “do it all” myself; or from resentment that, instead of being appreciated for what I’ve already accomplished, I’m asked to do more. That’s Ego, pouting. I don’t advocate being a doormat: one should protest injustice. There’s nothing wrong in any case with saying: “No, thanks, I don’t feel called to do that.” It isn’t a crime for people to ask, and I could just as easily see it as a compliment. Logically, there is no call for rage. Anger is usually a projection of an insecure Ego: it’s easier to rage at “them” than to change my behavior or expectations.
And what is “the virtue of the life and power” which would enable me to do that? Virtue: from Latin virtu: courage, strength, and (under the “old dispensation”) manliness – i.e., not some prim or passive sort of righteousness but an active, decisive courage mobilized by the strength of one’s convictions. OK, but what’s the “life and power” that has, or confers, that sort of virtue? What is it that, on occasion, has allowed me to decide and act with patience and perseverance? Of one thing I’m fairly sure: it’s not Ego. Ego will inevitably “cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war” because it feels threatened and inadequate – as of course it is! Ego, in the mode of rugged individualism, is like a human standing at the low tide mark and presuming to hold back a tsunami. To Ego’s fear is added the frustration of utter futility: of course it erupts in fury. Trying to repress it is like trying to cork Krakatoa! And so will I ever do, if I rely on my own “life and power.”
So what’s the alternative? Like small landholders in the days of feudalism, Ego really does need a “liege lord.” Jesus is the paradigm, the model of what it’s like to live that way. It was consoling, for much of my life, to project that “Lord” onto Jesus of Nazareth, rather than recognizing Jesus also as subject to God as Lord. When projection is no longer intellectually valid, the opposite temptation is for Ego to “swallow the archetype”: become inflated with the idea that I/Ego on its own can do what Jesus did. But Jesus never “did that” from Ego-strength! It was no easier for him than for any of us to persuade his Ego to submit, to acknowledge the lordship of the One, Holy Unity, Yahweh–God by whatever name one knows! Paul’s phrase, “I live, but no longer I, but Christ lives in me,” provides a clue: the strength/virtue of “that of God within” is the life-line, the “hot line” to Holy Unity, whose life I manifest here on Earth, as does every other being. That Life belongs to God, not to Ego. “My privacy” is a specious idea: my very life is simply a tool, an instrument, to be used and spent at the will God. If Ego feels challenged and demoted, perhaps it can be reassured by realizing that the Life which it is at such pains to defend is already immortal–existed before Creation and will endure beyond it–and is not in danger. All that is required of me, of any of us, is in this instant to acknowledge the One to whom we belong; for God is the life that flows through every moment of my mortal existence. The power of that Life is potency, not domination. When I stay grounded in Holy Unity, that potency can safely flow through me to do whatever is needed in the situation, whether it is to live or to die. But if I try to climb some Ego-tower and grab hold of the high-tension wires, bad things happen: I get fried, as does everybody connected to me! So, if my Ego can let go of its obstinate individualism and live in the virtue of that Life and Potency that is my Lord, it can relax in the confidence that nothing will be asked of it which it will not be given the capacity to do.
This isn’t a matter of beating Ego into submission: every time I try that (too often!), it turns into a masochistic drama of Ego beating on itself, trying to prove how humble it is. “Bah, humbug!” The Creator is both loving and intelligent enough to leave human will always free in its relation to God. My service, my ministry, is requested, not required: “your mission, should you choose to accept it…” And within the limits of our comprehension, I want to say it’s always informed consent, too. Ego is permitted to be afraid and need explanations and reassurance, is even encouraged to plan carefully and not be rash: that’s its job! The Angel waits until “that of God within” can calm Ego’s anxiety. Mary’s “Be it unto me according to your word” was neither coerced nor naive. Jesus didn’t have to go to Jerusalem at Passover time that year. Even in Gethsemane, Jesus could have headed for the hills; but he was empowered to stand fast, to wait; and his sole response to Pilate was: “You could have no power over me except it were given you from above.” What Jesus does is to trust that Potency over every manifestation of human dominance. “Perfect love casts out fear” – it’s God’s love that is perfect and casts out fear, not my little mortal attachments. A human lifetime is a short course in learning how to trust THAT Love, enough to be willing to be used by it, so that my human/Ego fears, frustration and fury can be transformed into the potency of God’s love.
