Clutter

Clutter

For the next couple of days I am on vacation, which provides an opportunity to break out of the usual patterns of living and attend to some of those things that otherwise suffer from lack of attention. (I also realize as I write this that that sounds more like switching tasks than taking a vacation, which may be an indication that the pathologies in my life are more deeply ingrained than I realized).

One of the first things I have done is undertake the task of clearing my desk. I am not exactly sure how it gets to be this way. I have done this before, and vowed to keep on top of it, but little by little things begin to encroach, and like water quietly seeping into a leaky boat, by the time I begin to realize that I'm not keeping ahead of it and major bailing is required, I am defaulting to slipping on a pair of water shoes and trying to make the best of it. Thus, when vacation comes, instead of taking the opportunity to relax a bit and enjoy a quiet peaceful cruise, a good share of the time is spent hauling the boat into dry dock and making repairs.

I have now cleared from my desk 46 books (all of which are in the process of being read), 10 journal articles, 3 notebooks, multiple stacks of various kinds of papers, notes, and items needing attention (or having received attention, have not yet found their way to the place where they need to be filed, if indeed such a place actually exists), and an odd assortment of other items too diverse to describe that have been placed on my desk by other members of the family who simply didn't know what else to do with them. I still have an odd little pile of things off to one side that I can't quite figure out what to do with, but for the most part, I have most everything attended to, filed, and the surface of my desk back. It is a good and freeing feeling.

What I find myself struggling with is that my desk too often is an apt reflection of my life. The problem is not so much any one thing that is on the desk, or even a lack of organizational skills (although I am sure additional skill in this area would be helpful), but rather something more deeply rooted and systemic than that. I don't think it's even, entirely, a matter of priorities, at least to the extent that priorities involve putting things in the right order . . . but rather a matter of too many things to order.

As difficult as it is to say in this culture (and actually be heard when saying it), clutter is, to some extent, simply a matter of too much stuff.

It would be much easier to deal with if clutter were simply a matter of taking out the trash or tidying up - where you are dealing with things like accumulated bits of dust, junk mail, or stuff that inadvertently gets tracked in. Far more difficult are the things that seem to need attention, that you are interested in, committed to, wanting to pursue or address, that seem to be valuable in some way, which you would like to file for future reference, etc. . . . but all of which require a certain about of time and emotional energy to deal with, which at the moment is already going toward something else. And so things get stacked on the desk (or some other nearby flat surface) until you can finish thinking about them, or get back to them, find the energy to tackle them, or figure out where to to put them. And then . . . soon . . . before you realize it . . . like in the parable of the sower, so much stuff has grown up that it blocks the sun and chokes out the life of the seeds that are trying to germinate. The major problem with the clutter that accumulates on my desk, is not so much that it is present, but rather what it crowds out, it's tendency to distract, and the energy it absorbs in the process.

And so as I sit here at my newly cleared desk, I think about what might be different this time? Not so much, what new organization technique do I need to employ to manage all the stuff that accumulates here, but rather, what are the patterns of life that need to be addressed and altered in order to step out of current that keeps washing me up on the same shore?

This is one of those moments where, once again, I am reminded of the patterns of living reflected in the life of Jesus, and which are encouraged by the Christian practices that have been preserved and engaged down through the centuries. Patterns and practices that have to do with

• engagement and withdrawal
• living out of stillness and rest, instead of allowing stillness and rest to be what we collapse into when exhausted
• simplicity and generosity
• the recognition that I have limits, and that it is perhaps better to connect with a few people (or do a few things) well, than a lot of people (or do a lot of things) superficially
  

and numerous other life patterns which have more to do with helping us to live a certain kind of life that brings healing and wholeness to those around us, than one that gets caught up in the patterns of the culture in which it finds itself (whether or not it can state it's doctrinal convictions accurately).

