Psalm 131 
Lord, I am not proud,
holding my head too high,
reaching beyond my grasp.
No, I am calm and tranquil
like a weaned child
resting in its mother’s arms:
my whole being at rest.
Let Israel rest in the Lord,
now and for ever.
Well, that’s sure not me talking. Here’s where the "beloved" interpretation of the Psalms I talked about a couple days ago, has it right. At best, we want to ask for, or long for, or humbly work toward these qualities. Here’s how Nan Merrill says it:
Help me to calm and quiet my soul,
like a child quieted at its mother’s breast,
like a child that is quieted,
be so my soul.
The weekend before Christmas, I feel like Martha of the Mary-Martha story (Luke 10:38). They are co-hosts of an impromptu reception for Jesus and his entourage. Mary gets all focused on what Jesus is saying in the living room, and Martha out back on the grill is herself steaming. "Tell her to help out," she demands of Jesus. He should know injustice when he sees it, right?
"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things," he replies. "There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."
Not how I would have said it, to be sure. But an important distinction. What do we spend our time on earth doing? Crossing items off our list? Or living out from the center?
How do we find our way back to the center, when we’re in the ice-fog of daily life? Isn’t it by calling out, like a voice in a Psalm, if you believe in being answered. Or by stopping and listening, if you believe that the answering voice comes from within.
My friend Margaret and I were talking over coffee yesterday about "mission." Margaret thought she didn’t have a mission, and I thought we all do, which, after defining terms, we ended up agreeing on. What we do with our hours and days, our to-do lists and our relationships, become our "mission," for better or worse.
What’s nice about religions of the "book," the Bible, is that they have texts to remind you of what you aspired to. You keep coming back to them. What’s not great is when the texts are wielded by someone other than you, someone who is unwise or even cruel. The people who are drawn to authority, and who become "authority," often are people who carry some pain.
Which is where other practices, like sitting and breathing, a la Thich Nhat Hanh, are so helpful. You come back to being "a child quieted at its mother’s breast," because it’s who you want to be for yourself.
It’s also probably who you want to be to others in the world, holding them close, and loving them for who they are, freeing them, challenging them to be fully themselves. No list-keeping required.
Lord, I am not proud,
holding my head too high,
reaching beyond my grasp.
No, I am calm and tranquil
like a weaned child
resting in its mother’s arms:
my whole being at rest.
Let Israel rest in the Lord,
now and for ever.
Well, that’s sure not me talking. Here’s where the "beloved" interpretation of the Psalms I talked about a couple days ago, has it right. At best, we want to ask for, or long for, or humbly work toward these qualities. Here’s how Nan Merrill says it:
Help me to calm and quiet my soul,
like a child quieted at its mother’s breast,
like a child that is quieted,
be so my soul.
The weekend before Christmas, I feel like Martha of the Mary-Martha story (Luke 10:38). They are co-hosts of an impromptu reception for Jesus and his entourage. Mary gets all focused on what Jesus is saying in the living room, and Martha out back on the grill is herself steaming. "Tell her to help out," she demands of Jesus. He should know injustice when he sees it, right?
"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things," he replies. "There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."
Not how I would have said it, to be sure. But an important distinction. What do we spend our time on earth doing? Crossing items off our list? Or living out from the center?
How do we find our way back to the center, when we’re in the ice-fog of daily life? Isn’t it by calling out, like a voice in a Psalm, if you believe in being answered. Or by stopping and listening, if you believe that the answering voice comes from within.
My friend Margaret and I were talking over coffee yesterday about "mission." Margaret thought she didn’t have a mission, and I thought we all do, which, after defining terms, we ended up agreeing on. What we do with our hours and days, our to-do lists and our relationships, become our "mission," for better or worse.
What’s nice about religions of the "book," the Bible, is that they have texts to remind you of what you aspired to. You keep coming back to them. What’s not great is when the texts are wielded by someone other than you, someone who is unwise or even cruel. The people who are drawn to authority, and who become "authority," often are people who carry some pain.
Which is where other practices, like sitting and breathing, a la Thich Nhat Hanh, are so helpful. You come back to being "a child quieted at its mother’s breast," because it’s who you want to be for yourself.
It’s also probably who you want to be to others in the world, holding them close, and loving them for who they are, freeing them, challenging them to be fully themselves. No list-keeping required.
.JPG)
.jpg){kind=link}
No comments:
Post a Comment