Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=1205
While spending some time in LA I was asked by someone what the goal of my work was. Or rather, what I was wanting to offer people through the collectives I was helping to establish. This is a question that I have been reflecting on a lot recently.
Some of these reflections have been fed by Freud’s potent comment that he sought to transform human misery into general unhappiness. This goal can seem quite depressing at first glance. However I think that there is also something profoundly powerful nestled in this modest aim. Freud never offered people the usual snake oil. He never claimed that if we just follow a certain dogma, engage in a prescribed set of practices, buy a particular product etc. we would banish depression and find happiness and fulfilment. Rather he merely held out the possibility that we might be able to face up to life in all of its beauty and horror. Embracing it by saying “yes” when it would be so easy to say “no”. He helped people face up to their trauma’s and bear their weight. Indeed he pointed to ways in which we might be able to turn them to our own benefit.
Occasionally churches offer potential converts a life of fulfilment and happiness in exchange for answering an altar call and engaging in some spiritual practices. And indeed often ecstasy of some kind accompanies the initial response to an altar call. An ecstasy however that tends to dissipate quickly, leaving the new convert to attempt ever more bizarre practices to return to the initial high.
In the collectives that I am part of such promises are avoided. Rather the good news comes down to offering people the possibility of facing up to their suffering and darkness and sharing them with others in some (often ritualistic) way. The good news is found in offering those present the space to face their anxieties (rather than repressing them or falling into dispair) and develop the courage to embrace them. This of course is not something that brings in the masses. Stadiums are more often filled by smiling men in good suits offering a lot more (in exchange for a little cash).
This is a subject that I shall be exploring more in the coming years. But for now I will leave you with this parable from The Orthodox Heretic which hints at what I think the good news might look like (click here for another parables, not my own, which also touches on this issue).
There was once an old man named Benoni who had known great misfortune through life, having lost his wife and children to poverty, disease, and war. The many lines on his face betrayed his pain, and his heart was filled with sorrow and regret. Indeed he barely had the strength to carry on.
But there was one who had drawn alongside him in his sorrow. His comforter was the village blacksmith, a strong but caring man who exhibited a gentle, humble, and charitable way of life. People knew very little about this blacksmith, as he was a quiet man who had moved into the town only a few years before. Yet he was well liked by the community and would often be found sitting on the porch of his workshop, enjoying the midday sun and passing the time by engaging strangers in conversation. His face was strong and full of character, betraying both a depth of spirit and a breadth of experience. But it was also a kindly face that was set alight by his compassionate smile.
When Benoni lost his first child, the blacksmith called round to his home, put his hand on Benoni’s shoulder and with great affection said, “I am so sorry that you have suffered this grave misfortune. If you will allow me, I would like to stand with you at this time of hardship.”
Ever since this first encounter the blacksmith had called round to Benoni’s house most evenings, sometimes to sit and chat, sometimes to listen, and sometimes simply to leave food and other provisions. As each new calamity befell Benoni, the blacksmith would be there to speak and cry with.
One day when Benoni was particularly depressed he went to visit a pastor who lived in the heart of the city, so as to talk through what had taken place over the traumatic years and try to make sense of it. The pastor listened to what Benoni had to say and then, after a little thought, replied, “Well my son, in order for great fortune to take place one must first suffer great misfortune. The suffering you have faced is the price that has had to be extracted for strength of character, and a spirit forged in the fires of hell.”
So Benoni returned to his home alone, lit a fire in an attempt to take away the evening’s chill, and contemplated the words of the minister. Perhaps he is right, thought Benoni, maybe I should take some comfort from these words. But it is cold, I am alone, and words can offer no shoulder to rest on.”
Just then the blacksmith knocked on the door and Benoni, as always, welcomed him in. As they sat together they drank whiskey and talked long into the night. That evening Benoni shared the words of the pastor with his friend, adding, “Perhaps now that I have been given these words to comfort me, you no longer need to visit as you have done this last year.”
The blacksmith simply looked at the floor for a few moments and then replied, “My dear friend, if what the elder has said is true then I am needed all the more, for if you had to suffer such great misfortune in order to find strength of character and wealth of spirit, then this is in itself a great misfortune.”
And so they sat late into the night bringing comfort and warmth to each other through the sharing of their lives.
Posted at 17:42 |
Link to this post