As I write this, a passage from Wayne Muller's book, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight In Our Busy Lives, comes to mind which describes a bit of the problem we find ourselves in when we get stuck in the cultural patterns that keep us from actually living lives that reflect the rhythms and patterns of what God intends.

In the relentless busyness of modern life, we have lost the rhythm between work and rest. . . . Our culture invariably supposes that action and accomplishment are better than rest, that doing something -- anything -- is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love born of effortless delight. Poisoned by this hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest. And for want of rest, our lives are in danger. . . In our drive for success we are seduced by the promises of more:: more money, more recognition, more satisfaction, more love, more information, more influence, more possessions, more security. Even when our intentions are noble and our efforts sincere -- even when we dedicate our lives to the service of others -- the corrosive pressure of frantic over-activity can nonetheless cause suffering in ourselves and others . . . work in the world rarely feels light, pleasant, or healing. Instead, as it all piles endlessly upon itself, the whole experience of being alive begins to melt into one enormous obligation. It becomes the standard greeting everywhere: I am so busy. . . . We say this to each other with no small degree of pride, as if our exhaustion were a trophy, our ability to withstand stress a mark of real character. The busier we are, the more important we seem . . . to be unavailable to our friends and family, to be unable to find time for the sunset (or even to know that the sun has set at all) . . . this has become the model of a successful life. (excerpts from pages 1-3)

Perhaps the tendency of my desk, like my life, to gravitate toward clutter is more symptom than disease. While there is something to be said about managing the acute symptoms that can make it difficult to function, dealing with the more chronic patterns of living that give rise to the symptoms may indeed be what makes the most sense in the long run, and is, interestingly, what I feel most drawn to when I take the time to slow down and listen carefully and reflectively. It may also be significant that the patterns that God has built into our lives through things like Sabbath keeping are designed to give us regular opportunities to do just that.

And so I wonder what it might mean if Adventists became known, not just as a group of people who can correctly identify the 7th day on a calendar, but also as those whose lives have been transformed by a different way of living altogether that Sabbath represents? But perhaps a better question might be, what it might be like if this particular Adventist became known for that? Being the change you would like to see in the world is maybe a good place to start. I wonder how it might impact my desk?

A Tale of Two Retreats

As tempting as it is to begin with, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, “ I will forego the temptation, largely because the times were mostly good. They were, however, unique, which I probably felt a bit more this year because they happened back to back.

The first was our annual church retreat at Pine Springs Ranch where a large segment of our church family gathers for a weekend which is noted for being stuffed full of speakers, music, and things to do together. Full is the operative word here. Not one featured speaker, but at least two. Many guest musicians. And that is just the main adult programing. There are also separate things going on for Youth and Children, and of course, child care. Lots of things to experience and think about. Lots of conversations between events in lodge hallways, or over meals in a cafeteria bursting at the seams, or over ice cream on Saturday night. Some might even skip a meeting here and there to spend a little more time in conversation or go for a walk.

All this I know mostly by hearsay, because the entirety of my weekend is spent immersed in the children’s program, where we spend the weekend exploring the world and issues of the Bible and its people from Creation in year one of the cycle to the Acts of the Apostles in year 7. (This year we were getting acquainted with the people of the exile, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Nehemiah, Ezra, Daniel, and others as we discovered that when going through tough times, “the Joy of the LORD is my strength.”). Here too the weekend is busy – children re-enacting stories, working on projects, learning and singing songs, playing games, and decorating bags in which they carry with them the things they acquire along the way. All of this taking place with the help of a number of adults who understand that the weekend is not about creating a successful event, but helping kids catch a glimpse of an incredibly gracious God Who loves them.

It is a fun weekend that moves along at a brisk pace. Lot’s of good things to experience, opportunities to connect with people in a beautiful setting, to gain some insights, be challenged, be inspired, to laugh, and just enjoy being together. It is a good example of what Joseph Myers describes in his book Organic Community, as people interact in what he calls public and social space (with a few moments here and there, for some, who may interact in what he calls more personal and intimate space). All of which is, by the way, a normal and a good thing.