So: the next time I’m tempted to use my “inner meat-axe” to kill a spider, I might want to look more carefully at the Spider as God’s web-spinner, and hear the gentle voice that says: “Here–sheathe it here: in my side.”
“Do you work to make your peace testimony a reality in your life and in your world?”
The BYM material relating to this part of the query warns that procrastination, indifference, and timidity work against the peace testimony; and that attitudes of justice and compassion are requisite to it.
I find myself most often uncomfortable in this regard when I hear of all the things that other people are doing. I think perhaps I should be more active in projects directly targeted at public issues of peace and justice. Those concerns aren’t always very present in my prayer life; and there are many vigils in which I have not participated (when I could have done so); many letters I have not written; e-mail petitions I have neither signed nor forwarded; decisions that I made without considering alternatives in the light of peace and justice. When I do write letters of protest, they often sound like judgmental diatribes. Even granting that the behavior I deplore really requires strong objection, scapegoating some distant “Other” may be more comfortable than exploring how I am implicated in, or benefitting from, the status quo; but the “Ain’t It Awful” game is inevitably counterproductive.
It’s easy to get overwhelmed by all the data about tragedies all over the world. Media emphasis on disaster invites viewers to become apathetic, bitter, cynical, indifferent: the ethnic cleansing in Darfour, the generations-long strife between Palestinians and Jews, the famine in Niger, jihads directed against crimes instigated by our own country, and the centuries-long injustice just unveiled by Katrina’s ravages — how do you go about “making peace” in situations like those?? What on earth can one person do, anyway?
Understandable as this overwhelmedment is, inertia has little to do with either compassion or justice. We are called to “suffer with” – that’s the model we’re given in the incarnation. “That of God” within each of us is here to “weep with those who weep” – and “rejoice with those who rejoice.” The key, I suspect, is to realize that this charge calls me out of my comfortable cocoon where I encounter mostly like-minded f/Friends. I’m supposed to empathize with (which means knowing) the folks on my street whose names I’ve not learned in nearly 12 years of residence; it means making opportunities to meet actual persons from different sections of Richmond, and experience their concerns as “ours,” not just “theirs.” It means doing something about the refugees from Katrina–not just turning off the TV when the images are too heart-rending. None of this is easy for an introvert!
Nor is that the end of it: the query isn’t about finding some little thing I can do to make myself feel less guilty. Guilt and “should” just seem to produce the sort of philanthropy that says “Thank God I’m not like those poor slobs,” and throws alms to get rid of “them.” What changes things, for me, is a sense of possibility, an excitement about Way opening, about being “in on” a movement that might actually increase the justice in our world. I tell myself, and believe, that any movement or growth must start with the individual–but that shouldn’t be where it stops. Nelson Mandela and Gandhi and Mother Teresa and Brother Roger are modern saints– but they’d be unknown if they’d worked entirely alone or focused solely on their personal spiritual growth. So: I may reexamine my checkbook and my calendar to see how I might live in more conscious solidarity with those around me – but I’ll also follow the guidance of the Peace Education and Social Concerns Committee, the Richmond Peace Education Center, AFSC and NCL, and other trustworthy groups that can channel my energy and efforts productively – and I’ll write those letters in pairs: one commending somebody for their peace and justice activities for every one of protest.
Do you weigh your day-to-day activities for their effect on peace-keeping, conflict resolution, and the elimination of violence?
This part of the query prompts me to consider what are my “daily activities”? As of this summer, my morning walk is certainly one. One week’s walking taught me the value of using walk-time to reflect on a Query or issue rather than just letting my mind wander. The remainder of most days during the academic year is involved with preparing for, facilitating, and evaluating group sessions–study, writing, cooking and interactions. House and garden tasks fit in around the edges.
A couple of things I’m learning: one is not to be too attached to Ego’s decisions about what the day is going to bring. A corollary is that I don’t have to achieve, and shouldn’t expect, Ego’s vision of “perfection” to be accomplished. That’s a precautionary attitude, lest I fly off the handle when the inevitable happens and my plans get derailed. There are an awful lot of unpredictables and imponderables in even the least significant human endeavor, but we do get direction if we “have our ears up.” The garden continually teaches me that Obedience is to put myself in the presence of the task, and allow the Work itself to energize me and guide my hands. It also teaches me that, left untended even for a very brief time, the Work gets so overgrown with monstrous weeds that you can’t even tell I’ve been there! That kind of faithfulness, that kind of trust in the Guide, is the discipline I’d like to apply to other areas of my life as well.
