Carping Criticism and Exhaustion and Peter's advice for a healthier home

 

“Rid yourselves of all spite, deceit,

hypocrisy, envy and carping criticism.

Like new-born babies all your longing

should be for milk…”

1 Peter 2:1-2

 

 

It has been a little while since my last reflection.  It is strange how the world has continued moving while I find myself growing more and more still.  Not by choice, I’d say. Though I did throw my back out by reaching over to pick up a postcard (getting an MRI--tomorrow).  And it’s not that I’ve been sick. Mostly, I am just exhausted. I can’t seem to find the energy I once had. Can’t even find enough energy to focus my thoughts. When I get out my pen and begin to scribble a line or two on a page, a bit of mindless musing, I find that—without meaning to—I stop mid-sentence and by the time I notice, there is a blot of ink forming on the page. If I open a book to read, I fall asleep before I get past the first paragraph.

 

Most of the time, I find myself sitting blank eyed in front of the TV watching Hallmark movies or searching through the channels for something old and black and white; something I have seen so often I don’t have to think about. One thing I know for sure, if Franklin Pangborn is in it, I will probably like it.

 

But, why am I so exhausted? Is it work? Is it poor diet? Not enough sleep? Lack of exercise? Mid-winter blues? Covid fatigue? Mourning?  I’m not sure.  But, those voices inside of me keep whispering: Get back to work. Don’t be so lazy. You say you want to be a writer; why aren’t you writing? Or reading? Or washing the dishes? Have you seen the sink? By the way, the trash needs to go out. And don’t you have a class tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be planning a lesson? Have you noticed how tight your pants are getting? Might want to hold off on that bowl of popcorn and go for a walk. While you’re at it, you forgot to call your Dad. What kind of son are you? Did I mention your pants? You may need a new belt. And have you checked the garage toilet paper supply lately? Better add another 24 pack to the list!

 

It is in this context, that I happened to read this passage from the first letter of St. Peter, and in this context that the phrase, “carping criticism,” stung my soul.    

 

Because of my situation, my initial thought was of the criticism in my own head, so much of it self-directed.  How useless and destructive such criticism can be. Instead of inspiring myself to find joy in my life, and perhaps to get up and do something that I will find satisfying and fulfilling, I carp and criticize myself, nag myself about how lazy I am, or how sloppy I’m getting, or forgetful, etc. I attack myself with criticisms and leave myself wondering why I should even bother trying.  Negative self-talk, carping criticism, can become a self-destructive habit. And can prepare the ground for an often forgotten sin: sloth.  In the secular world, we think of sloth as laziness, an unwillingness to work.  It seems bad, but hardly worthy of being a “Deadly” sin.  But, in the spiritual world, sloth is seen as something far more dangerous.  It is akin to despair—a kind of hopelessness that hides behind questions like: What’s the point?  And if we beat ourselves up enough, we will simply sink into that despair and find ourselves giving up.

 

But another aspect of this teaching, that occurred to me was outwardly directed. I thought about the carping criticism that lurks within a husband and wife noting and tallying each other’s mistakes, each misstep, each failure of judgment; recording them in some emotional bank account, or on some psychological tape-loop of misdeeds, failures and marital infractions that plays continuously in the back of the mind. Reminding us constantly of past hurt feelings and disappointments, making sure that we never forget, that we cling to each and every one of them.  And making sure the other knows that we are watching them. We remember… each dish left in the sink, each greasy skillet left on the stove, each broken promise, each and every forgotten toothpaste tube that was left uncapped, or every time the toilet paper roll was left empty!! Check the garage!

 

Carping criticism is the weed of dissent that we sew ourselves, into our own hearts, into our homes, into our friendships and marriages.  St. Peter lists it alongside spite and envy, hypocrisy and deceit.  I think he does this because he knows that all these things are related.  I criticize someone else because (on some level) I envy them. I envy that they are enjoying themselves and I am not. I envy that they are at peace, whether napping or reading a book, scrolling through their emails, or watching Hallmark. And I am standing in judgement of them, not because of anything they have done—but because, like the hypocrite I often am, I want to be at peace doing “nothing.” I want to enjoy a moment of rest. 

