Alone on an Irish hillside, with time to wander, think and write...

Jeri,

No new blogs in a long while and now one that is unsettling. Are you ok?

Diane


I am. My April 14th post unsettled a few, including my husband. Smile. I knew it was "risky," but it reflects the acedia I live with in this longed-for season of freedom.

And if I often dwell there, a few others must, too.

After years of tight schedules, constant deadlines, and structure (complete with lots of community, feedback and strokes), solitude and freedom to choose my day can weigh heavily. Apparently I really LIKE the tyranny of the urgent, and all the reassurance of how much I am needed that comes with it. Smile again.

Kathleen Norris' latest book, Acedia & Me: Monks, Marriage, and a Writer's Life, gives me language and some understanding of this lethargic space that is my really good life. O, to throw off this indolence and choose Jesus’ presence and companionship in all the moments of my days.

...but we will all be changed!

With Easter we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. In the 40 days that followed, He turned up in their midst, then disappeared. Often enough that they got used to His new presence. Sometimes they didn’t recognize Him. He was still Jesus, but different—His body all changed even before He ascended into heaven.

In the fallen world of Today,[1] those who believe Jesus inhabit the “already/not yet” of rebirth. New creations, spiritually alive, indwelt with His Spirit, but in decaying, earth-bound bodies. Still bound to sin’s presence, still wooed by her siren song. However much we love Jesus, however real our experience of Him, we drag deadness around with us. It touches everything we do and are. No pure motives here. No untainted agendas, either.

The days following Easter manifest the mystery of a body to come--not just Jesus' resurrected body, but our own. Bodies that will no longer blunt our spirit with weariness and rebellion.

Our bodies are sacred, and Easter opens a window onto a mysterious but endless vista. The best part of us will cheat the grave. Our weary bones, heavy flesh, and addled brains already hold the seeds of that resurrection.

"I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed--in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be rised imperishable and we will be changed." I Corinthians 15:51-52

[1] Heb 3:12-15

With gratitude to the writer of Sacred Space (www.sacredspace.ie)

Small acts of faithfulness in the throes of acedia

April 9th.
Got out of bed.

Read the daily reading. Prayed over it. Prayed for B, about whom I am confused and feel meaningless. Texted S about our promised coffee together, though I have no energy or desire for it.

Stretched and exercised a little. It made me feel nauseous. The feeling remains.

Took up again the Lenten fast I trashed yesterday.

Showered, washed my hair, and made the bed.

Nearly 11am already. I present myself for the writing assignment of the day.