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The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, excerpts

eliminate hurry - St Andrew's Church - 1 Church in Multiple Locations

“We, for every kind of reason, good and bad, are distracting ourselves into spiritual oblivion. It is not that we have anything against God, depth, and spirit. We would like these! It is just that we are habitually too preoccupied to have any of these show up on our radar screens. We are more busy than bad. More distracted than non spiritual, and more interested in a movie theater, the sports stadium and the shopping mall, and the fantasy life they produce in us, than we are in Church.”

“What you give your attention to is the person you become. Put another way, the mind is the portal to the soul, and what you fill your mind with will shape the trajectory of your character. In the end, your life is no more than the sum of what you gave your attention to.”

“Hurry is not just a disordered schedule, hurry is a disordered heart.”

“We’re mortal, not immortal. Finite, not infinite. Image and dust. Potential and limitations. One of the key tasks in our apprenticeship to Jesus is living into both our potential and our limitations. There’s a lot of talk right now about reaching your full potential, and I’m all for it. Step out, risk it all, have faith, chase the dream God put in your heart, become the technicolored version of who you were made to be. But again, that’s only half the story. What you hear very little of, inside or outside the Church, is accepting your limitations.”

“Limitations aren’t all bad. They’re where we find God’s will for our lives.”

“If you want to experience the life of Jesus, you have to adopt the lifestyle of Jesus.”

“Jesus was rarely in a hurry. Can you imagine a stressed out Jesus?”

“This rootedness in the moment and connectedness to God, other people, and himself, weren’t the byproducts of a laid-back personality or pre-WiFi world, they were the outgrowths of a way of life. A whole new way to be human that Jesus put on display in story after story. After all, this is the man who waited three decades to preach his first sermon, and after one day on the job as Messiah, he went off into the wilderness for 40 days to pray. Nothing could hurry this man.”

“[The gospels] are biographies. I would argue that these stories about the details of Jesus’ life have just as much to teach us about life in the Kingdom as his teachings or miracles or the more major stories of his death and resurrection.”

“Solitude is pretty straightforward. It’s when you are alone, with God, and with your own soul. For clarification, by solitude I don’t mean isolation. The two are worlds apart. Solitude is engagement, isolation is escape. Solitude is safety, isolation is danger. Solitude is how you open yourself up to God, isolation is painting a target on your back for the tempter. Solitude is when you set aside time to feed and water and nourish your soul. To let it grow into health and maturity. Isolation is what you crave when you neglect the former. And solitude, as somber as it sounds, is anything but loneliness. In his masterpiece, Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster wrote, ‘Loneliness is inner emptiness. Solitude is inner fulfillment.'”

“Sabbath is coming for you. Whether as delight, or as discipline. Maybe that’s why God eventually has to command the Sabbath. Does that strike you as odd? It’s like commanding ice cream or live music or a day at the beach. You would think we would all be chomping at the bit to practice the Sabbath. But apparently, there’s something about the human condition that makes us want to hurry our way through life as fast as we possibly can. To rebel against the limitations of time itself. Due to our immaturity, disfunction, and addiction, God has to command his people to do something deeply life giving. Rest.”

“The important thing is to set aside a day for nothing but rest and worship. Now, often people hear ‘worship’ and think that means singing Bethel songs all day while reading the Bible and practicing intercessory pray. That’s all great stuff, but I mean ‘worship’ in the wide, holistic sense of the word. Expand your list of the spiritual disciplines to include eating a burrito on the patio, or drinking a bottle of wine with your friends over a long, lazy dinner… Anything to index your heart to grateful recognition of God’s reality and goodness.”

“‘Persons who meditate become people of substance, who have thought things out and have deep convictions. Who can explain difficult concepts in simple language. And have good reasons behind everything they do.”

“Our days of pain are the building blocks of our character. Our crucible of Christ-likeness. I rarely welcome them, I’m not that far down the path, not yet, but I accept them. Because my rabbi teaches that happiness isn’t the result of circumstances, but of character and communion. So whether it’s a good day, or a not-so-good day, either way, I don’t want to miss the moment. If it’s true that goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life, how many days do I miss that goodness in my helter-skelter race to cram it all in before sunset?”

“‘Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.'”

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The Sabbath, excerpts

Here are the passages I marked while reading The Sabbath, which I finally finished today at the library.

