Building Capacity

Building Capacity

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

February 1, 2015; 4 Epiphany, Year B

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

Mark 1:21-28 – Jesus and his disciples went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God." But Jesus rebuked him, saying, "Be silent, and come out of him!" And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, "What is this? A new teaching -- with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him." At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

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I want you to imagine two different days.

The first day: You've had a nagging cold for a while. It's affecting your energy and your sleep. You've been feeling crummy. You've self-soothed with chips and junk food; haven't felt like exercising or walking; haven't prayed or meditated. You wake up in the morning feeling tired. Your stopped-up nose interfered with sleep. It's raining; cold; temperatures in the thirties. You go down to the kitchen and have one of those cranky conversations with whoever you live with; the kind of thing that just gets your goat and starts the day off bad. You look at your calendar as you head out the door. Too much squeezed into too little time. And the people you are scheduled to see are less than favorites. You drag yourself to the car and start driving, and you hear a little thump. It gets a little louder. Thump, thump, thump. You can feel it in your steering wheel, and now you know – you've got a tire going flat. Aggh. I can't believe it. Not today! I just can't take it.

Another day: It's been a good week. You are feeling good. You've done your exercise or walking. You've been praying or meditating, practicing your rule of life. You went to bed last night on time without over-indulging in food or drink, so you wake up refreshed after a long deep sleep. It's sunny and 68 degrees outside. In the kitchen you have a cheery conversation that makes you feel grateful to have such a loved one in your life. You look at your calendar as you head out the door, and it looks like a promising day. Not too much scheduled but enough to keep it interesting. Some of the people you are supposed to see are either favorites or people you think you might like to get to know better. You get in the car and enjoy the sky and trees as you drive down the street. You stop at a red light. Bam! You've been hit from behind and the backend is crunched. You check yourself. I'm okay. You look in the mirror. The other driver signals "Okay! Not hurt." You look at the damage and think, It's only metal and plastic. Nobody's hurt. Everything is fixable. I can handle this. [i]

There is a relationship between our capacity to bear a difficult experience and the intensity of an experience. Usually a flat tire is not as intense a problem as a take-it-to-the-shop rear-end collision, is it? But when our capacity for bearing up is low, even a small set-back can undo us.

You might think of trauma as a ratio—the difference between our capacity to handle pain as it happens and the intensity of the pain. One way of reducing our misery is to increase our capacity.

In the Capernaum synagogue, Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, "Be silent, and come out of him!" The people exclaimed, "What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him."

How do we command the unclean spirits in our lives? How do we endure the troubles and traumas that create pain and suffering for us?

When we are threatened our animal instincts tell us to fight, freeze or fly. Our culture tells us to ignore our pain, or suppress it, or numb ourselves. Just get over it. Put your past behind you. Move on already. Take a pill or fill a glass; that'll ease the pain. You've got a computer and a TV—go shopping. Entertain yourself; escape. Even good things when used to excess can numb us and help us avoid problems—compulsive exercising, losing yourself in work, otherwise constructive hobbies like reading or craft work can become hiding places when taken to excess. We have myriad ways to avoid our pain.

Research on the human mind tells us something else. Because of the way humans are wired, if we allow ourselves to move more directly through the experience of distress, we will experience less distress for a shorter time. It really does work to face the unclean spirits, up close and personal.

I remember a one-page handout in my seminary pastoral care class. It showed all of the possible coping mechanisms that people employ in the face of the death of a loved one. Each of the options was pictured as a different path along the way. Ignore it. Get mad. Get busy. Put a bright light on it. Withdraw. Find a new person to replace the old one. There are lots of options.

Regardless of how we choose to cope, the path toward acceptance and incorporation of a loss into the creation of a new and whole reality must inevitably move through the felt experience of helplessness. You have to face the demon—I am helpless to change the reality of this loss.

If we are able to move more directly into the helplessness, into the experience of distress, we seem to experience less distress for a shorter time. We overcome the demons.

Prayer—especially contemplative prayer and mindfulness—is a form of exercise in the facing of our demons. In a prayer practice, we can avoid our tendency toward avoidance. In prayer we can simply be with the everyday pain and turbulence of our lives. In prayerful awareness, we simply allow our afflictive emotions and thoughts to rise up out of our depths, we let go of judgment and let them be, without reaction or attachment. We don't add to them with commentary or old tapes. We simply let them be. We allow the energy of our emotions and thoughts to rise and fall, like waves exhausting themselves on the shore. Ever-so-gently we return to our sacred center, over and over.

Prayer builds capacity. If I can sit day-by-day with the energy of my afflictive thoughts—a fear, a disappointment, an anger, a frustration—letting them be without needing to do anything about them—I find space between the distress and my experience of distress. I become less reactive, less controlling. Capacity for frustration and loss grows. With practice, I find more space between my self and my experiences. My self is encased in a reality greater than my experience.

Last week I tried to preach Paul's theology in one sermon. If you weren't here, pick up a copy or watch it on our website. Paul's life-changing experience was his realization that when he was most messed up, an enemy to God, God accepted him anyway and gave him a job. He didn't have to do anything to earn God's loving acceptance. God's loving acceptance was a gift. A free gift.

From that point on, Paul gave up on himself—his life as a self-improvement project—and he experienced himself as living "in Christ." From that sacred center—in Christ—he found great capacity, not only to put up with Corinthians arguing over meat sacrificed to idols, but also with beatings, imprisonments, and shipwrecks. Within the loving acceptance of Christ, he was bulletproof. He could face anything, including his own death.

Practice facing your hurts, fears and sadness, gently letting them be without the need to do anything about them or to add any commentary. Be centered in your body; be centered in your union with God in Christ. Let yourself be loved, infinitely. And look without judgment into whatever bedevils your life. Let it be.

We all experience loss. Eventually we will all lose everything – youth, strength, health, relationships, life itself. Practice now letting it all be, and maybe your capacity will grow like Paul's, who could say in truth, I don't care whether I live or die. If I die, I will die into Christ. But if I live, I might be more helpful to you. So, he says, I'm glad to go on living.

"What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him."

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[i] The story and some major points are adapted from Dr. Ronald Siegel, The Science of Mindfulness, lecture 17, Overcoming Traumas Large and Small, from the Great Courses.

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