Acedia and The Lion: A Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and A Prologue.

Last week we started a new series. (what didn’t you know?)

Yes we did.

It’s about using the works for Maurice Sendak as a way to meditate on the works of Jesus.

Sendak has been on my mind for a while. I think of him now because Christa and I are planning a theatre camp using scenes from his books, The Sign on Rosie’s Door, Pierre and the Lion, and Where the Wild Things Are. Each of these books, I believe touch on some spiritual reality that exists in our relationship with Jesus. Rosie’s Door, as Christa wrote last week, was about the spiritual practice of “waiting.” The brief fable of Pierre and the Lion is about the human struggle with acedia... yes, and Where the Wild Things Are is about running, raging and “being loved most all.” 

 So for the 2nd entry I want to share some thoughts on acedia and Pierre and the Lion: A Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and A Prologue

You may not be as familiar with Pierre as you are with Max from the Sendak library but I have a hunch that you know his problem. Simply put, Pierre’s issue can be summarized in the one sentence he repeats throughout the book, “I don’t care.”

The early desert fathers and mothers had a word for this condition it was sometimes known as “the noon-day demon” but it’s true name is Acedia. The Greek root of the word means the absence of care but it’s nature is much more than the experience of apathy, boredom or torpor. It seems to reside in a more spiritual place but as far as I can tell, it is not defined as a “sin” per se but monks feared like one because they discovered that nothing could poison their appetite for prayer as much as acedia. After the creation of the “seven deadly sins.” It was mistakenly lumped in with the chief-vice of sloth but acedia is not laziness... In fact, I find that acedia hides quite well in “work.”

I feel as if I have become more aware of my extended seasons of acedia as of late. They come upon me by surprise and yet when I realize how I’m affected it is almost always when I have been too careless with my margins.  Acedia is the mood, or rather, the climate that is just right for all my other sins and addictions to start to bloom. I began to see how a lack of care is a ravaging destructive force because of how dis-orienting it is. It’s a sort blindness that sets in undetected and lulls the victim to sleep. It plagues my imagination until I believe I have been in the same swamp for years and I alway will be. 

Thankfully, I was able to get some altitude on the situation when I had someone give my problem a name. Kathleen Norris in her book Acedia and Me finally named my Rumplestilskin. She described acedia as that which strikes at the very heart of prayer, prayer being the heart of our intimacy with God. 

In Sendak’s parable, Pierre’s parents, troubled by Pierre’s plight, ( How’s that for children’s book alliteration?) attempt to suggest, persuade or command him to change but despite their efforts, he simply will not care. He will not care, that is, until Pierre is paid a visit by a lion who tries threatening him with loss and even death and when Pierre still refuses, the lion eats him whole.

It’s hard for me now, having grown up a Christian and well immersed in the Bible imagery surrounding lions as well as the cultural references from the world of Narnia and the Great Lion there. The lions from both sources are such rich mysteries, “good but not safe” as it were. They were just as liable to cuddle and protect you as they were to tear the skin from your back. Either way, these creatures always thrust you into a dangerous world... a world where you may not be safe... well, at least part of you is not. You see, there is a piece of you that as been robbed by the demon called Acedia but this person ( this acedia-half-person ) when  approached by The Lion will be devoured whole and will not survive. However, what is left of you ( the “you” inside The Lion ) might just make it still.

Although I cannot say that I have had the “pleasure” often, I can remember my brushes with The Lion well... I have never walked away without scars... now that I think of it, I’m not sure I left with my life... but I can say that The Lion himself was the rescue from my acedia.

“The lion said, 

“If you would care 

to climb on me, 

I’ll take you there.”

Then everyone 

looked at Pierre, 

who shouted,

“Yes, indeed I care!!”

Magic Man: Finding Jesus Behind "Rosie's Door."

 

Paul is in love with Maurice Sendak.  It would be awkward if it wasn’t so sweet.  A Fresh Air interview Mr. Sendak started the love affair and I will admit, during those moments of radio magic Mr. Sendak worked his way into my heart as well.   