 

The carping criticism that we hear in our own head, that whispers to us words of resentment and spite, it isn’t just bad self-talk. It is a seed being planted, whose fruit is discord and conflict.  Don’t let that seed take root.  If you need rest, take it.  God declared that we should rest, and He declared it good.  So, instead of fighting your exhaustion with a to-do list, close your eyes and take a nap.  If Hallmark movies give you some pleasure and renewal, then watch a Hallmark movie. Let yourself disappear into it completely and enjoy it.  And have a bowl of popcorn, too!  When you feel rested, you’ll be ready to handle that sink full of dishes.  But, don’t stand over them sighing and fuming about who dirtied which cup or which bowl; let yourself offer the work of washing as a prayer for your family, for a friend, for peace in your own heart.  And let each dish be dried with quiet care and a whispered, “Thank you.” Let that be the beginning of your new outlook. Gratitude for the chance to serve another, and a special gratitude if no one notices what you are doing.  As you put away the dishes, bless each one; think about the person who will use it next, and let that blessing be for them.  I hope this doesn’t sound to Pollyanna. All I am saying is this: if your feeling exhausted, it could be because –like me—you are. You are trying to do too much and trying to do it all perfectly.  And disappointing yourself that often can be quite exhausting. 

 

Dear Lord,

let me rest in You,

trusting that all I have is from You,

even my weakness and frailty

is part of Your plan.

Whether I am waking or sleeping

or washing dishes,

I give it to you.

I am Yours.

To serve is divine--A Meditation on John 13

 “Jesus knew that the Father had put

everything into His hands, and that

He had come from God and was

returning to God…”  --John 13:3

 

 

Just before the last supper, the night before He was to die, according to John’s Gospel, Jesus seems to have a deeper or more profound knowledge, special insight, into His mission, His role, His person.  He knew that God had delivered everything into His hands—implying a kind of completeness—and John seems to recognize that Jesus understood in a new or special way where He had come from, and where He was going.  Some theologians have interpreted this as depicting or expressing a moment when the human consciousness of Jesus is receding into (or reuniting with) the wholeness of the Divine; as if to say that whatever limits may have been upon His human understanding are fading as He prepares to re-unite completely with the Father. 

 

Okay, but my first reaction is: I guess.  But, if He’s God, didn’t He really know this all along[1]?  

 

My second reaction, is to ponder. And this morning, reading this chapter of John’s Gospel on the front porch with the blue jays pecking at the peanuts and a flock of thrushes peppering the sky, darting in and out of neighboring trees, hopping about in the grass, I found myself pondering this idea: Jesus suddenly knew these things and knowing them, what does He do?  He overturns all religious and cultural conventions: He acts like a servant and begins washing His disciples’ feet. (cf13:5).

 

And when Peter complains about Him doing this, Jesus doesn’t explain. He just says: You’ll understand this later.  And to make sure, He sits the disciples down and tells them point blank: Pay attention! This was more than just a hygiene lesson. If you want to follow me, I just showed you the way. (cf 13:15)

 

It is easy to be sentimental and say to ourselves, I want to be like Jesus. But, living it is something else.  For instance: last night I came home from work tired, neck tight from slouching over a computer. All I wanted was to change clothes, go for a walk and read a little Agatha Christie. But I could see that Lynne was working very hard, and there were still chores that needed doing, litter boxes that needed cleaning, etc. So, I changed clothes and started to help.

