A question I have been thinking about

What is better, answers of no answers in the light of tragedy and human suffering?

I like answers that give freedom – like when I was in the throes of grief, years ago and someone told me that grief impacts everyone different and there is no ‘right way’ to grieve.

Or I like it when I am feeling sad and a good friend just sits with me and is quiet.

Or when someone says that the suffering is hard and thus acknowledges it as such.

I wonder if it is merely a misguided human inclination that wants to give another person answers when faced with another person’s suffering.

But yet again I have had words thoughtfully, prayerfully given that have brought comfort to me in sorrow; much comfort.

I talked to my spiritual father yesterday about suffering in the world, citing some examples that I have seen. He taught me about corruption that is in the world, that it comes on the good and bad alike, like rain. And he quoted a Romanian theologian who said that all of these answers are found in the Cross.

Years ago I was at my parent’s house and read an older essay by Philip Yancy. He was describing, if I remember correctly, prisoners in Africa. And there was a Crucifix or an icon of the Crucifixion there, which gave these men great comfort.

Perhaps there needs to be sensitivity to timing to when to speak, when to be silent. I read in Fr. John’s book, Christ is in our Midst, of a saint who commented that he never had to repent of silence.

Sometimes, when I am feeling okay and more peaceful or at least more happy, I feel bubbling with words; I have so much to learn about what it means to be still, peaceful and silent.

I have learned a little about this: it is not just the absence of sound that creates silence. It is learning to have interior silence that is needed. And I have read and seen that the Theotokos (the Birth-giver of God -- Christ, the Virgin Mary) is taught as our example of what it means to be a Christian, and what it means to have this silence.

How do I know? Simple. I am beginning to see what I do not yet have. How do I begin to learn to see what I do not yet have? By being in Church and struggling to attend to the prayers of the church and looking at icons in church. I tell you, though, that I know it because I am only beginning to wake up and see glimpses of my own inner poverty and all those things that want to be noise and crowd my life, my vision, my ability to hear and to attend.

In the end is the crucifixion, the resurrection, the promise in 2 Peter of Christ, the morning star, rising in our hearts.

I do not think I have been tagged before

Well. How ‘bout that; Mimi gave me a Nice Matters Award; go to http://mimisbooks.blogspot.com/ to see; it is lovely and pink!

It will take me a while to nominate 7 others, as like Mimi all the blogs I read I find to be Nice People. That Mimi gave me this award corresponds with what I have seen of her blogosphere character – always giving a kind comment, no matter if my day is going well or not so well. Thank you again Mimi.

I do not own a digital camera as of yet but someday I hope to have a picture of Cleo up so people can see the cute cat that is currently sitting on my 1970’s gold armchair, sleeping. She is sprawled out on the top of the chair-all quiet like-as one may say. Cleo is a non-pure breed Himalayan-so blond with the hints of a light brown, black feet, ears and nose and lovely pale blue eyes. She is such a pretty cat, I am still amazed I have her.

Tonight I had a purposely quiet night; I had been busy day and night for nearly a week and was getting quite frazzled; I have both introvert and extravert tendencies, though I am learning more about how to honour my introvert side, by being quiet more often. To this end I often do not have any music playing. After months of quiet I realize that a lot of today’s music, even my beloved Amy Grant who I listened to as a kid, upsets me internally. It is hard to explain, but now I wonder how many other people are living a frantic life and are constantly being bombarded by jarring sounds, sounds that most people accept as normal, part of everyday North American life.

It is wonderful, to not have much sound going. For me it means the songs of vespers and liturgy are often playing in my head. It is incredible how we have a memory for sound; when I lived in Sweden ten years ago at a Bible school, no music was aloud other than with headphones (which is another thing I find to be a social problem of today, but that is another topic). I vividly remember feeling slowly purged of sound and that songs I had not heard in years were surfacing, playing in my mind. I really think this was one of the steps towards the wholeness that I trust God will grant me a little each year, if I keep cooperating.

Back to tonight – I finally had my much-craved Dutch meal (or what I associate as being a Dutch meal). Mashed potatoes with milk and butter, boiled vegetables, and a slice of meatloaf (with mush room soup as the gravy); add some tea, a very small glass of red wine and two small milk chocolate pieces for dessert. It was heavenly. And I ate it using my nicer silverware, blue and white china and a nice white place mat.

I have washed up my dishes, read more of a new English mystery called Jigsaw and feel rested. Thank God for a quiet evening and that He gives the true silence that we all long for.