Why is
it that so many folks, when they hit that mid sixty or beyond mark, begin
disregarding, more often, the most serious issues, in particular, spiritual
issues? Am finding, at least in part, the answer in the writings of a fellow
that lived in the fourteenth century? Maybe!
For
some reason I was browsing Amazon books for an older book, which is no longer
available, when I came across the Canterbury Tales. It was at a reasonable cost so I downloaded
it on my Kindle. I had read it many years ago and thought I'd give it another
go, one of these day, since I had forgotten 95% of it's theme. Well, as what usually happens, I made the mistake
of reading a couple of passages and it has become a part of my regular diet of
reading once or twice a week.
I've
discovered that Geoffrey Chaucer penned a sometimes bawdy, often hilarious, and
always sharply critical satire of the religious folk of his day. The
"tales" of the pilgrims make up the content of the story. Despite their
common path of pilgrimage to Canterbury, Chaucer's Christian characters are
largely examples of the corruption and dissolute living that had overtaken
virtue in the church of his time. However, in the case of "The Parson's
Tale," just finished, I think he is giving an extended prose narrative
intended to instruct the pilgrims in Christian morality. It seems to me that in
this tale, by contrast, Chaucer is espousing the kind of Christianity, he,
himself, by giving the Parson the last word.
The
Parson's Tale presents a theological treatise on repentance and how to overcome
the "seven deadly sins" with the virtues of the spiritual life. In
particular, the parson offers magnanimity as the virtue to combat the vice of which
I am well aware of: acedia. Acedia was considered one of the most serious of
sins. It manifested itself in spiritual despair, and more significantly
embodied the temptation to give up caring about anything truly important. The
early Christian monastics believed that acedia led to spiritual impotence and
smallness of heart. Spiritual impotence would allow vice to flourish and virtue
to languish, not because vice was purposely chosen or intentionally entered
into, but because spiritual lassitude desiccated one's concern to be virtuous.
Is this part of my answer? Is this what
I have seen so often during these last ten years or so? Is this the reason for what seems to be a callus
on elders' hearts and souls, these days? I
am seeing more clearly than ever, despair distracting many a spiritual pilgrim from finding his way, let alone some of my loved ones, from following the way of
Jesus. I have remembed what Kathleen
Norris warns in her book; Acedia and Me: that acedia "is known to foster
excessive self-justification, as well as a casual yet implacable judgmentalism
toward others," and readily lends itself to this process of spiritual
apathy.
Looking at the other side of the coin, I consider magnanimity. Magnanimity, by contrast, will be found in
me when I am generous of spirit, caring and gracious in forgiveness. Chaucer, through the voice of the Parson,
warns that "a great heart is needed against acedia, lest it swallow up the
soul." So I'm confirming my idea by believing that if I'm to have a great
heart, it's imperative I have a magnanimous heart full of generosity and
graciousness, eager to forgive. Acedia, on the other hand, swivels my heart, to
small for caring for the things God cares for, devoured by things that do not
matter at all.
I also need to keep in mind and need to practice what Norris warned against
when writing that it will always be easier to pluck the speck out of my brother's
eye while I ignore the log in my own. This propensity to see others as the
primary problem, while elevating my own self is a clear sign that acedia has
taken root in my life. And on the contrary, magnanimity, as Norris also notes,
"requires creativity to recognize our own faults, and to discern virtues
in those weI would rather disdain.
Forgiveness demands close attention, flexibility, and stringent self-assessment,
faculties that are hard to come by as we careen blindly into the twenty-first
century, and are increasingly asked to choose information over knowledge,
theory over experience, and certainty over ambiguity."
Didn't Jesus share many tales; parables regarding the virtuous life? I have to
confess that it has been Jesus who has invited me to hear His story and respond by living a kingdom-life here and now.
I'm reminded when invited to the house of a Pharisee one evening, a woman who
was known to be a sinner entered the house and wept at Jesus's feet, anointing them with her tears and perfume, and wiping His feet
with her hair. In Jesus's day, a man would not allow a woman to touch
him, let alone a woman who was a known sinner. The Pharisee who invited Jesus knew this, and he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet he would know who and
what sort of person this woman is who is touching him". Then I remember, Jesus then telling a tale of two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii and
the other fifty. Which of them, Jesus asks, when forgiven their debt, would love the
moneylender more? The Pharisee replies that the one who owed more would love
more. Jesus then delivers the last line of the tale: "For this reason I say to you, her sins,
which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven
little, loves little".
Father, God, it's my belief that
You want me to understandand and practice magnanimity, pushing beyond my small, acedic heart. I'm sure there will be times in the future when I will be
tempted to be an idle pilgrim on the way to vacant a Canterbury, missing the
true heart of the pilgrimage. But I want to find conviction in responding to
the tale as told by Your Son, Jesus. I intentionally invite Your Holy Spirit to operate on my heart, opening and enlarging it,
in order to receive the gift of magnanimity in greater volume during these last
days of my life. Amen
