Or why I might not remember your name

Stress is not a blessing

Something we’ve inherited from our Protestant ancestors is an anachronistic attachment to labor, stress, and a propensity to die early. Probably from a heart attack.

Last I looked, there are only nine Beatitudes. I wouldn’t be surprised if some used book shoppe in Massachusetts has a copy of the King James Bible with this written in the margins, right in between Matthew 5:6 and 7:

Blessed are the stressed, for they will receive a tremendous bounty when they die.

And in a strange take on the Jeffersonian Bible, all the parts of mercy and GOD’s justice will be cut out, because they might promote laziness. Particularly that whole thing with Mary and Martha.

Better to edit it so Lazarus only has one sister.

Mary and Martha

Martha is working her ass off in the kitchen and Mary is lounging in the living room with Jesus. Unlike Mary, Martha is no mooch. And Martha says so, yelling at her sister for not pulling her weight boasting about how awesome this dinner is going to be for Jesus.

What kills Protestants is that Jesus not only sides with Mary, but condemns Martha. We can’t really edit that out.

Those who see stress as a virtue refuse to understand that Jesus condemns that thinking. That petty social norms and ridiculous housekeeping chores are not reasons for division. Get your ass in the living room and sit down!

Many of us have a hard time with this. I know I do. It’s my Mom’s fault. And her Mom’s. To the point in which, when my Mom would stay with them during her cancer treatments, she had to tell my Grandma to sit down and talk with her. She just wanted to visit with her Mom, not be served by her.

Stress and the Christian clerical norm

Perhaps it is George Herbert’s fault, but we have come to believe that stress is part of being a presbyter (minister/priest/pastor/etc.). That we force our presbyters to know all things, believe all things, see all things, and most importantly, remember all things.

Like everyone’s names. Their stories. Their medical history. Their kids’ names (whom we’ve never met, but when they show up, we are supposed to instantly recall their back story). That the act of memorizing personal details is an expression of intimacy.

I’m not sure why we do this, other than the selfish desire of being known. Of being the one whom someone else knows so well. Someone safe and other. Unlike our friends. Family. Spouse.

Perhaps it is because we believe that Jesus knows all things. That the presbyter in this way imitates Jesus. Fills her brain with all of the intimate details of the congregation. Without that whole divine Logos part.

Rather than seeing this as a job description, is it not the expectation of a long history together? Is this not what happens when we know each other deeply—through tragedy and celebrations—and many contacts with one another in many environments? Not simply in visiting homes or shaking hands once on the way out of church, but run-ins at the grocery store or the bar? Or perhaps outings in the community? In fact, is memory and intimacy tied, not to imposed moments of stress, but actual mutual experiences over the course of time?

 

The imposition of stress

I have always seen deadlines as a great motivator. My writing has often been most productive at either spontaneous moments or butting up to deadlines. Regular writing habits didn’t work for me.

Until they did.

What our brains are really for

Lately, I’ve been slowly soaking in David Allen’s Getting Things Done. In an interview, I heard him say something that grabbed me. His main emphasis is for us to stop allowing our brains to be the source of constant stress, as we use them to store vast amounts of information. We expect to keep everything organized in our brains, and then can’t understand why it doesn’t work.

The best use for our brains is not to store information to be retrieved later, but for dreaming up new things.

Not memorizing, but dreaming.

The way we use our brains, the way we impose stress, almost intentionally, on ourselves is both an act of penance and control. A means by which we can dominate another and impose an artificial intimacy. I don’t want that any more. I want to live without that burden. I want to dream. I want for all of us to dream.

To dream of a new way. Of a new community. Of a new Kingdom.

To dream with GOD.