Passion Is Suffering.

By in Uncategorized, Parenting, Relationships, Spirituality Tags: , , ,

 

 

A modern day sage. I met him. Years ago. He became my spiritual director.

Tony was in his mid 70’s. Roman Catholic, Egyptian (raised in parochial schools in Egypt), no formal education, but decades of volunteering in prisons and jails and half-way houses, helping teenagers recover from lives of violence and addiction.

I once asked him why he had given his life to helping addicts. He told me this story.

Decades earlier he had had a troubled marriage. His wife was about to leave him. They agreed to visit a Roman Catholic retreat center in the Arizona desert.

Most of the center was conducted in silence, except for the time for prayers, and 12 step meetings. After a few months, Tony says, he “found” himself; he came in direct contact with his narcissism.

He didn’t do drugs. He didn’t gamble. No alcohol.

He says his addiction was to himself.

Tony and his wife decided that keeping their marriage together was primary. But they knew they had to take some bold steps.

They returned to Southern California, in order to sell all their possessions. Their plan was to move back to the desert and work in the treatment center. Their friends and family raged, telling them that saving their marriage didn’t require such radical steps.

Tony says he understood the depth of his selfishness. His workaholism and cravings for success could only be broken with this kind of radical commitment.

His wife agreed 100%. They moved to the Arizona desert. And for years, together, they worked. Tony as janitor, his wife as cook and maid. Silent for most of the days, for three years, they would listen to the stories coming from the other addicts. As he said, “we would work, we would sleep, and we would pray and listen.”

Silent for most of the days, for three years, they would listen to the stories coming from the other addicts. As he said, “we would work, we would sleep, and we would pray and listen.”

He describes the experience as one that stripped him of his love and need of everything, except God, health, and his wife.

And they fell in love.

Eventually, they felt it was time to begin again. They rented a small apartment back home. People felt their transformation. Friends then started calling for advice. He’d meet them but would provide no counseling, just listening to broken people, and sharing small parts of his story.

His story was ultimately about love. What love is. What love requires. How love feels.

For decades, this humble Roman Catholic man, with no formal education, saw the lives of countless troubled youth changed with his message.

When I met with Tony, I would often ask him about love. Love was the topic he spoke about most. He was a man of love. In his French-Egyptian accent, with a kind of gently intense passion that I can’t describe, he would say, “Love…it’s the greatest mystery”

“Anyone who tells to tell you exactly what love is is crazy”

“How can you describe love?

Let me just say this one thing. “Love always brings passion, and passion is suffering”

“Where there is passion, there is always suffering. The greater the passion, the greater the suffering.”

Whether in a relationship, physical training, education, an art you are trying to master, if you have a passion for it, you will suffer.

If you are trying to advocate for an oppressed people group, you will suffer.

Passion is suffering. That proposition goes against almost everything we see and hear today in music and movies.

I don’t think love or passion is possible without suffering.

Elliot’s Run For Class President

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Elliot is my youngest. He’s 14. He just started high school. Elliot is unlike me in so many ways. He’s an extrovert’s extrovert. For every degree of awkward aloofness that permeates my every cell in every social setting, Elliot thrives in crowds, makes friends quickly, becomes popular with blinding speed.

A few weeks ago, I heard through his mother, who teaches at his high school, that he was “running for class president.”

I’m no tiger dad. I have no vested interest in his winning. I have no vested interest in leveraging his self initiated ambition (I don’t even know how he came up with the idea of running) for “his” future benefit.

I don’t care if he wins or not. Loosing might be a better teacher. It usually is.

Elliot is not an object, he’s my son. I’m not trying to churn anything out of this.

But I’m happy to see his initiative. I did ask him on Monday, “Elliot, heard you’re running for class president, do you need any help?”

Classic Elliot: “no.” End of conversation.

I heard he made the posters. Apparently he copied a famous image of Cesar Chavez and inserted his head. (I think I remember lecturing him on a drive up the 55 freeway on workers’ rights and wage disparity while I was listening to Springsteen’s The Ghost of Tom Joad). Everyone loved the poster, his mom told me. He likely had the idea for the poster but had friends (probably female) “help” him. He wrote the speech, I presume. He writes better than his dad.

His mother just forwarded me the quicktime video of that speech.

“I vow to be a humble, caring, thoughtful leader…”

I had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. He stood at the podium. Classic Elliot. Poised. Huge smile. Hand in pocket. Nonchalant. Booming deep voice. Crowd swooning (female) with his every gesture.

A humble, caring, thoughtful, leader.

I’ll take it.

I Store Up Treasures On Earth — A Confession

By in Religion, Spirituality Tags: , , ,

 

Recently I heard a sermon. The preacher (whom I admire and respect deeply) was talking about Jesus and that famous passage about storing up treasures.

Most of us have heard it before — people are to not store up treasures on earth.

I listened. I looked around. I sat wondering what Jesus meant by “treasures.”

Then I gazed around it occurred to me that everyone in the room was in clear violation of Jesus’ words.

Everyone was disobeying Jesus’ command to not store up treasures on earth because everyone in the room, I presume, had stuff that they liked, or even loved: books, cars, handbags, iPhones, furniture, homes, jewelry, surfboards, shoes, clothes (not to mention abstract things like reputations and image).

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21, NIV).

So what could have Jesus meant with these famous words? I can think of a few options.

Perhaps he was speaking to small group of people who were called to take vows of poverty. He called the 12 to follow him, and leave behind everything else. He didn’t give those radical orders to everyone. Today, many monks and nuns and priests take similar vows. They give up their stuff. The scripture would make sense in this case — those people should take Jesus at his word, literally, and not store up treasures on earth.

Or maybe Jesus was saying something like this: “It’s okay to have stuff, but don’t love it too much.”

We’ve all heard that axiom before.

But I struggle with this option. How much is too much?

I own a Rolex watch that was a gift from my father when I graduated from college. I like my Rolex. Or maybe I love it. I want to keep it (store it?) until I die.

I thought I left it at my yoga studio once, and I was a complete basket case until I found it under the seat of my Prius (which I also really like). My attachment to my watch is not solely because of its monetary value; it has meaning to me, there’s a story behind it, I want to pass it to one of my children.

I have other possessions, some that I keep (store up?) and which have great meaning to me: my books, my Martin J40 guitar, photos of my family and friends.

There’s this cast-iron Staub cocotte I bought my Mom for Christmas. Before she had her stroke. She never used it. She said it was so beautiful she wanted to keep it perfect. I now keep it on my stove to remind me of her, and of her love of cooking.

 

Plato did talk about the three appetites of man: for pleasure, for status, and for knowledge.

Many of our things bring us pleasure and, clearly, status.

I hate to admit it but I probably like my Rolex because it’s a status symbol. Damn, I hate to admit that but I know it’s true.

I bet you can relate, though. I bet you and have things you really like, or even love.

I left church that day feeling unsettled. The congregation heard the words of Jesus and the preacher, but it seemed clear that everyone was probably in clear violation of his teaching.

His teachings are hard. I read them. I contemplate them. I try to follow them.

But I like my stuff, my treasures. And I like to store them up.

Something tells me he’s okay with it.

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