Month: July 2008

Some scenes in the movie Driving Miss Daisy depicted a household so quiet that the ticking clock was the most prominent sound.  I remember that sound from my grandmother’s house.  It is not that her house was always quiet. When I was a very little boy her house was filled with the joyous sounds of cousins gathered for their annual vacation reunions, and it never occurred to me that without our presence things might be different.  But later, as a teenager, I was stuck by the quiet.  Entering grandma’s house was eerily quiet.  The ticking of the mantle clock was the most prominent sound.  Sometimes a radio would be playing, but softly.  In the heat of the summer the whirring of a fan or two might be added, but that was about it.  It seemed both sad and boring to me.  I wondered how anyone could tolerate so much nothing.  Even into my adult years I wondered about the strange silence in the homes of the elderly whom I might visit.  Of course that excluded the Prescott’s whose deafness meant that we could hear their arguments and Lawrence Welk from two blocks away.  But I digress.  As I have begun my own evolution into the ranks of older people I’ve discovered something about the treasured value of silence.

There comes a time in every day when the sounds of radio, television, stereo or even human babbling do not provide entertainment, information or companionship but just noise.  In the summer time quiet of our house, with all the windows open, the sounds of birds, breezes in the trees, scolding squirrels, falling rain and the ebb and flow of the neighborhood become spiritual gifts of life and delight.  My mind becomes full of thoughts, both old and new, and the remembered presence of friends and loved ones with whom conversation has not yet ended though time, distance and even death have done their best to separate us.  What to my grandchildren and godchildren might seem like unbearably boring silence is to me filled with sounds, voices and images of resonant richness.

A few years ago our annual clergy conference was devoted to the theme of clergy wellness.  For several days we heard from experts and talked in our small groups about clergy wellness.  Almost all of it centered on spiritual and psychological practices intended to prevent burnout while strengthening our spiritual competencies as priests and pastors.  I offered up a comment on the last day during the wrap up session that got me into a lot of hot water then, and is still remembered by those whom I offended. 

I certainly don’t remember exactly what I said, but in general it had to do with the observation that we, as “embodied souls,” had only to look around the room to see that we had ignored an important element of clergy wellness, and that was physical well being.  As important as spiritual and emotional well being is, so is physical well being, and maybe we ought to spend a little time on that as well.

I might as well have shouted out “the seven words you can’t say on television” while tossing hand grenades into the group.

One offended colleague shouted that she already had enough to feel guilty about so what right did I have to add that to her burdens, and I think she spoke for many others.

I’m not exactly the paragon of physical fitness.  I hate exercising at the gym and more or less force myself to go a couple of times a week because if I don’t the pain in muscles damaged by accidents and surgery would be excruciating.  It’s my loving spouse who keeps us both on a diet high in vegetables, low in fatty meats and almost no high calorie low nutrition things like sweet rolls.  I have, however, been known to sneak over to the 7-11 for a Hostess Cupcake on occasion. 

The point is, we cannot achieve wellness in any sense if we don’t take on the task as a comprehensive whole.  A life of prayer, spiritual direction and psychological therapy does not add up to clergy wellness if it is practiced in the context of daily habits that destroy the body through muscular atrophy and caloric poisoning.

What brought all this to mind was a meeting held yesterday where I was reminded of that day.  Apparently the spear struck deep and stayed there.  Sometimes I feel like Jeremiah, but without his virtues.

 

Today is Canada Day.  I wonder how many Americans know that.  At least those of us in the northern tier should, especially if we tune into “As It Happens” from time-to-time.  I learned to lustily sing O Canada before the start of more than a few games in my younger days back in Minnesota.  It wasn’t until I moved away that I learned the last stanza was not “Let’s Play Hockey!”