I adapted Sendak’s book, The Sign on Rosie’s Door, for a children’s theatre class that I taught this semester.

We just finished performing 3 weeks ago.  I think, once a show closes, that one either mourns the new space in life and schedule or celebrates it.  

I am feeling more celebratory this time around.  So, as I sit to write this blog I find myself not really knowing what to write.  

I am glad the project finished well.  Stella had a lot of people come to watch her and love on her.  Our performance weekend was the last weekend of Paul’s travel for this conference tour.  Ending both projects on the same weekend was cause for celebration and deep, deep breaths of satisfaction and exhaustion.

But, that isn’t all.

The book is delightful.  It is typical Sendak.  Simple.  Astute.  Lovely.  No huge conflict arises.  A group of neighborhood children play pretend, dress-up, snap at each other, and run around a backyard.  I remember summers that I did each of those things.  My daughters don’t run around the neighborhood like I did.  There are many reasons for that.  Still, I like to think that they are imaginative little creatures.  

But that isn’t all.

It was fun to adapt and watching my 5 young actresses (ages 7-11) on stage was a sweet experience.  It was Stella’s first speaking role and she was excited, nervous and lovely.  Also, out of the 5 actors it was the first time 3 of them had been in a show.  I found myself actually teaching a lot of theatre basics that are instinctual to me. This was a good exercise in quitting assumptions and learning to communicate any and every nuance of the acting process both technically and emotionally.  

But, that isn’t all.

I guess, as I reflect on my experience with this story that nothing much happened to me during my time with it.  Like the story itself, my life bears no ugly scars from the 12 weeks of teaching and rehearsal, likewise no great joys created new smile wrinkles on my face. The climax of the play is when an imaginary figure, Magic Man, comes to visit Rosie (the leader of the playmates).  He visits on the Fourth of July and, although Rosie’s own mother will not allow her to play with fireworks, Magic Man gives permission to all the children to BE firecrackers.  The children each run and screech around Rosie’s backyard, firecrackering themselves into the crazy hum that is an overtired young human.  All of this happens after the children have waited.  Patiently.  For an entire afternoon.  When Magic Man doesn’t arrive the first day they all make plans to set their alarm clocks and meet the next day, at noon, in Rosie’s backyard to wait longer.  Children are choosing to wait.  

That is all.  

People paid money to see a show about children waiting.  

That is silly or beautiful.  Or both.  

I feel I have been waiting for a long time for some things.  I believe in a lot of intangibles.  God. Hope.  Redemption.  Peace.  Maybe, I am like Rosie, waiting in her backyard, on a chair, covered in a red blanket.  Waiting for Magic Man. You probably don’t know, but Rosie goes by another name for most of the play... Alinda...The Lost Girl...

She is found in the end.  And once found, her name changes. And she becomes the biggest reddest firecracker in the world!

What are you waiting for in your backyard?

What do you think will happen when you discard the blanket that hides your face and name? 

ROAD JOURNAL #7 Seattle WA ( or What I heard when my phone broke)

Ok gang, Go back with me a few weeks. This is the 2nd-to-last entry in the "Road Journal" series. I posted the last one (#8) last week because it was more current to me and my team. 

This week, However, I'm posting a story that happened last month but is about a perpetual struggle, namely, my disturbing relationship with "noise."

Enjoy,

On Friday I noticed that my phone wasn’t charging. On Saturday it quit entirely so I went to the Verizon store desperate for reconnection. Like many of you I’m connected to a lot via this small piece of heavy machinery. 

I tried everything I could to reconnect me

Howard at the Redmond Verizon store tried to reconnect me too but I guess some things were meant to be broken.

Unfortunately, They couldn’t replace my phone there, it had to be shipped to me... as in shipped to Broomfield! It would be too expensive to get a get a prepaid phone so essentially there was no way to get me any kind of phone for the rest of the weekend.

I won’t lie... I kinda started to panic.

I was miles away from home with Stella (my 7yr old daughter) who had joined me on this trip with plans of seeing the beach and the market and The Space Needle! Would all that be ruined?

