counter-cultural balance: part one...

Those who know me well will know why I appreciate this poem: it speaks of an embodied tenderness - the fruits of contemplation - and a way of being in the world that shares and then strengthens love.

Poem with an Embedded Line by Susan Cohen by Barbara Crooker

When the evening newscast leads to despair,
when my Facebook feed raises my blood pressure,
when I can't listen to NPR anymore,
I turn to the sky, blooming like chicory,
its dearth of clouds, its vast blue endlessness.
The trees are turning copper, gold, bronze,
fired by the October sun, and the bees
are going for broke, drunk on fermenting
apples. I turn to my skillet, cast iron
you can count on, glug some olive oil,
sizzle some onions, adding garlic at the end
to prevent bitterness. My husband,
that sweet man, enters the room, asks
what's for dinner, says it smells good.
He could live on garlic and onions
slowly turning to gold. The water
is boiling, so I throw in some peppers,
halved, cored, and seeded, let them bob
in the salty water until they're soft.
To the soffrito, I add ground beef, chili
powder, cumin, dried oregano, tomato sauce,
mashed cannellinis; simmer for a while.
Then I stir in more white beans, stuff the hearts
of the peppers, drape them with cheese and tuck
the pan in the oven's mouth. Let the terrible
politicians practice / their terrible politics.
At my kitchen table, all will be fed. I turn
the radio to a classical station, maybe Vivaldi.
All we have are these moments: the golden trees,
the industrious bees, the falling light. Darkness
will not overtake us.

These words do NOT advocate the heresy of quietism. Nor do they celebrate the social sin of privilege. Rather, they honor balance. And compassion. The way of incarnational spirituality. In a culture constructed upon duality - yes or no thinking, in or out politics, with me or against me religions - Crooker's poem could sound like avoidance. For those obsessed with productivity - women and men vexed by liberal guilt, the inability to wait constructively, or the shame of never doing or producing enough - balance and perspective suggest laziness or complicity. At the very least, some might see this as selfishness. But the truth of living into the wisdom of God's creation is that contemplation and action always embrace. Psalm 85 tells us that:

Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;
righteousness and peace will kiss each other.
Faithfulness will spring up from the ground,
and righteousness will look down from the sky.

The way of transformative and incarnational spirituality marries engagement with the world along with times for solitude and reflection. As I often do,I find  this insight from Fr. Richard Rohr useful:

When we named the Center for Action and Contemplation, I hoped our rather long name would itself keep us honest and force us toward balance and ongoing integration beyond the first generation. However, over the last thirty-five years, I have witnessed how many of us attach to contemplation or action for the wrong reasons. Introverts use contemplation to affirm quiet time; those with the luxury of free time sometimes use it for navel-gazing. On the other hand, some activists see our call to action as an affirmation of their particular agenda and not much else. Neither is the delicate balance and art that we hope to affirm. By contemplation, we mean the deliberate seeking of God through a willingness to detach from the passing self, the tyranny of emotions, the addiction to self-image, and the false promises of the world. Action, as we are using the word, means a decisive commitment toward involvement and engagement in the social order. Issues will not be resolved by mere reflection, discussion, or even prayer, nor will they be resolved only by protests, boycotts, or even, unfortunately by voting the “right” way. Rather, God “works together with” all those who love (see Romans 8:28).

To be real, to be tender, to be strong and loving requires balance: checking out of the busyness is part of the healing, but so is challenging the cruel status quo by living with compassion.