Another learning is to work with others toward clearness before I go off half-cocked with some notion or other. At least for me, as an Introvert, Ego has to be coaxed and even nudged to go out and play. Even once out of the door, it’s apt to go off alone: tumbling through the day operating on its own guidance system, which is typically myopic and all too often in cahoots with “Murphy,” if not actually malevolent! It’s a continual surprise to me that sharing the Work with others can actually be energizing–at least for a while. My cells don’t seem able to bear the full charge of extraverting for any great length of time: I suspect I’ll always have to step back to assimilate and integrate the Leading that comes through other people. So part of the discipline for me is to find a good balance: not to take on more extraverted assignments than I can say grace over, but to accept enough to make me useful.
I think this involves slowing down sufficiently to be truly intentional about my choices and mindful in my behavior. While I was ruminating about this query, I got so caught up in complexities it suggested that I literally got lost – two blocks from home, on streets I’ve walked every day for months. Even after reading street signs, I turned and went in precisely the wrong direction. The confusion continued until I finally stopped and asked aloud: “Where am I??” Without that sort of check-in throughout the day, I lose my inner sense of peace, become conflicted – and soon thereafter my feelings, if not my actual behavior, are definitely violent. My hope is that taking time to thank both Brother Ego and Sister Body for their service in a given task, before I race on to the next one, will pacify their rebellion and allow Self’s invitation to be heard.
I think, if I’m neither to flame out nor to freak out, there must be not so much a static balance as a constantly moving dance between receiving and giving extraverted energy on the one hand, and recharging and tuning introverted energy on the other. Ego has to spend as much time as it needs to go deep within, to lay its offering on the altar of Self, of the Christ archetype, and to wait there – waiting is crucial: to wait there until those offerings are cleansed, molded, chiseled, honed, sanctified, and returned as proper tools for a new assignment. These waiting times are not passive or easy. Whether they last months or mere nanoseconds, neither Self nor Ego is exempt during the wait from anxiety, from anticipatory grief, from pain, from the blood, sweat and tears of the Passion.
How do these ruminations affect activities of my daily life? Significantly, it seems not to be about laying out a minute-by-minute discipline which Ego can either inflate itself by trying to follow it, get frustrated by failing to follow, or rebel against counterdependently. Incarnational reality, I think, requires that I be conscious enough of Chronos (extraverted clock-time) to estimate fairly how much Kairos (introverted grace-time) I’ll need to have “banked” to support any endeavor I consider adding to my calendar.
“Are you working toward eliminating aggression at all levels, from the personal to the international?”
Reading reports of the devastation in Louisiana and Alabama from Hurricane Katrina, I’m realizing how hard it is accurately to remember how miserable it was, after Isabel, just to be without electricity for a couple of weeks: how the heat bothered me, and the noise, and the inability to sleep, and the exhaustion, and to some extent a very unaccustomed boredom. When you’re tired and you can’t sleep, and there’s no power for any distractions (reading, music, TV), and lighting candles just increases heat which is already intolerable, the emotions get short-circuited and flame out in anger. Individuals tend to get isolated, too, cut off from normal support systems both physically and via communication links. In the Katrina disaster area, people don’t even have their houses left: herded together in a huge sports arena, they had no cooling, no food, little water, no sanitation for nearly a week. Though Isabel was a hassle for us, our stores got ice and water shipments, we could buy food, and those with gas grills cooked and shared thawing freezer foods for neighbors. We had roads and gas: we could get necessities–or even escape the area, if we were so inclined. Katrina’s refugees have none of that, and have lost not only possessions but family members as well. They must rely on what’s supplied by inadequate and dilatory emergency services, and many of them couldn’t even access that.