But then, just a few hours after the last suitcase and piece of sound equipment is loaded into their respective vehicles to make their way down the hill and back to the life that was momentarily left behind, another group begins to arrive, and a very different kind of retreat begins.

This group is smaller, and the feeling tones less busy and rushed. There are no invited musicians, but there is music and singing. There is no featured speaker to help bolster attendance. In fact most of the people leading out are the same ones who have doing so for many years – trusted, valued mentors . . . or else those among the group themselves who have gathered. This group meets not annually, but three times a year in retreat (some for 15 years or more now), and many in smaller groups from time to time in between retreats.

How does one describe what this retreat looks like? Perhaps you might begin by saying it is less about seeing how much good stuff can be pushed into the available time and space, and more about creating time and space so good stuff can happen.

It begins with an evening of gathering to worship by singing, reflecting on a passage of scripture together, praying, but mostly just being together. In fact, most of the evening is spent in conversation in smaller sub groups as people listen to each other’s stories, catch up on what has been happening in their lives since the last retreat time, and where the growing edges are now.

The next day begins with gathering again for worship and reflection, followed by an extended time, usually 3-5 hours, spent in silence and alone with God. Some find places next to a quiet lake, along a mountain trail, or simply in the quiet of a lodge room. But wherever it is, it is an opportunity to lay other agendas aside and simply be attentive to what God’s agenda might be. Late in the afternoon, and often over dinner, people have the opportunity to talk together in smaller groups about what may have surfaced for them during that time. Later in the evening, people gather again to sing, reflect on scripture, share communion, or simply to pray for each other. Sometimes there is prepared “content” that is shared, other times simply participating together is enough for the evening.

The next day provides an opportunity for continued reflection, more focused study together on an agreed area of interest or focus that helps us think more carefully about how God’s agenda can be implemented in our lives, opportunities for spiritual direction, additional study, or for us to pursue some of our own concerns in the afternoon. The closing evening meeting provides time for further reflection, closure, and considering what the next steps are in my life that I will be taking in response to what has been surfacing over the past couple days. This second retreat takes place in what Myers would describe, not so much as public space, but in more social, personal and intimate spaces. While there are shared similarities with the first kind of retreat mentioned, this way of retreating is different, and is also a healthy and good thing. For many of us, it is also much more rare.

I share these contrasting experiential textures from my week, not for the purpose of arguing for one over the other. In fact, I would not want to give up either (even if there are adjustments that could be made here and there). Both, in some significant ways, represent something important that we would not want to let slip away from us. But there are, I think, some things that emerge in the contrasts that, I at least, find intriguing.

The ministry of Jesus models a rhythm that involves being immersed in both. To use the categories Myers suggests, there were public gatherings at times. Perhaps more often, there were meals shared in social settings, for which He was sometimes criticized (eating with publicans and sinners). But there was also much intentional, personal interaction with people (and especially His disciples), as well as intimate time, which characterized not only how He lived and interacted with people, but which was also the place from which He took His cues and set the agenda for what would happen in those more personal, social and public settings. (You'll have to get Myer's book and read it to catch the full import of those terms)

The first retreat, like the feeding of the 5.000, was exciting, meaningful and memorable. The second, perhaps like the time spent immediately after the feeding of the 5,000, was more reflective, refreshing and transformative.

In the first I found myself stepping up my pace, and walking away feeling good about what we had experienced together. In the second, I found myself slowing and changing my pace, and walking away rested and renewed. (Interestingly, something else I noticed . . . on my way home, I even found myself driving a bit more slowly . . . and attentively . . . with the radio off, and not missed for a moment.)

In the first, I never really break my stride. In the second, I come back, and at least for awhile, find myself walking differently, seeing differently, being different.

I am not suggesting that we give up either, I don't think we should, but I do have a sense of what I am more and more drawn toward.