“To enhance our power in the world of space is our main objective. Yet to have more does not mean to be more. The power we attain in the world of space terminates abruptly at the borderline of time. But time is the heart of existence.” Pg. 1

“There is happiness in the love of labor, there is misery in the love of gain. Many hearts and pitchers are broken at the fountain of profit.” Pg. 1

“The mythical mind would expect that, after heaven and earth have been established, God would create a holy place – a holy mountain or a holy spring – whereupon a sanctuary is to be established. Yet it seems as if to the bible it is holiness in time, the Sabbath, which comes first.” Pg. 9

“The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time.” Pg. 10

“…the Sabbath is not an occasion for diversion or frivolity; not a day to shoot fireworks or to turn somersaults, but an opportunity to mend out tattered lives; to collect rather than to dissipate time. Labor without dignity is the cause of misery; rest without spirit the source of depravity.” Pg. 18

“[The Sabbath] is a day of the soul as well as of the body; comfort and pleasure are integral parts of the Sabbath observance. Man in his entirety, all his faculties must share its blessing.” Pg. 19

“The seventh day is like a palace in time with a kingdom for all. It is not a date but an atmosphere… The primary awareness is one of our being within the Sabbath rather than of the Sabbath being within us.” Pg. 21

“‘What was created on the seventh day? Tranquility, serenity, peace, and repose.”‘ Pg. 23

“For the Sabbath is a day of harmony and peace, peace between man and man, peace within man, and peace with all things. On the seventh day man has no right to tamper with God’s world, to change the state of physical things.” Pg. 31.

“‘Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work (Exodus 20:8).’ Is it possible for a human being to do all his work in six days? Does not our work always remain incomplete? What the verse means to convey is: Rest on the Sabbath as if all your work were done. Another interpretation: Rest even from the thought of labor.”
A pious man once took a stroll in his vineyard on the Sabbath. He saw a breach in the fence, and then determined to mend it when the Sabbath would be over. At the expiration of the Sabbath he decided: since the thought of repairing the fence occurred to me on the Sabbath I shall never repair it.” Pg. 32

“The [Sabbath] was a living presence, and when it arrived they felt as if a guest had come to see them. And, surely, a guest who comes to pay a call in friendship or respect must be given welcome.” Pg. 53

“What is the Sabbath? Spirit in the form of time.” Pg. 75

“We usually think that the earth is our mother, that time is money and profit our mate. The seventh day is a reminder that God is our father, that time is life and the spirit our mate.” Pg. 76

“‘The Sabbath is all holiness.’ Nothing is essentially required save a soul to receive more soul. For the Sabbath ‘maintains all souls.”‘ Pg. 82

“All our life should be a pilgrimage to the seventh day; the thought and appreciation of what this day may bring to us should be ever present in our minds.” Pg. 89

“Everyone will admit that the Grand Canyon is more awe-inspiring than a trench. Everyone knows the difference between a worm and an eagle. But how many of us have a similar sense of discretion for the diversity of time?” Pg. 96

“Things perish within time; time itself does not change. We should not speak of the flow or passage of time but of the flow or passage of space through time. It is not time that dies; it is the human body which dies in time.” Pg. 97

“Every one of us occupies a portion of space. He takes it up exclusively. The portion of space which my body occupies is taken up by myself in exclusion of anyone else. Yet, no one possesses time. There is no moment which I possess exclusively. This very moment belongs to all living men as it belongs to me. We share time, we own space. Through my ownership of space, I am a rival of all other beings; through my living in time, I am a contemporary of all other beings. We pass through time, we occupy space. We easily succumb to the illusion that the world of space is for our sake, for man’s sake. In regard to time, we are immune to such an illusion.” Pg. 99

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Words from Sondheim

Stephen Sondheim, Titan of the American Musical, Is Dead at 91 - The New York Times

As I assume you’ve long heard by now, Stephen Sondheim (writer of Into the Woods, Company, and Sweeney Todd among others) passed away last week. A hero and a pillar in American theater.

Hollywood Stars Remembers Musical Theater Composer Stephen Sondheim – The Hollywood Reporter

On a plane, two days after his death, I watched Six by Sondheim on HBO. A documentary covering the life and career of Sondheim. I was enthralled by this man whose art I had already come to love, and now I’d like to share some of his words from the film.

Stephen Sondheim, Musical Theater Giant, Dies at 91 | Vanity Fair

“Nobody goes through life unscathed. And I think if you write about those things, you’re gonna touch people.”

“I’m not interested in making people unhappy. But I’m not interested in not looking at life.”

“The songs I write don’t really reflect me in any conscious way. They all are about the characters that the book writer has made, and I’m getting into those characters. I never think of them in my own terms.”

