Today I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday, writing for five minutes about WORTH.
(Disclaimer: this is an updated version of a post from my archives.)
Pondering the word WORTH got me thinking about money, and how we make decisions based on what our money is worth or
what it will do for us. Ten years ago the Canadian dollar was at par
with the American one -- even worth slightly more at one point. Now it's
worth 75 cents against the U.S. dollar. Ouch. I've never been a
"cross-border shopper," and now I'm unlikely to become one, knowing how
little my Canadian dollar will accomplish for me in the States.
Then I started thinking about other, non-monetary "currency" that we try to use, only to find that it won't accomplish what we had hoped either.
That leads me to one of my favourite movies, Seven Years in Tibet.
It's a very interesting story of a real-life Austrian adventurer named
Heinrich Harrer, who abandons his wife and young son to go on a
mountaineering expedition, ends up in Tibet during WWII, and becomes
friends with the young Dalai Lama.
Brad
Pitt plays the dashing Heinrich. There's been lots of commentary about
Pitt's suitability for the role, how (un?)successful he is in reproducing a
German accent, the historical accuracy of the film, and so on. But
that's all secondary to me. What interests me most about this movie is
that it depicts a person who really changes during the course of the
story. And a big part of what precipitates that change is the
character's realization that his currency is worthless.
Heinrich's
fellow traveler, Peter, is a quiet, plain-looking fellow. The two are
an oil-and-water mix, and Heinrich is pretty nasty to Peter at times,
though they stick together throughout most of the journey. After
escaping a POW camp they take refuge in Lhasa, Tibet. One of the people
they meet there is a beautiful tailor named Pema. Both men are instantly
taken with her.
On
one occasion Heinrich tries to impress Pema by showing her photographs
of himself climbing mountains and skiing as a member of the Austrian
Olympic team. But Pema (who, we soon realize, is far more interested in
the unassuming Peter) cuts Heinrich down to size. She says quietly, "This
is another great difference between our civilization and yours. You
admire the man who pushes his way to the top in any walk of life --
while we admire the man who abandons his ego. The average Tibetan
wouldn't think to thrust himself forward this way."
Heinrich
smiles, but he is clearly stung by her words. Ever so slowly, the truth
starts to dawn on him: the currency he's been depending on for so long
-- looks, adventures, awards, ego -- accomplishes nothing in this place.
It's worthless.
The
beautiful thing is, though, that he allows this awareness to change
him. He becomes a tutor to the Dalai Lama and starts to internalize
principles of Buddhism like nonviolence, humility, and harmony with all
creation. He becomes a different person who can then go home and
reestablish a deeper relationship with the son he left behind.
Contrast
this with an episode recorded in Luke 18 and Mark 10, when Jesus is
asked by a wealthy man, "What do I need to do to have eternal
life?"
Jesus says, "You know the commandments" -- and lists several of them.
The
man replies that he has kept all of these commandments for his
entire life. I can imagine he is feeling pretty satisfied at this
moment, because it sounds like the very currency he's carrying -- good
behaviour -- is what's required. And perhaps he sees his wealthy status
as another result of that good behaviour -- a reward for being such a
good law-keeper. How affirming it would be if Jesus assured him that
yes, works and wealth are in fact the keys to eternal life.
But Jesus goes on, "You
still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor,
and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
I think we can get bogged down pretty quickly here and start arguing about whether Jesus' words to the man should be taken as a literal prescription for all
people at all times. It seems unlikely that Jesus is saying categorically that selling all
our goods is a ticket to eternal life; that would be just another
kind of "good work" to earn our way. But I'm not willing to dismiss it as something just for that moment, either: after all, Jesus says the poor are blessed, so maybe he's making a statement that following him will involve humility, detachment from possessions, and solidarity with the poor -- things the man hasn't experienced yet.
But regardless, I do think Jesus is letting the man know that his good deeds and possessions won't achieve what he wants them to. Following Jesus requires something different: faith and trust. The
man is hoping he can keep on using the currency he's always
relied upon, without having to change. He's not prepared to give
everything up and rely on Jesus. As the Mark version tells us, upon
hearing Jesus' words "the man's face fell, and he went away sad,"
choosing not to follow.
I
wonder if at some point we all come to the realization that our
currency lacks value: our old answers and paradigms have nothing to say
to the situation we're in, or our strengths and accomplishments really
have no worth in the place we find ourselves.
The
question is, do we let this disorienting experience be an opportunity
for real change, like Heinrich? Or, like the man who met Jesus, do we allow ourselves to feel a momentary sadness
... but then go right back to the way things were?
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Today I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community, writing for five minutes on a given prompt. This week's word is HOW.
Thirteen weeks ago we were told that because of the Covid-19 pandemic, schools would be closing for March Break and two weeks beyond. The university was suspending classes for a week with plans to reopen for remote instruction for the rest of the semester. Extend-a-Family cancelled its March Break camp and all its other programs. The library shut down. In-person church was suspended.
I remember Richard and I looking wide-eyed at one another.
How would we manage not having any structured activities other than his work shifts?
How would we keep Jonathan happy and healthy for all that time?
