Okay then

It's my last chance to say something about Advent. First, another confession. This month has been sort of a down month for me. I thought November was worse, and I was grateful for all the rain this month, but on the other hand, I have been pretty poor in spirit for the last few weeks. Even Sunday morning's eucharist, with which I assisted, was somewhat hectic: I was not supposed to assist, and found out about it only off-handedly, and I was feeling a little pissed about that. it all went well, but then I went home and had a very stressful afternoon -- something about a party we went to hours late. Even that turned out well, but I was emotionally exhausted by the end of the day.

So I had to pray rather hard and sincerely for the true coming of Christ into my life. The kingdom of heaven -- if it exists -- is for the poor in spirit, Jesus said. I certainly qualify for that these days, and yet it's a paradox, because some days I am poor in spirit and other days I am rich. And that applies to just about everybody, I suppose, except peole who are clinically depressed or suffering post-traumatic stress disorder, which in these days of war must include a heck of a lot of people. For Christ to come into a broken world and heal -- not just the world but the people in it -- and not just the people as a mass (as the five thousand were fed or the ten lepers were cleaned), but healed individually, one by one and, perhaps, by name.

I was thinking of this when I was websurfing some Buddhist sites associated with the Ordinary Mind Zen schol, home of a teacher named Charlotte Joko Beck. She's the author of a book called Nothing Special: Living Zen which is, IMO, particularly good at explaining zen concepts to a nonpractitioner. If one of the commonalities of Christianity (at least as the term applies to a practice that follows the teachings of Jesus) and Buddhism (ditto Buddha) is that each is a Way for lay people -- an outline of practice that takes place within, not apart from, daily life -- then the ordinariness, or quotidian quality of one's life is exactly the realm where one's practice becomes clearest. For me, taking out the garbage, feeding the feral cats in the backyard, keeping the household accounts, making tea for Cris in the morning -- all these things which I ordinarily do should become, in themselves, my practice.

Then I wouldn't worry that I haven't managed to do morning and evening prayer, or else I would be able to say morning and evening prayer as I perform these tasks. (I know one is supposed to set aside a time for such prayer, but I'm also supposed to be setting aside time for writing, and I haven't done either in months. In fact, just about the only writing I've done has been in my private journal and in this weblog.) I've always felt a strong call to humility, and perhaps that should be my practice as I try to live in Advent even after Christmas.