“A puzzle, like art, is making order out of chaos.”

“I still get pleasure out of writing a musical phrase I think is really good. I still get a pleasure out of writing a line that I think really encapsulates what I want to say.”

“I love inventing. The hard part is the execution, obviously.”

“It’s all about getting into the character. And you start to make lists of what she would talk about… It’s very much about serendipity.”

“The only reason to write is from love. You must not write because you think it’s gonna be a hit, because it’s expedient or anything like that. It’s so difficult to write… You write it out of passion. That’s what failure taught me.”

Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim dies, aged 91 | News | DW | 27.11.2021

Throughout the film, Sondheim stressed the importance of curiosity and teaching and learning. And since watching, I have heard many people talk about the great influence he had as a teacher, friend, mentor, and supporter (I found an Instagram account full of letters he sent, it’s delightful).

Sondheim, in many ways, lived a life I would like to emulate. He laid on his couch and wrote. He created things that moved people. And he supported others in doing the same.

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In Praise of Chairs

I’m writing you from a chair. A large chair. A very large chair, all my own, taking up the corner of my room nearest the window. My feet are up, as it is a recliner. A very large, brown leather recliner that I bought from a woman named Heather on the internet. She was kind enough to help me lug it to my car, which had trouble stomaching the entire mass of my new, very large chair. But we eventually maneuvered the thing through the hatch in the back, where it sat neglected for several days and nights until I worked up the nerve to ask my new housemate to help me lug it out of the car. Then, up two flights of stairs and through my narrow door into a room that simply shouldn’t be asked to hold so many things.

But now, I’m writing you from my chair. And it is delightful. Upright and comfortable, I sit twiddling on my keyboards and computers, grateful to have left the days when I’d come home from work, collapse on my bed for lack of a chair, and promptly fall asleep far too early.

My chair is not just a chair, though, it is a place to work. A place to be. To be awake and comfortable. Because beds are not for sitting and typing, they are for sleeping. Chairs are for working and living. For being awake and alive. Chairs are where things get done.

And I’m not the only one with an affinity for armchairs.

Image

Above is Eve Sedgwick, an American scholar in the fields of gender studies, queer theory, and critical theory, working from home in a recliner of her own.

And below is Willem de Kooning, an abstract expressionist painter, in his large wooden studio chair.

My Dinner with Willem de Kooning, Painter Hero | by Bradley Wester | The Creative Cafe

Writer Virginia Woolf supposedly had a favorite chair as well.

“Every morning she would walk down to the basement and into a storage room with a cozy old armchair that she loved. She would write away sitting in the armchair in her peace and quiet.”

– Word Counter Blog

And the novelist May Sarton said:

“A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.”

A sentiment with which I whole-heartedly conquer. Writer Alan Garner said:

“Everything I have ever written has been in the same chair, in the same room.”

But the setup of famed children’s author Roald Dahl may be my favorite of them all.

Ten Things You Might Not Know About Roald Dahl | AnOther
Past simple | Baamboozle

With his blanket and writing board, lamp, pinned up papers, and cluttered desk. His writing shed seems the ideal place to be.

Chairs are one of those things for everyone. They’re all around us, in every shape and color and pattern and texture.

In the wonderful documentary, Rams, product designer Dieter Rams tours a collection of whimsical chairs giving his opinions on some of the outrageous maximalist designs.

And chairs have come to mean so many things. They can be symbols of status and life circumstance. Our actions around chairs communicate much. And chairs are often used in movies and media as pieces of the story, as analyzed in this wonderful video essay from 2015. One of my all time favorites.

Of course, how can you write about chairs without mentioning those highest of all?

Though thrones are quite regal, they often seem to be rather uncomfortable, and occupied by cruel folk. Like the angular throne cut of black marble in Eragon, or the Iron Throne made of the swords of past enemies in Game of Thrones.

Game of Thrones symbology: What is the significance of the Iron Throne?
The Iron Throne, Game of Thrones

“It was not a comfortable Throne, this seat made of stone. But power was not supposed to be comfortable.”

– Elizabeth D. Marie, Chasing Cinders

Other times, thrones are full of pomp, showing plainly the disparity between the rulers sitting on the throne, and the ruled kneeling before it.

852 Throne Room Stock Photos, Pictures & Royalty-Free Images - iStock

Neither holds much sway on me. I myself prefer a soft, plain chair. To recline and work away on this and that.

