Stinky Stuff

(I’m now engaged in the process of “reading for Holy Orders”; which is a prescribed course of study leading to ordination. I’ll be using my blog part of the time as a platform for my reflections on the reading I’m doing. The block I’m in right now is “Ecclesial Theology,” which is a fancy name for theological reflections written for (and by) the believing community for the purpose of expanding and enriching the mutual life of the church.)


I've started reading "Holy Listening" by Margaret Guenther, and I agree with much of what she says about how to listen, and what are the general characteristics of the relationship between what she calls "director" and "directee"; but I kept smelling a faint odor of something... something that smelled just a bit "off". There's a saying among Zen folks-- "The stink of Zen"-- which has something to do with a person having a set of ideas about Zen, and proceeding to discriminate based on those ideas. I think there is even more (or less) to it than that, but boy, is it hard to pin down. Maybe that's because once I start chasing it with a pin, it gets scared and starts backing up spraying stink everywhere?

When I first started going to the Zen center, I kept feeling really uneasy. It felt as if the teacher was trying to force me into a very uncomfortable mental space, in order to show me how to get out of it. He debunked most of my comments about my own insights, especially if I told him that I didn't have much of a self-image, or that I didn't make up internal stories about myself. He'd say, "I find that hard to believe." The air was hazy with assumptions and value judgments, all disguised as smoke from sustainably sourced incense handcrafted by non-exploited workers in independent collectives. It was as if my habit of letting my own assumptions and opinions mind their own business and stay out of the way was unrecognizable to him. Also, there was no sense of humor there. Everyone seemed kind of constipated. 

--Old Man Zen says, "Do you have a point here?"-- 

Anyway.....

So, I think maybe there might be a "priesthood stink." To me, it smells even worse than the stink of Zen. Cigars, and nylon socks, and expensive bourbon? Not quite. Lavender sachets and patent leather purses? No..... Leather executive chairs, wool carpets, and furniture polish? Not exactly. I do know that it smells sort of curdled. It's the kind of smell that if I smelled it in my kitchen, I'd hunt down the source and scrub it clean.

I hesitate to try and define it any further, but I feel as though I ought to try. 

I suddenly thought of C. S. Lewis's "The Screwtape Letters" where the old demon explains to his apprentice just how to subvert good intentions and high ideals.

(I just got sucked into reading it, and I ran across something about prayer that distracted me... but I think it might be pertinent to this smelly subject.)

This is Screwtape talking about the 'patient' assigned to the junior demon Wormwood: "For if he ever comes to make the distinction, if ever he consciously directs his prayers 'Not to what I think thou art but to what thou knowest thyself to be', our situation is, for the moment, desperate. Once all his thoughts and images have been flung aside, or, if retained, retained with a full recognition of their merely subjective nature, and the man trusts himself to the completely real, external, invisible Presence, there with him in the room and never knowable by him as he is known by it-- why, then it is that the incalculable may occur."

I also know in just how silly and pretentious a direction my own thoughts and ideas can lead me. But it's that recognition of the silliness that saves me, I suspect. (Old Man Zen snorts...) 

I confess reading another section where Screwtape mocks wordless prayer: "One of their poets, Coleridge, has recorded that he did not pray 'with moving lips and bended knees' but merely 'composed his spirit to love' and indulged 'a sense of supplication'. That is exactly the sort of prayer we want; and since it bears a superficial resemblance to the prayer of silence as practiced by those who are very far advanced in the Enemy's service, clever and lazy patients can be taken in by it for quite a long time." 

Of course when I read this, I immediately identified with "those who are very far advanced in the Enemy's service" and, almost as immediately, Old Man Zen whacked me in the back of the head with a rubber chicken, yelling "Look Out!" Now, see, I think that's exactly what the Old Man meant: 'Look out', as in outward. I believe that is the only remedy for this sort of pretentious self-regard-- to immediately stop and "behold" (as Maggie Ross would say). Looking inward is a good thing to do, but only (I dare to paraphrase) in looking inward to what "Thou knowest me to be," and not "What I think I know myself to be." Besides, I think self-knowledge is useless and faintly ridiculous, unless that knowledge is geared toward some form of usefulness or service. Knowing myself for no other reason than to know myself is a waste of time, not to mention being solipsistic and self-satisfied. 

Thank God (literally!) for Old Man Zen and his rubber chicken!