the sacrament of tenderness: a changing relationship with time

It is probably obvious to others, but has taken me a number of years to grasp that living in a tender and sacramental way requires unplugging from time as we know it. At least, the way I have known it. Following the rhythm and logic of the status quo trained me to be busy and anxious, believing harried is normal and natural, and frazzled is the inescapable condition of humanity. I know it has become a contemporary cliché to note that when asked "how are you?" most of us reply, "so busy!" That this is not true for most of creation's people rarely registers in our culture of conspicuous consumption, anxiety and workaholism.

My family used to wistfully say to me: "you are so much more fun to be around when you're on vacation!" For the longest time I held this sad truth inside me without quite knowing what to do about it. My mentors told me, "You already have all the time that there is; just learn to manage it." With regular time away for prayer and solitude, I felt more grounded and less anxious. But still I believed that being faithful and committed required a full calendar. What's more, while 21st century church leadership talk a good line about practicing self-care and spiritual balance for their clergy, just try constructing healthy boundaries and limits. Professional judgment and personal resentment is nearly inevitable. One of my spiritual directors put it to me like this when I was crashing in burn out 17 years ago: "Your chosen addiction - work - is celebrated and rewarded in our culture. Even in the church. So hold on to your hat because unplugging from the perpetual motion machine will not be pleasant for anyone." Man, was that all too true.

The double whammy for men as those working in the realm of men's spirituality know is that since the industrial revolution - and probably for a lot longer, too - our identity has been shaped by what we do. Work is our primary role. It is how others know who we are in the scheme of things; and how we, ourselves, define our presence in the world. Part of the opioid epidemic in the USA is directly related to the loss of well-paying jobs in manufacturing, mining and steel. Add to this job-related injuries and the over-prescription of oxycontin and you have a handle on part of the problem. And don't forget that 7 out of 10 suicides in the USA happen among white, middle age men.

The young, philosophical Marx spoke of this as alienation - being disconnected from meaningful work and relationships that heal the soul - we live like cogs in an assembly line. Productivity rather than being is what gives us value in this world - and therein lies the challenge for cultivating tenderness. Compassion and trust are born of relationships and relationships need time to ripen and blossom. They cannot be controlled nor can they be manufactured or rushed. Instead, they emerge in slow and quiet ways. To live into the sacrament of tenderness means unplugging from the time clock of our dominant culture.

Henri Nouwen wrote about this in his L'Arche reflection, Adam: God's Beloved. Before living at L'Arche Trosly - and later L'Arche Daybreak in Toronto - Nouwen felt frenzied trying to balance the demands of the academic community with his calling to pastoral care and prayer. In The Road to Daybreak: A Spiritual Journey, he sees and experiences a new way of living in time. Those sharing care for core members at L'Arche took all the time necessary for simple tasks given in love. So did core members themselves. External schedules became relative goals - especially if a person needed the loving presence of another trusted friend. When Nouwen became an assistant to Adam Amett at Daybreak, he, too, had to learn to live into this new relationship with time.  Accompanying Adam as he moved into the day meant following Adam's lead - not the clock. If it took all morning to do this, then that is what the day demanded. At first it was jarring. And exhausting. But with practice and prayer, conversation and trust, Nouwen gradually let go of the constraints of our 24/7 culture so that he might live into time simply, softly and tenderly.

Such has been my experience, too. It takes lots of quiet, unstructured and seemingly unproductive time to build relationships. Trust is never automatic nor should it be. That's why evening meals and prayer are essential. What I knew as a ministry of presence is normative: proximity and lots of free time is the only way we learn about one another in love. To live in the spirit of tenderness is counter cultural. To live it sacramentally, seeing the essence of God's grace in each moment and every act of compassion, is liberating. But it is slow going. To unlearn a lifelong addiction to productivity, external success and all the rest does not happen overnight. What I have experienced with my friends at L'Arche Ottawa is a gentle and patient relationship to time. Let God's quiet grace grow slowly. Be still and know that I am God. Today, I am so grateful that my friends at L'Arche Ottawa have welcomed me into this holy way of being.