From The Short History of a Prince by Jane Hamilton ...
In the daylight Walter sat far into the old white Adirondack chair, drinking coffee, and in the night he sat there also, under the heavens, wrapped in a quilt. He had never been out of doors by himself for that long, and it seemed to him enough of an occupation, watching the water change color, watching the fishermen holding their rods hour after hour in their metal boats. A morning went by and he had only looked, and remembered and looked, in the honest labor of smelling the season and waiting for absolutely nothing. He looked across the lake to the cow pasture & he looked at the water, where he sometimes saw his ghostly boyish form swim up to the surface. His was an ordinary tragedy, he knew. He had been happy as a child & had not realized it. But happiness was spent so quickly, he thought, and identifying it, feeling it, trying to hang on to it, made him nervous. Maybe it was better to be ignorant of bliss, unselfconscious, and later have the sense to recognize its traces.
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Being versus doing. The “versus” part of that equation is discomforting, somehow. Nevertheless, I’m going to take the “versus” approach to a new understanding.
Being. Being is a stillness … the voice, still & small that the hymn conjures. Being is different than doing. It is the Buddhist attention to breath. It is being far from the madding crowd even when in the midst of said crowd. Being suggests a kind of confidence in oneself, I think. Being comfortable in one’s skin. It is the absence of the gnawing need to prove oneself over and against a set of requirements generated from … who? What? Let’s say, generated from outside one’s own good sense.
Versus …
Doing. We love doing, don’t we? I use this word cautiously and only with great consideration but here goes, we’re addicted, to doing. We use it to stave off all sorts of emotional and spiritual maladies.
Now, by “we” I mean those of certain advantage – advantage of circumstance, including economic stability, decent physical and mental health and sensory ability, these among other circumstances, no doubt. That said I found it helpful to pass this reflection of “doing versus being” through the following examination that considers just one of these circumstances, that being economic stability.
Those of you with grandmothers who worked in sweatshops, as my grandmother did from the age of13, those of you whose grandfathers helped build the railroads, those of you whose mothers worked outside of your home not because she chose to but because she had to in order for your family to thrive, those of you who grew up in single head of household families, do you think our ancestors concerned themselves with “being versus doing?” I don’t my grandmother did. Those of you who today live within similar circumstances whether you are underemployed, unemployed underpaid, or homeless, do concern yourself with the question as it has been posed?
So while I think this dilemma is worthy of reflection, I also think we need to put it within a certain context.
I believe that in one sense, the context has something to do with our work. I have preached several sermons on the meaning of work. I have invited you to consider how our work intersects with identity. For example, who would I be, how would I understand myself, if tomorrow I decided to stop being a minister or for some reason, could no longer work? Who might I be without this doing? Newly retired people are faced with this question and for many it’s not a comfortable one. Is it no wonder that retirees are often the busiest people on the block? The transition from doing to being is not an easy one.
But similarly, I have a feeling that this reflection of doing versus being is most often posed by a particular working class.
So I would propose that we consider how to achieve a sense of being in the midst of our doing. To put it another way, how do we integrate the two? I think my grandmother could get behind that endeavor because, in fact, I think that that’s precisely how she lived her life. My grandmother knew exactly who she was – she had that confidence I spoke of – that sense of comfort in her own skin. She was tuned into her still, small voice and through that voice was affirmation of and access to her values, sense of humor, sense of faith & family, so that she as able to do what needed doing. After all, it doesn’t matter if you’re the woman working the sewing machine, the man cutting the patterns or if you’re Calvin Klein, Betsey Johnson, Vera Wang or Narcisco Rodriguez – if one could be while going aboutand doing one’s life, well, isn’t that the brass ring of a well-balanced spirit and life?
Yes, it is.
So, the question becomes, how might we – all of us - pursue that balance?
What a big question to unpack let alone try to answer. But here’s my little story culled from a seemingly unrelated experience.
I began this “doing versus being” wondering on the night of the lunar eclipse. Inspired by the suggestion that moon gazers set up a lawn chair, bundle up, and look up, I did just that. I also toted along a thermos of hot tea as I was determined to go the distance because I so dearly love the moon and its light and power. I sat out there and watched. I heard my neighbors coming outside in turns to see the spectacle, all of them eventually giving in to the cold. Not me. I realized that I was engaged in an experiment in being versus doing in a way that only the natural world can support.
Consider the central character in Jane Hamilton’s novel A Short History of a Prince. Again:
In the daylight Walter sat far into the old white Adirondack chair, drinking coffee, and in the night he sat there also, under the heavens, wrapped in a quilt. He had never been out of doors by himself for that long, and it seemed to him enough of an occupation, watching the water change color, watching the fishermen holding their rods hour after hour in their metal boats. A morning went by and he had only looked, and remembered and looked, in the honest labor of smelling the season and waiting for absolutely nothing.
“He had never been out of doors by himself for that long, and it seemed to him enough of an occupation…” Indeed, just sitting and looking out at the water, at the moon, at the urban landscape outside your window, is enough of an occupation. It is enough. Those hours I spent in the cold have stayed with me. I learned something through that lunar meditation. I learned that sitting underneath the eclipse was enough of an occupation. I found myself tapping into that experience one afternoon as I rounded my second hour of tending to my e-mail correspondence.
E-mail. Perhaps one of the most soul-sucking form of “doing” of our time and age. Not the communication part, which is pretty outstanding. But is it not possible to over-communicate? A question for another time. For today, the soul sucking part happens in the sitting and staring at the blue screen for hours … to say nothing of how the sitting becomes the physical therapist’s nightmare.
Back to the day, post-eclipse when I actually stepped away, determined to experiment with “being” as I was “doing.” What was the difference? I took notice of my body. I got up. I thought carefully about the work I was doing, the things that were being asked of me by others and of me of myself. I breathed. I came back to myself – to being as I looked out my window and remembered the night sky and glorious moon that night when I wondered if sitting so long would bring with it some boredom. That word that I banish from my home – from the mouth of a 15 year-old, at least. It didn’t, but I had wondered.
Now, how does the fear of boredom keep us from being? What is boredom anyway? I’ll propose that boredom is a turning away from the still, small voice within. It’s the noisy, spiritual anxiety that yearns always for more doing. And when we over do, we loose the sense to recognize the traces of being – of happiness – in our lives. Wrote Jane Hamilton:
He looked across the lake to the cow pasture & he looked at the water, where he sometimes saw his ghostly boyish form swim up to the surface. His was an ordinary tragedy, he knew. He had been happy as a child & had not realized it. But happiness was spent so quickly, he thought, and identifying it, feeling it, trying to hang on to it, made him nervous. Maybe it was better to be ignorant of bliss, unselfconscious, and later have the sense to recognize its traces.
“But happiness was spent so quickly, he thought, and identifying it, feeling it, trying to hang on to it, made him nervous. Maybe it was better to be ignorant of bliss, unselfconscious, and later have the sense to recognize its traces.” Oh, I don’t know about that. Don’t you think it would be good to be conscious of happiness? To feel it and hang onto it? If we are engaged more in the being and less in the doing – or better – if we struck that balance between the two that I suggested earlier, don’t you think we’d be better equipped to recognize happiness without the accompanying nervousness the author suggests?
I think so. More, I think it’s a worthy pursuit.
As it turns out, being and doing was an appropriate and interesting topic to consider while I was away.
It is good to be back among you, Friends. I look forward to being with you as we share our doing, that being our shared mission of creating and offering hospitality, caring, and justice.
What a great way to be.
Blessings to you all. Amen.
