Much ado about nothing
30/01/12 04:59
“And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” The question, translated in different ways, appears both in Matthew (6:27) and Luke (12:25). The point is clear: worry and fear are non-productive and, in many cases, unnecessary. I know this in my head. I have studied and sought to heed the advice of these words for most of my adult life.
And it is more than just a cerebral commitment for me. I have tried to incorporate these teachings into the deepest places in my life. For decades I have practiced centering prayer as a discipline and a lifestyle. I engage in a daily practice of releasing my fears and anxieties. And, in some moments of my life, I can be quite effective. Three weeks ago I had a dental procedure that is usually reserved for patients under general anesthesia. For more than an hour and a half, the surgeon worked, opening the tissue of my gum, cutting apart the last molar back on one side of my mouth and extracting it in two pieces. After the roots were removed, he packed the sockets with bone chips in a bone graft, covered the area with a special film and then drilled into the bone and installed an implant pin before carefully stitching up the tissue over the area. I was awake and alert for the entire procedure, though I had received sufficient local anesthesia to keep me from feeling pain. I simply went into my practice of deep and careful breathing, relaxing, and centering my thought. The time passed quickly for me without any worries or anxieties. The oral surgeon and his assistants kept remarking on how calm I was and how easy it was for them to do their work.
A number of years ago, when I was accidentally burned, I used centering prayer as a technique for pain control. When the dermatologist had to do a procedure, sometimes as painful as debriding the area to remove unhealthy tissue and sometimes as simple as changing a dressing, it caused quite a bit of pain. I would use my faith practice to divert my attention away from the pain. Sometimes I used visualization techniques. Often I focused on my breathing. Such techniques work, in part, because they are regularly practiced. After I had healed and was undergoing my final check-up with that particular dermatologist, he commented that he was impressed with how I could go into my “Zen” state and allow them to work on my burns. I responded that I didn’t know much about Zen, and that I would describe the practice as prayer, but that it really helped me cope with the discomfort.
What I am trying to say is that I have practiced relaxation and centering prayer carefully and diligently for decades and I know its power.
So why is it that I get inordinately anxious about certain things in my life?
Yesterday was the annual meeting of our congregation. It was a very routine annual meeting. The Department of Stewardship and Budget had worked long and diligently to produce a balanced budget that is realistic and well crafted. The nominations committee had a full slate of candidates for all of the positions. The moderator was well prepared and had a well-organized agenda. The Department of Hospitality had prepared the space and was serving fresh rolls and fruit. The congregation was seated comfortably at round tables and the attendance was good.
But I was uptight – really uptight. I didn’t even realize until it was all over how anxious I had been. I fretted and worried about possible dissention in the congregation. I thought of every possibility for one member to say angry words to another. I considered all kinds of parliamentary maneuvering that might hang up the meeting. I didn’t mean to think these things. I just did.
I care deeply about congregational processes. I believe, in the core of my being, that the ministry of the church belongs to the whole church. It is my duty as a pastor to listen carefully to the congregation and to reflect its priorities, wishes and concerns. I see every congregational meeting as an avenue of communication with me. I take all of them personally because I am personally responsible to the congregation. My calling is not just a job. The congregation doesn’t just evaluate adherence to a job description. I am called to be a pastor – to live the life of faithfulness in the midst of the congregation. It isn’t just what I do. It is who I am.
In a congregation the size of ours there is no moment when everyone is happy. We are a diverse and wondrously complex collection of individuals who see things differently, have different priorities and differing levels of commitment. I know some of the complaints that have been said about how things are going in our church. I have gone face-to-face with some of those who disagree with elements of my style as a pastor. I have sought to listen to those who are upset. It is possible that what I know is not the whole picture. By the time the meeting started yesterday, my head told me that things are going well with the church and that it is a good time to keep moving forward in the directions that we have set. But elsewhere, inside of me, I knew that there was room for surprises. It wasn’t that I feared a personal attack. It was that I feared that someone might inadvertently say something mean to another member of the congregation. Feelings can be hurt. Damage can be done. And I really care about these people.
“And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”
My fears were for naught. The Holy Spirit still blows through God’s people when they gather. I am not in control and I should not be in control.
Shakespeare got it right. When we allow our minds to wander off into all sorts of gossip, rumor and overhearing the best thing to do is to make a comedy of the entire situation and get us to laugh at ourselves. In addition to continuing practice of centering prayer I need another piece of advice: lighten up.