My initial reaction when I saw the headline in the paper, “Our Tsunami,” was that it was like comparing some “gang rumble” to the Holocaust: out of all proportion. But as I remember my own experience, I question that knee-jerk judgment. When an individual or community is struck by devastation like that, there isn’t any sense of proportion or history. With no communication, you feel no support from the rest of the world, don’t know of aid that is perhaps being mobilized on your behalf. It’s hard to be conscious of anything beyond your present personal misery: your world shrinks to a black hole devoid of comfort or hope. What strikes me now is that, if and when things do return to what we’re pleased to call “normal,” we forget so fast what it was like to be plunged back to that atavistic Reactive level, where we are helpless and vulnerable to powers we can neither predict nor control nor escape. When neither fight nor flight is feasible, and all your senses reject denial, there’s a sort of paralysis of the decision-making faculties of thought and will: you sink into the catatonic stupor of your absolute abandonment. But that’s not a static condition: if you don’t die of it pretty soon, the whole crisis reaches some sort of nuclear reaction point where an explosion is inevitable. The only question is academic: what form it will take. What may seem at a distance to be irrational outrage is all too understandable when one realizes how much human tragedy could and should have been avoided by evacuation plans including transportation for the aged, the disabled, the institutionalized, those who have no cars or money for gas. As one Friend pointed out, the problems of the poor were not created by Katrina: they’ve been festering for centuries, and now stand pitilessly revealed along with the shocking inadequacy of government assistance. Injustice added to tragedy sparks violence: how can anyone be surprised?
In a “civilized” society such as ours, is aggression the result of primal but largely unconscious urge to try to protect ourselves against disaster? Within our lifetimes and tribal memories most of us, in this country, have been relatively safe from natural disasters and (thus far!) from war and other human-induced catastrophes on our own streets. In recent centuries scientific advances have led us to feel less at the mercy even of disease. Our “defenses” have become more symbolic, and less pragmatic. We’ve clawed our way up the values ladder to the point where somehow symbols of “success” make us feel invulnerable. We brag about our “progress” even while we build bulwarks of trivia to protect ourselves from terror! When we’re caught in this “compound mentality,” what we react against is any prophetic word that our dikes will not hold against the coming deluge; the slightest whiff of consciousness that would reveal the obvious: that all our aggregation of possessions merely gives us more to lose.
Mutant Message Down Under may not be “factual,” but it is certainly a good parable – a challenging alternative to our futile reliance on materialism and technology. I’d be as reluctant as anyone to give up my “mod cons,” starting with water; and this summer’s experience with a leaking roof gave me a tiny taste of what it means to lack adequate shelter. I think it’s “not good” for a people to be fearless, to conceive of ourselves as invincible and invulnerable, because it strips us of empathy and compassion. I think it enables otherwise “normal” human beings to commit, against a designated “enemy,” acts of brutality which would be literally unthinkable if we had not been brain-washed into an utterly artificial we/they dichotomy in which the survival interests of two groups of people are presented as mutually exclusive rather than utterly interdependent. If we have trouble recognizing other humans as part of “us,” how much more difficult is it for us to recognize other creatures–and indeed Earth itself–as peers without whom we cannot survive?
What I know from my own experience is that it has been my times of devastation that have begun to sensitize me (introvert that I am) to the needs and wants of others. And not only in times of distress: in good times we need affirmation, approval, even applause that can bolster our sense of OK-ness, so that when times of disaster come (as they must), we’ll be more psychologically capable of survival.
Part of our collective problem may be that we’ve become so inured to constant doses of “bad news” that we don’t even listen any more. I’ve heard friends comment that they no longer watch or read the news because it’s “too depressing.” So instead of our hearts becoming tenderized, they become insulated and isolated. Under the general rubric that prayer changes the pray-er, what might happen if each of us, instead of turning a deaf ear and a blind eye to the trials and tribulations of our sisters and brothers, were to take even a little time each day consciously to hold in the Light all those situations that are brought to our attention, where Creation in any form is in pain? What if we were to hold ourselves consciously available for God’s use, even for just a moment – I don’t think God requires a huge opening! – and be willing to be shown what we can do? What part of the Great Work “belongs” to me, individually; what can I do this day to collaborate with what Holy Unity is already doing in the situation? Some days, maybe most days, all that’s required or possible is the moment, the intention. In human terms, it may take a really long time of increasing willingness for me to become fit to be used: for my eyes and ears to be opened enough to get the message. We’re not being asked – and we’ve been promised that we won’t be asked – for more than we’re able and willing to give.
So my prayer, and my intent as I make the dozens of choices involved in my daily activities, is to become more tender, more available, more willing, and more conscious of how Holy Unity might use those choices to teach me to “weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice.”
Jean Jones Andersen