What would I do with out my phone?! Without navigation?! Without Seri?!... After all, She knows all the answers! What was I going to do? What if something bad happens? How can I call anyone? I don’t know anyone’s number! (Seriously. When was the last time you dialed a number and not selected a name from a list?)... and Where do you get maps now days?... I don’t know if I can still read a map!

All my plans for the weekend revolved around that phone!

While I stood in that phone-store spinning, I noticed that a part of me was relieved. As my options began to fall away, I started thinking of what I knew I had for sure. 

Rental Car

credit card.

hotel room.

Stella.

I think I had everything I needed to have the experience I wanted.

( I also ended up “renting” a mobile hotspot so I could use Stella’s iPod like a GPS navigator... not to be hypocritical or anything.)

Actually, it really wasn’t until after my screen crashed I could finally see things better. I could see sea-shells and cool rocks on Alki beach. I could see my baby’s tennis shoes thoroughly dusted with ocean and earth. 

I could see surprise in her eyes when a slab of fish sails over the counter of a fish market on Pike Street. 

I could see the wonder mixed with fear in her face as we rose 650 feet above The Earth along the column of a needle. I tasted a meal with her as we shared a rare perspective on the world (even if the motion made us a little uncomfortable.)

I was there with her. Really there.

I was there to play and feel and breathe. 

It was Eternity.

Tragically through, on the other side of the world, my new phone was waiting for me at my house.

ROAD JOURNAL #8: Chicago IL

Yes. #8 (for those of you sticklers who want things in order, I'm saving number #7 for reasons you will discover later) Since the last conference was so fresh in everyones mind, I wanted to get to it first. Here you go!

I’ve experienced a few deaths by now. Strictly speaking from a conference point of view, I’ve died 12 times.

Everytime there has been a death I think about quitting and moving on. I guess in that way, quitting has become a bit of a regular thing for me. My friend Erin asks me around this time every year, “Are you gonna quit again this year?”  

“I don’t know,” I say. 

I heard this author/lawyer-guy Bob Goff speak once and he said that he quits something every Thursday and Then in December he quits his company... after which he asks all his employees if they will start the same company up with him again January 1st. Is that crazy or healthy? 

I think it was about 5 years after I had started traveling with Dare 2 Share when I first thought of quitting. I had joined the D2S band two years earlier and I had grown very close to those guys. When they left the conference circa 2004 I thought I would quit too. I was sort of lonely for months on the road the following year because the community I had was gone but that was also the year I had cast a young actress straight out of high-school who turned out to be one of the most long-standing creative partners that I’ve had in last decade. Of course, when she left the conference along with another friend I had grown very close to I thought I’d quit. I thought I’d quit when I handed over the performing to another group of actors from Missouri. I thought I’d quit when Rolly died.

Every year was a death. The death of something I thought was mine. 

The death of what I thought “was” and “was-not” me. 

Death changes things. Maybe this is why over the last several years it’s become a little uncomfortable to work on these conferences because I’m changing and the ministry is changing. I’m constantly wondering if we are compatible anymore. But just when I think “no” I have this surge of exhilaration that comes from the work and being present for the moments when a new actor discovers a truth about themselves they’ve never experienced before. Or I get pulled aside by some random youth pastor who is sincerely thanking me for giving his kids so much. Those moments you’ve heard of when “your great joy meets the worlds great need.” Just when I think this season of my life is closing, Jesus leads me around the corner to a part of the forest I’ve never seen before and I’m blissed-out again. Then sometimes ( it feels like just as often) I feel like I’m a fraud and a coward who doesn’t have the courage to take real artistic risks... or spiritual risks. On any given day, one of those voices win... or to be honest, the voice that usually wins is the one says, “you’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

So I’m never been quite sure how to respond to people when they ask, Are you coming back next year? Usually I get away with, “we’ll see!” or “I’m planning on it!” Last weekend I just said,“yes” probably because I’m tired of the uncertainty (Yes, even I can get tired of uncertainty). I think I also said “yes” because I was making a choice to really live in each moment without analyzing it or trying to predict the future.