Although I couldn’t do it yesterday, this morning I am laughing at myself.
And it is more than just a cerebral commitment for me. I have tried to incorporate these teachings into the deepest places in my life. For decades I have practiced centering prayer as a discipline and a lifestyle. I engage in a daily practice of releasing my fears and anxieties. And, in some moments of my life, I can be quite effective. Three weeks ago I had a dental procedure that is usually reserved for patients under general anesthesia. For more than an hour and a half, the surgeon worked, opening the tissue of my gum, cutting apart the last molar back on one side of my mouth and extracting it in two pieces. After the roots were removed, he packed the sockets with bone chips in a bone graft, covered the area with a special film and then drilled into the bone and installed an implant pin before carefully stitching up the tissue over the area. I was awake and alert for the entire procedure, though I had received sufficient local anesthesia to keep me from feeling pain. I simply went into my practice of deep and careful breathing, relaxing, and centering my thought. The time passed quickly for me without any worries or anxieties. The oral surgeon and his assistants kept remarking on how calm I was and how easy it was for them to do their work.
A number of years ago, when I was accidentally burned, I used centering prayer as a technique for pain control. When the dermatologist had to do a procedure, sometimes as painful as debriding the area to remove unhealthy tissue and sometimes as simple as changing a dressing, it caused quite a bit of pain. I would use my faith practice to divert my attention away from the pain. Sometimes I used visualization techniques. Often I focused on my breathing. Such techniques work, in part, because they are regularly practiced. After I had healed and was undergoing my final check-up with that particular dermatologist, he commented that he was impressed with how I could go into my “Zen” state and allow them to work on my burns. I responded that I didn’t know much about Zen, and that I would describe the practice as prayer, but that it really helped me cope with the discomfort.
What I am trying to say is that I have practiced relaxation and centering prayer carefully and diligently for decades and I know its power.
So why is it that I get inordinately anxious about certain things in my life?
Yesterday was the annual meeting of our congregation. It was a very routine annual meeting. The Department of Stewardship and Budget had worked long and diligently to produce a balanced budget that is realistic and well crafted. The nominations committee had a full slate of candidates for all of the positions. The moderator was well prepared and had a well-organized agenda. The Department of Hospitality had prepared the space and was serving fresh rolls and fruit. The congregation was seated comfortably at round tables and the attendance was good.
But I was uptight – really uptight. I didn’t even realize until it was all over how anxious I had been. I fretted and worried about possible dissention in the congregation. I thought of every possibility for one member to say angry words to another. I considered all kinds of parliamentary maneuvering that might hang up the meeting. I didn’t mean to think these things. I just did.
I care deeply about congregational processes. I believe, in the core of my being, that the ministry of the church belongs to the whole church. It is my duty as a pastor to listen carefully to the congregation and to reflect its priorities, wishes and concerns. I see every congregational meeting as an avenue of communication with me. I take all of them personally because I am personally responsible to the congregation. My calling is not just a job. The congregation doesn’t just evaluate adherence to a job description. I am called to be a pastor – to live the life of faithfulness in the midst of the congregation. It isn’t just what I do. It is who I am.
In a congregation the size of ours there is no moment when everyone is happy. We are a diverse and wondrously complex collection of individuals who see things differently, have different priorities and differing levels of commitment. I know some of the complaints that have been said about how things are going in our church. I have gone face-to-face with some of those who disagree with elements of my style as a pastor. I have sought to listen to those who are upset. It is possible that what I know is not the whole picture. By the time the meeting started yesterday, my head told me that things are going well with the church and that it is a good time to keep moving forward in the directions that we have set. But elsewhere, inside of me, I knew that there was room for surprises. It wasn’t that I feared a personal attack. It was that I feared that someone might inadvertently say something mean to another member of the congregation. Feelings can be hurt. Damage can be done. And I really care about these people.
“And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”
My fears were for naught. The Holy Spirit still blows through God’s people when they gather. I am not in control and I should not be in control.
Shakespeare got it right. When we allow our minds to wander off into all sorts of gossip, rumor and overhearing the best thing to do is to make a comedy of the entire situation and get us to laugh at ourselves. In addition to continuing practice of centering prayer I need another piece of advice: lighten up.
Although I couldn’t do it yesterday, this morning I am laughing at myself.