“Every chair should be a throne and hold a king.”

– Ralph Waldo Emmerson

So this old leather recliner I shall make my throne.

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Nike Workwear

Today, a video from one of my favorite internet filmmakers, Van Neistat, led me to this wonderful brand, William Ellery Technical Apparel.

A maker out of New York City producing “outdoor and workwear apparel from vintage wears, envisioning each garment’s unique story.” With “boyhood sentimentality” shaping the clothing and the company.

I, of course, fell in love with it all straight away.

And the wonderful images and pieces sparked an idea in me. A collection of Nike workwear.

I love it when a juxtaposition strikes me. A juxtaposition that seems to fit itself so nicely into an illustration. And I love it when an idea comes from a specific trail of things like today.

The work of William Ellery’s founder, Trevor Davis, reminds me in ways of the work of Tom Sachs.

Tactile, custom, and hand-made. It makes me want to sew something. To make the things I use and wear even more my-own, outfitted to do and look exactly the way I would like.

Maybe I’ll get a sewing kit.

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Meeting Tom

I sat alone in my office for the day. Everyone else was out for this or that. The hours passed as I clicked and typed away, and finally I decided to get a breath of fresh air as midday dragged into afternoon.

On my way out, I noticed the door of that small studio near the entrance ajar, and I heard jazz music playing merrily into the hall. Glancing in as I passed, I saw the back of an older gentleman hunched over a work table, and canvases and papers hung all over the walls. I knew he used it as his paint studio, I’d often caught snatches of his work as I strode past, but I’d never met the man sitting at the table.

A couple people in my office had mentioned him. “He seems awesome,” my boss had said a month or two before. “I’ve never met him, but he seems like the coolest guy. He just sits and paints and listens to music and sometimes smokes weed.”

Walking back in, I didn’t smell any weed, but I did hear the music still playing, so I peered in. The man was painting something that lay flat on the table. When he set his brush down, I knocked lightly on the door.

He turned around and smiled questioningly when he saw me.

“Hi,” I said, pushing the door open slightly as he stood up. “My name’s Chris, I work down the hall. I just wanted to introduce myself – I’ve seen your paintings as I pass by and they’re just beautiful.”

“Hi, my name is Tom,” he said warmly. He took a step forward, and swung the door all the way open with a lean. “C’mon on in, please!”

I stepped into the small room, and looked around at all the work on the walls. Modern, and colorful, and expressive. Beautiful, the type of studio I’d like to have if I were a painter. Tom was wearing a brown apron covering a button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked to be in his 60s, with a white trimmed beard, and kind, bright eyes. He stood a few inches shorter than me, and his hands held loosely behind his back as he looked at me looking at his work.

“How long have you been painting?” I asked, turning all the way around and back to face him.

“A year,” Tom said, with the faintest hint of a smile.

“A year?” I responded with a tone of fane-disbelief, picking up on the joke.

“A year,” he said. Glancing around. “Some things take a lifetime to get to.”

This confused me, and it took a beat to respond. “You mean you really have only been painting for a year?”

“Yeah, I started about a year ago. I was in my first show last month,” he said, a boyish pride shining through the words.

I stared back at him for a moment, stunned. Then again turned around to look at the work on the walls.

“I worked in real estate my whole life – and I think I dreamt of painting that whole time, but never did it. So now – I’m painting.” He said, and smiled softly again.

I told him how surprised I was. Then I told him I’d just moved, and had been studying illustration. He asked where from, and I said Chicago. “I grew up in New York City,” he said. “In Queens. I think growing up with real winters makes you a little tougher. The people here don’t know how to handle anything!”

I agreed whole-heartedly, and we chatted a little more. The conversation rolled smoothly to a stop, and I said “thank you for letting me come in, it was so nice to meet you. I’m so glad I knocked on your door.”

“I’m glad you knocked too!” said Tom. “I don’t get many visitors here. If you ever want to talk about snow, or advice on LA living, feel free to knock again.”

“Thank you, I would love to knock again,” I said with a smile. “It was so nice to meet you, Tom!” Then, putting my hand to my chest, I said “Chris,” again.

Tom, doing the same, said “Tom.” We both chuckled.

“We did it,” I said with another laugh. “Hope you have a lovely rest of your day!”

A few moments later, I sat back down at my desk in my office, and exhaled. I felt a little dazed. I don’t know why – why I’d been so surprised when he said he’d only painted for a year. Why it felt like his eyes had been peering right into me. Why I felt like I just met someone important to me. But I was and they had and I did.

