I am Churchilling this morning. My term. A new spiritual practice.
For those of you who saw Darkest
Hour, a scene you may have forgotten resonated deeply with me then and
stays with me even now: Churchill working in bed. Bedclothes on, covers
pulled-up, a lap desk, papers and books, a cigar, of course, and a secretary
taking his dictations (“Double-spaced!” he growls).
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| from cinemacats.com |
Brilliant! I can be like Churchill in that if in no real
other. And only like him, meaning I
have no secretary or secretary in here or cigar—and he had no computer!—but I have a lap desk and books and notes
strewn about, and stiff pillows behind me to support my scoliosis (the chair is
not a friend, and yesterday I was in it for about 9 hours; Churchilling is both
respite and kind of energizing). My hair, such as I have, looks like a balding
old white man’s version of Cam Newton, but no matter.
My brain and heart have been busy as my hair is unkempt, allowing
me two-thirds of the Body, Mind, Spirit triad of integration and balance. I
will get to my Body later, or maybe resting my body is tending to the Body. Whatever.
But today… praying and thinking.
This morning, I have noticed how John Baillie, may his name be
blessed, returns again and again to the theme of Jesus’ Passion and Cross: “…give
me through this day’s life the remembrance of the sufferings and death of Jesus
Christ my Lord.” Earlier in the book he did a good Calvinist rendition of the “stations”
of the Cross, inviting us to consider the many moments, each with their own
significance, that comprise that blessed horror (Sixteenth Day, Evening).
He is also inclined to ponder Jesus’s sayings (Eighth Day, Morning;
Eighteenth Day, morning). He is not opposed to citing saints and spiritual
writers, and often quotes other scriptures at length. Additionally, he regularly
meditates on the life, ministry and what we might call the psychology of Jesus—one
example being Sixth Day, Morning.
In sum, all through his own thinking and praying he follows the
traditional triad of considering Jesus: whose story from the start was told this
same way: how he died, what he said and how he lived.
Jesus’s suffering is the touchstone for our own. Today, when
he gives thanks “for all suffering freely chosen for noble ends, pain bravely
endured, and temporal sorrows that have been used for the building-up of
eternal joys,” I nodded and got a little teary. Not because I think my own
little loneliness or temporal disappointments merit any claim of nobility, at all,
but just because I am thankful for the freely-chosen suffering of others (not
least doctors and nurses and others right now) and hope I can be both more
sensitive to it—and also more measured and humble when I am tempted to get too
interested in my own.
Indeed, I too am praying for “grace to understand the meaning of such afflictions and disappointments as I myself am called on to endure.” If Baillie’s Calvinism might say that even those sufferings are gifts, or sent, at least, by God, I am more inclined to say with other Wesleyans that sufferings comes, the world being what it is—and by grace we can discern meaning or learn lessons from them, but not because they were sent for that purpose.
Indeed, I too am praying for “grace to understand the meaning of such afflictions and disappointments as I myself am called on to endure.” If Baillie’s Calvinism might say that even those sufferings are gifts, or sent, at least, by God, I am more inclined to say with other Wesleyans that sufferings comes, the world being what it is—and by grace we can discern meaning or learn lessons from them, but not because they were sent for that purpose.
Either way his conclusion—“Give me a stout heart to bear my
own burdens. Give me a willing heart to bear the burdens of others. Give me a
believing heart to cast all burdens on Thee”—is a great, great prayer. Worth
praying every morning. Even before getting out of bed