I heard this story on Radio-lab last week about two improv actors in Chicago who improv an original 1-hour comedy show each week. They don’t plan, write or prepare anything. When the lights come up they don’t know who they are, where they are, when they are. Nothing. They said that the only way they can make this work is if they believe that the show is already going on without them... Billions of stories swirling around then then all of a sudden one of them snaps into existence. This way they don’t have to do or be a determining force in the creation of the story. They only need to listen and pay attention to the friend on the other side of the stage, listen to the story and follow along. 

I’m not writing this story. It’s happening to me. Death number 12 was yesterday. I meet at Dare 2 Share with my friends on Thursday to talk about next years tour.  

“[Here’s] to life... and it’s many deaths”

- Stanley Tucci, from The Impostors

ROAD JOURNAL #6: St. Louis MO (from Denver CO.)

Sorry I didn’t write this when I returned from St. Louis. I arrived late on Saturday night and hit Sunday running... or maybe it hit me. 

Anyway, last Monday began the week designated as “holy.” The passover week leading to a night of passion and divine canabalism finished off with (or rather “perfected” with) a bright morning of hope, life and pastel sugar-dusted joy. ( Man, Easter is weird.) So like every professional Christian I was buried in work. It was holy work and rewarding to be sure... but it was still work... So I didn’t write my blog last week.

Completing the conference in St. Louis means that there are only 2 conferences left until our work is done. It has also been holy and rewarding work but it is also only for a season and every season dies and gives way to a new one. So I’m starting to think about how to lead my team through a good death.

It’s morose I know. 

“Come one Paul! Easter was yesterday! New life! Resurrection!... EGGS!!”

I get it. I’m sorry. 

But if you think about it. There is a different kind of death that Jesus is sort of responsible for that takes place after  the resurrection. When he comes back to his friends after he comes back, things do not go back to normal. There are a couple of problems (well... at first they are problems) For Thomas and Peter and probably for the rest of them, they had to contend with the death of their dreams and hopes regarding who they thought Jesus was going to be and how he was going to save them. As you can tell from scripture they are afraid at first, or they just plain didn’t recognize him. For Mary Magdalene, One of the first to find Jesus in the garden, she has to contend with the loss of her rabbi and friend. Jesus literally tells her “Don’t hold on to me.” (John 20:17). Basically, “Mary, The Resurrection has changed everything, even me... and especially you.”

I guess they just weren’t prepared for that. To be honest, most of us aren’t. We want to hold on to things... we want to hold on to everything in fact. The good AND the bad. That is what the temporal always wants. We want to hold on because we are afraid. Afraid that we will never have those experiences again. Afraid we will lose our hope or our identity even though, In reality, we begin to forget our experiences almost immediately after they happen. Even our past is a fabrication of our imagination. Still the eternity in our hearts wants to cling to those fleeting moments on eternity in time. Sadly though, eternity was not designed to survive in time for very long. You know what I’m talking about. You can you feel the weight of it now can’t you? The longing for home is a burden is it not?

This year’s cast bonded very quickly and our relationships have gone deep. There have been many moments of eternity for us. I’m already aware of the pull on my team to want to hold on, keep the band together next year, “Keep a little stash of manna for tomorrow.” I’ve been temped by this pull as well. I see the benefit of keeping a group together to build on the chemistry, but manna never keeps very well and holding this onto this manna means there is no room for tomorrow’s supply. There is simply no life where there is not change. No resurrection without death. 

Here’s the strange thing I’ve discovered though, once I know something is going to end, I enjoy it more. I experience a new depth in my performance and each backstage interaction is more significant because I’m aware of its vanishing beauty. I know that even though the tour is ending, this doesn’t mean that our friendships end after the tour or that we will never work together in the future. These are, in fact, friendships that are just beginning. Friendships that would be destroyed if they were trapped backstage at an arena in St. Louis or a garden outside Jerusalem.