And now I wonder when I’ll knock on Tom’s door again. And what we’ll talk about then.

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Energy Out, Energy In

A few days ago, I posted about a painting of a hand I’d done. It had been a few days since I’d worked on the painting at all, and the initial surge of energy had long passed, so I decided to send it off into cyber-space unfinished.

Just sitting myself down to write those few sentences took quite some effort. And yet, as soon as I finished writing and pressed publish, I looked at the piece again and pulled it up on my iPad. Just to change one tiny thing. Then, an hour or so later, I exported the final piece and put it on Instagram.

This series of events confirmed something I’ve been thinking about for a couple weeks. That my own creative energy doesn’t work the way my brain thinks it should:

Energy out leads to energy in. Creativity leads to creativity. And work leads to work.

Put another way: An object in motion stays in motion, and an object at rest stays at rest.

I often find myself having to fight with the heat of a thousand suns to sit myself down into a creative posture and actually do the work. The hardest part is moving the object (me) from rest (sitting on my bed twiddling on my phone, not enjoying my rest, or actually resting, but simply squandering time scrolling) into motion (doing something creative that I’ve deemed valuable). Once I’m in (creative) motion, I usually stay in (creative) motion. But getting in motion can be a bear. (This rule also applies to physical activity for me, too)

And I believe this “law of creative physics” can be true in micro and macro settings. That creativity spawns creativity. In spare evening hours, yes. But also in months of shifting seasons. And across long years. And through entire lifetimes. Because, how we spend our days is how we spend our lives.

I want to spend my life creating beautiful things and enjoying my time. And to do that, I must dislodge myself from (unhealthy) rest, and force myself into the rush of (creative) motion.

And to do that, I must get a chair. (I will talk about this chair in my next post)

This is imperfect, and I already have many qualms and qualifiers with these thoughts, but I will leave it there, because it is better to have something finished, not perfect.

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A Painted Hand

Hooray! Hooray! For those moments of sudden inspiration. And energy to boot! To stay up many hours past my bedtime to create a thing.

This time, to (digitally) paint a hand, on a Friday night after dinner with new friends. Where, at one point, one of them scrolled back through old artwork of mine, and I became fixated on the (digital) oil paintings of figures I did a couple years back. My how the time goes.

Here, the piece, a couple days later. I can’t tell if I’ll do more to it, the spark of inspiration has passed. It is quite a fickle thing, inspiration. And pushing forward regardless is a skill I must work to improve. Must, must, must.

But here is something. Something I made.

And above is a screenshot from the process, as well as the original image I used as reference. A portrait of the great artist, David Hockney.

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Your Conjugation Must Be Perfect

The other day I met a new acquaintance who is in the long and arduous process of learning English as their second language. And while talking with them, I had the uncomfortable realization that I had to keep reminding myself no, this person is not less intelligent than me. This person is not a child to be talked down to. This person is a person, exactly like me, just older and surely wiser, who happened to grow up in a different place.

Because language is so closely linked with age and experience and wisdom. Vocabulary comes only with time. Language is humanhood. And to be an adult in a new land with a new language that you don’t speak perfectly is to be treated as a child trapped in an adult’s body.

The wisdom is there. The age and the experience is all there. The brilliance, the humanity. But all that is seemingly locked behind bars of pronouns and conjugation and cultural bias. Bars that erode with time, dedication, and practice, yes. But time spent being treated as a child in a foreign land. Pointing out the weather and how good the food was. Trapped by the words that won’t come.

Looked down upon for having the courage, tenacity, and smarts to leave a home behind, travel far, and learn a language. That’s more than I’ve ever done, but still I snear.

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Living Takes Practice

The world is so unbelievably large. And the nuances of living life are so wildly small. The mundanity of the every day to one can be the pinnacle of adventure to another. The smallest things can hold wonder. And the basic rules can bring anxiety. Like the sand crabs bubbling under the surface as the surf rolls out, or learning how to drive in the snow.

To an Iowa farmer, every piece of a sandy beach town can seem foreign. And so too, the cold and snow of winter in rural Montana can feel like a horrible, freezing hell world to a boy from Miami.

Hank Green shows this in his video giving his best advice at living in a cold climate after 22 years in the heat:

The passage of time is implied by the basic ‘secrets’ learned in a new home. Like never letting your gas meter get too low in the winter. Or knowing what time rush hour hits on a Thursday afternoon. Because living in a new place, just like playing the piano or gutting a fish, takes practice.