Wish I could always be this peaceful!
Have
you ever been in the grip of something? Something that wouldn’t let go of you
or that you couldn’t let go of?
Have
you ever felt possessed or been obsessed by something? Or, after doing
something, asked, “Whatever possessed me to do this or that or the other thing?”
What
about being gripped by fear? Or overtaken by anger? Or grief? Or anxiety? Or
stress? Or lust—that is, an overwhelming desire to have something or someone?
Have
you had the experience of being in the grasp of infatuation—that is, something
that felt like love but was more like fear of being deprived of the object of
your attraction?
Have
you ever been possessed by an addiction—that is, something that once gave
pleasure but became more about fear of being deprived of it? We tend to think
of drugs or alcohol in this regard, but it may be something as ennobling as our
work, our convictions, our causes, even our compassion. (Yes, compassion! We
know compassion has “possessed” us when we experience burnout in its wake.)
Once
I was looking for the remote control and I became absolutely obsessed with
finding it right then and there. “What was that all about?” I wondered later.
Surely the margaritas earlier in the evening did not help. But there was
something more. As I get older, I misplace more things, I have greater
difficulty finding things, and I don’t like it one bit. I was gripped
temporarily by anger at myself, gripped for the moment by fear of losing my
faculties, gripped by anxiety over loss of control that the remote symbolizes
in our age. After all, it is called the remote control!
My
obsession with finding the remote alarmed Wade and some friends who had joined
us to watch a film together—and I apologized. Where was my Christian calm?
Where was my Buddhist detachment? What happened to my “spiritual” demeanor? I’m
a “propagandist” for the contemplative life, for God’s sake—why do I let the “things of this world”
trouble me so much?
Well,
you know, we’re all “works in progress,” as they say.
I
invite you to make a fist with one hand, as tight as you can. Put whatever
anger, stress, or fear you can into that fist. Do you feel the blood being
squeezed out of your hand along with all of its oxygen that feeds the cells?
Now
keep it clenched and, with the other hand, try to open it. No luck, huh? Now
release your fist slowly. Feel the blood flowing again, bringing
oxygen—breath—into its flesh. With your other hand, gently massage your hand,
caressing its palm, running fingers along the inside of the fingers that have
been clenched. Feel the pleasure of it. Take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. Take
another deep breath and imagine that breath coming into your heart and
radiating through your blood vessels to the palm of your hand, then to the tips
of your fingers.
Almost
all of us at one time or another become like clenched fists. The agenda of a
day may slowly constrict us. Worries at work may cramp us. Expectations of
others or of ourselves may constrain us. A diagnosis may confine us. Anxieties
about world events may restrain us. We need release.
Last week’s Midrash referenced one possessed by an unclean spirit. In an encounter
with Jesus, the unclean spirit convulses the man, screaming, and releases the
person from its grip. What may possess one person for a lifetime may possess
any of us for a moment. We all need release.
Nowadays
what was understood as unclean spirits are neatly catalogued by doctors and
therapists in diagnostic manuals. Treatments and medicine are prescribed. This gives
an illusion of control—knowing what it is, knowing what to do. But control is
not release. Jesus releases. He does not simply control.
Think
of the fist you just made. Your other hand may be able to control it, but to
open it requires another strategy that inspires the cooperation of the clenched
hand.
This
may be a new way to comprehend our selves as Christ’s body. Mystically we
breathe in his Spirit, even as he nourishes us and quenches our thirst. His
breath, body, and blood flow through us, unclenching our minds, our hearts, our
hands. Jesus is born again in us into a world desperately in need of release.
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Copyright © 2016 by Chris R. Glaser.
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I needed those words. Thanks. I receive them and allow it, again. I know it is how you have come as far for as long as you have. It's not habit. It's starting over. Again and again. Well, sometimes it seems like "continuing" but for me it seems like starting over again and again.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Chuck. Starting over and over could be seen as our personal revolutions, "turning, turning till we come out right," in the words of the old hymn. I am grateful that confession and forgiveness makes that possible, if only it's confession to and forgiveness of ourselves.
DeleteI needed this too Chris. Thank you.
ReplyDelete