 

At some point I realized there were no dinner plans.  So, I got out tortillas, eggs, salsa and cheese and started making tacos.  And seeing that my wife was just as tired as I was, I brought her a couple of tacos on a plate and gave her a kiss. I told Sophie and Lucy there were taco fixings and warmed up some more tortillas and sat down to eat. A Hallmark movie was on the TV, and I felt like I finally had a moment to myself, so I opened up the I-pad and started looking at the NY Times. But, sometimes Paul Krugman isn’t as fun as Facebook, so I started flipping through pictures and silly videos. Just as I was beginning to wonder why I was watching another TCM commercial, Lynne asked me if I would be willing to rub her neck. For an instant I felt like Peter. Resentment welled up inside me. I had just done everything, cooked, served, even protected the leftovers from a cat. Inside me a voice cried out: What about me? Don’t I deserve to be massaged, or comforted, or even just left alone?

 

But living like Jesus isn’t just about sentiment, and humility, and it certainly isn’t about fairness.  It’s about divinity. Knowing who He is and what He was made for, Jesus empties Himself and becomes a servant—a slave.

 

Pondering these verses, I realize that every moment, every choice, it is all in my hands. I can choose to follow the example of Jesus, or I act like Peter and complain. I can choose to pursue my own desires and ego.  Or I can lay down my life (or my I-pad) in service to my wife, and to God: the one who made me and to whom I will return.

 

And, like Jesus, I can know: This is what I was made for.

 

Lord,

Open my eyes, that I read Your word more clearly,

Open my ears, that I hear Your message more fully,

And open my heart, and let me be filled

with the love that is found there.

---

[1] My instinct, too often, is to look for a loophole or point of debate.  Which may just be part of growing up as the middle child in a largish family. Always watching for a way to score points, make an impression, make myself stand apart from the crowd…   But it probably also comes from studying theology and philosophy at the University of St. Thomas with those delightfully odd Basilians and their Thomistic Center.  We were taught to ask questions, to be curious, to explore ideas and push against the envelope—but always with humility and always in service of the truth. 

 

Confession and the Tranfiguration

“…he was still speaking, when…”

--Matthew 17:5

The other morning, I went to confession over at Our Lady of Czestochowa. It had been a while, and it is summer. I guessed it was time for my quarterly check in with the sacrament.  One interesting thing I think I know about this church is: there used to be a Charlie’s Hamburger there back in the 70’s. “Over two-dozen sold,” was their slogan. There were a few around town, but they are all closed now (I believe).  If I remember correctly, the restaurant was in an old two-story house that also sold antiques. Regardless, the fact that it was there tells me that this piece of land over on Blalock has always been a place that feeds the soul. It must be Holy Ground.

I like going to confession over at Our Lady partly because the priests are Polish and there is the strong possibility that they won’t fully understand what I am confessing, but also because of the old-fashioned confessionals. They have the kind with a kneeler and a screen; like in the movies. It feels not only private, but special, solemn; more real.  I know there are people who like going to confession face to face with the priest, but I have always preferred the idea of anonymity. Of course it may be a sign of spiritual (and emotional) immaturity, but I have never gotten comfortable with the idea of a priest knowing exactly how I feel about Doritos! Tree climbing! and Lana Turner!  Just the possibility…  It’s more than I can handle.  And, I must say I don’t like to see the disappointment in their eyes when I begin talking about my struggles the 10 commandments (at least 9.5 of them).  But that’s another story…

What I really wanted to talk about was my penance.  The priest recommended that I meditate on the Transfiguration.  He recommended either praying the fourth Luminous Mystery of the Rosary (the Transfiguration) or getting out my Bible and reading the gospel account (Matthew 17: 1-8, Mark 9:2-8, Luke 9:28-36) and spending some time quietly contemplating it.  Well, like any good and overly scrupulous sinner, I went straight home and did both… But nothing much happened.  I wanted to feel overwhelmed with grace and mercy and salvation and all kinds of luminous stuff like that. Basically I wanted to feel something transformative… but, like I said, nothing much happened. I read the Gospel account and sat quietly for a while, my mind wandering about like an owl in search of a cigarette.  Then I went for a walk to the park and prayed the rosary and picked up a dead fish that someone had left in the road… But, basically, I felt un-changed.  I was pretty excited about this penance and thought –Wow! That’s a cool one. Man. I lucked out. But, in the end –I prayed and I meditated and …nothing seemed to happen. I was still just me… and I was a little disappointed.  And that’s how prayer works most of the time (in my experience).

