Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Breaking the Silence... In a conversation this morning with a writer-to-be new friend of mine, he wondered why he should write, why I write, why any of us should "break the silence of the universe." Why does this need to be told, he wondered, introducing me to several of his stories, each full of worthy characters and themes. He was responding in some degree to my oft-quoted Annie Dillard-ism that nobody really cares if you write or not, that the universe will get along nicely with or without the tome you're currently working on. I wish I could report that I gave him a basketful of upbeat reasons to rush home and dash out his narratives, but the truth is I didn't. What are the reasons? It's hard to say. An idea teases us, and we launch into as many wherefores as we can stand, from the idealistic (I'm changing the culture!) to the pragmatic (I'm buying a house!) to the prideful (I'm winning an Oscar!) to the religious (I'm being called!). But in the end, who can say why we stir, why we drag over to the computer, type out a word or two, hoping to get to the end of the sentence, the paragraph--the novel, for heaven's sake? The reasons to tear into the story may be legion, but the only one that really matters is the one that gets our fannies into the chair to actually put the words down. I find that from day to day, that one reason changes. Sometimes it's my family, the needs they have, both current and future. Sometimes it's a note from an obscure reader of Leaving Ruin ("Thank you for investing your heart and soul in your writing. Your labor of love has been a word of grace and hope to me." -- got that one a couple of weeks ago...). Other times it's a looming deadline and the promise of a paycheck. Every once in a while, it's sheer grace, some bit of prose showing up like a perfect fall day, asking no more of me than to simply catch it as it goes by. And then there are those days, like the last couple, when no reason seems quite compelling enough, and I drag my backside to the chair (why do I have trouble joining in the current, constant use of the word "butt"?), and nothing really happens. I click here and there, and hours pass, and I slink away from my job, having done nothing but spit out some bleak words that are far more reflective of my mood that the state of things (as I am fond of saying). But in the end, the silence of the universe is worth breaking. Is there anything as loud as the frank "thereness" of it all? Jesus said if the children of Israel stopped praising him, the rocks would cry out. And if the rocks (not to mention the mountains and seas) can't keep quiet, why should we? Back to the tomes... 12:45:51 PM   comment []

Sadness, Salvation The world seems sad. "Probably no more so than any other period," I often hear, and true enough, I suppose. But still, after morning headlines, after checking the usual media portals, and after conversations with friends new and old, I find myself returning to a basic question: how do we keep faith in these grieving times? It's not that we don't want to keep faith...we do. But the earthquake's here--the big one, feels like--and the ground of the world keeps shifting. There is sand beneath our feet, and steps have never been more unsure. The political season raises this sensation (at least in me) to a fever pitch, each candidate desperately selling, selling, selling their party's moral features and benefits, promising righteous action in spot ads and sound bytes. And all the while, as the material gap grows between rich and poor, the spiritual gap between the heart of God and the craving of the world remains constant, the one common possession of aristocracy, bourgeoisie, and beggar alike. I don't need to list the litany of grief in the paper--you see it every day just like I do. Are we stuck with this sadness, this loss, this suffering that often seems random, or worse, a deity gone maniacal? Thomas Merton once said that the answer to the question of salvation is much more than the answer to a question about how to get an eternal reward rather than an eternal punishment. In a time of peril, to be saved is to be caught back up into living, snatched from the very edge of death."Back up into living" means far more than your heart beating and your lungs filling and refilling--it means being brought back into the vast potential of aliveness, with all its triumph and disaster. In those moments (I conjecture here, not having scraped that close to death yet, except spiritually), joy and relief is the natural result, the sheer thrill of getting another day of life, another chance to see and touch what you love, another chance to join in the creation of things. Maybe the sadness is no more acute than it's ever been. Perhaps the challenge to keep faith is constant in its difficulty, the war against far more than flesh and blood. I suppose its no more than needing to be saved, profoundly, as always. We rejoice in our sufferings...? Romans 5 12:17:30 PM   comment []

© Copyright 2004 Jeff Berryman .