How would the rest of Allison's semester at Queen's, with one online course and one on-campus course, unfold?
So many unknowns. We really didn't know how we would do it ... but there really was only one way, and there still is.
One day at a time.
One hour at a time.
One thing that's been a mainstay of our days is taking walks. When some of our favourite walking places were closed, we found other ones. We've walked many different sections of the K&P Trail and encountered other walkers and cyclists, all making the most of the situation.
Otherwise Jonathan fills his days doing jigsaw puzzles, watching DVDs and garbage-truck videos, participating in Zoom meetings with his teacher and EAs and camp friends. He goes on the trampoline with Dad and Allison and fills the back yard with laughter. He helps Dad with the recycling and rushes outside when I'm taking in the laundry so he can help remove the pins and put them in their container.
It's going to be a long time till things get back to any semblance of normal. A long summer, likely without camp or a trip to see Grandpa, stretches ahead of us. How will we manage it?
One day at a time.
One hour at a time.
Today I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community, writing for five minutes on a given prompt. This week's word is STAY.
Since the pandemic shutdown began in mid-March, we have been taking many walks on the K&P Trail. Yesterday we went to one of our favourite sections; it starts at the edge of a hilly country road and circles around to another spot further along the same road.
It was hot, and Jonathan wanted to turn back early, so Richard went back with him while I went on, walking out of the midday sunshine and into this shady, gently climbing section of the trail. On my right, the
hill rose, thick with tall maples, ferns tumbling down among
fallen limbs. On my left, the ground fell steeply away, more maples and
ferns spreading down the hill toward a farmer's field. The sun dropped crumbling through the leaves, laying a dappled path before
my feet, and the breeze ruffled the treetops. It was so beautiful, so serene, so inviting.
For a moment I wished I could stay there forever, far from distressing global events and the tedium of the day-to-day. Of course I couldn't. But I wondered if it might be possible to bring that place -- its peace and beauty
and serenity -- along with me wherever I went. Can a place stay in our heart, the way those we love do even when they're absent from us?
I hope so. In the meantime, I'll go to the trail again some day to soak in that tranquility and remind myself of all the beauty there is in this world.
I wrote this post on our church's Community Conversations Facebook page, but thought I'd share it here as well.
Today is Pentecost, the day Christians around the world celebrate the
coming of the Holy Spirit upon the believers gathered in Jerusalem
after Jesus' ascension. Acts 2:2-3 describes it: "Suddenly a sound like
the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole
house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of
fire that separated and came to rest on each of them."
Today as we view images of anti-racist protest and harsh police pushback all over
the United States, I think about that violent wind and those tongues of fire. An
old slave spiritual called Mary Don't You Weep includes the words "God
gave Noah the rainbow sign: no more water, but fire next time." (Black
American writer/activist James Baldwin took his book title The Fire Next Time
from this lyric).
I imagine this fire as the Holy Spirit. We often think
of the Spirit somewhat tamely, as our personal comforter and guide --
but the Spirit is also the Advocate for the oppressed, the Truth that
comes from the Father, the One who Testifies (John 15:26). Perhaps today
God is sending the fire of the Holy Spirit to stand up for the
oppressed, to reveal the devastating truth about racism, to testify that
God is not pleased when his image-bearers are crushed by generations of
violence and hate.
God,
may Your Spirit's fire come to rest on us this time, moving us to repent
and empowering us to act for justice. We want to be on the side of
whatever You are doing in this world.
Today I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community, writing for five minutes on a given prompt.
This week's word is NORMAL.
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Two months into the Covid-19 pandemic shutdown, it feels like normal has taken on a whole new meaning. Back at the beginning of March we could hardly have imagined the things we wouldn't be doing: getting together with friends and relatives for birthdays and holidays or just a quick visit, going to school and church and camp, going out for coffee or lunch, gearing up for summer sports or travel.
And we could hardly have imagined the things we would be doing: waiting in line outside a grocery store till the staff let us in, dropping off a package of yeast at the home of someone we've never met, asking neighbours for toilet paper, cutting our own hair. (Yes, I have been doing this, and so far it's working!)
So it's a new normal -- but for us it has been a pretty manageable one, overall. Richard still works the same number of shifts; I'm still doing my online course work; Allison is finding it a bit tedious but not hugely disruptive; Jonathan's missing his structured activities but coping amazingly well for the most part. We are fortunate.
But so many others have been hard-hit by this crisis: people who have lost loved ones to the virus and couldn't be with them when they died or honour them with a funeral; who have lost their jobs due to cutbacks; who have no choice but to go to work in high-risk settings; whose well-being was already precarious because of homelessness, poverty, or mental or physical illness.
And millions of people in the world were already living with the kinds of restrictions many of us are now lamenting as "deprivations," like empty store shelves, lineups for basic activities, lack of access to school and cultural activities. We're getting a very small taste of what normal looks like for the less privileged worldwide.
One great thing about these Five Minute Friday linkups is that they give us an opportunity to see the wide variety of ways people experience, interpret, and write about the same word. And the Covid-19 pandemic is giving us an opportunity to see what our definition of normal really is and whether it's worth preserving or needs to change.
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