But… Later (this is almost a little postscript; which may –in itself—be a sign of some kind) I was sitting in a lobby waiting for my daughter, reading a book and having trouble keeping my eyes open; I heard the slapping of sandals coming down a staircase and I was kind of startled awake.  I looked across the lobby (a large one --with an indoor garden) and I saw these two skinny legs coming down the twisting staircase slapping loose fitting sandals with each step.  The steps sounded like those of a small girl, half playing with the acoustics; perhaps delighting in the clap of her shoes as she walked. From my angle and distance I could see a pink gauzy skirt that came down just past her knees. It looked almost like a ballet skirt my daughters used to wear when they were very young.  As she came around the landing where the stairs turned back toward the main lobby I could see it wasn’t a child. It was a young woman; early twenties –I would guess—and she was walking as so many of us do these days with her face peering into her phone. She came down the rest of the steps just as loudly, but now the sound had lost its charm.  Now it seemed like the thoughtlessness of a distracted young lady who couldn’t be bothered to care whether anyone else was trying to read (or sleep).  She was too busy staring at her screen and emojifying things! I guessed.

And now that I was awake and cranky I was also a little perplexed by her outfit. Why was she dressed like an eight-year-old?  And why couldn’t she just put that phone away and stop slouching, and walk like a normal person (whatever that means, Old Man Sutter!)…

I watched her walk to the door still staring at the screen in her hand; her shoes still slapping the tile floor. I watched her open it and step through, still staring at it.  I watched as she let it swing closed and kept going, apparently oblivious to the other people who were walking past her to come in.  And as I did –my first thought was: of course, she won’t hold the door for anyone. She’s too caught up in her own little virtual world to bother about anyone else.  I had made up my mind about this young woman. And then something happened.  As she was walking away, she suddenly stopped and hurried back. And opened the door. And just stood there… as a very large (overweight man) walked stiffly and slowly past and through the door.  He nodded and may have spoken to her. I couldn’t hear from my vantage point.  But I could see her turn her head up from her phone and smile before she headed on her way.

What I witnessed that afternoon in that lobby was a type of transfiguration.  Like those sleepy apostles who looked at Jesus and thought they knew who he was. They had been with him a while and seen how He acted and heard Him speak and even seen Him heal people, but… Then he revealed Himself in a way they had never imagined.  Me… I was looking at that young lady and after just a few seconds of observing her, I thought I knew who she was. I thought I knew what I was seeing.  And that judgmental voice in my head just kept speaking. But, then she turned around and opened that door and… I too saw something I had never imagined. 

Shut your mouth, Mr. Sutter... and open your eyes.  There is more to God's world than you could ever imagine.

In my experience with the Lord, that is exactly how He works.  If I am acting all holy, and looking for a reward, nothing happens.  But, just when I am feeling exhausted and ready to give up on God, He comes clumping down the stairs in a pink ballet tutu looking like an overgrown 8-year-old.  When the priest gave me that penance, I had been kind of excited. Because I thought it was a sign from God. And I guess it was. But, just not in the one I had expected.  And yet, if I hadn’t gone to confession that morning, if the priest hadn’t given me that penance, and if I hadn’t gone after it like a dog after a bone, I wonder --would I have been ready to witness what I saw? Would my heart have been open to that little quiet moment of transfiguration if the seed hadn’t been planted by a priest I never saw sitting behind a screen in a little old fashioned “closet” (with a kneeler), on a weekday morning, in a Polish church in Houston, Texas? I wonder…

One thing I know for certain; somewhere along the way, I must have been on holy ground.  But isn't that true everywhere? I mean, think about who made it.

Peter's mother-in-law: more than just a joke

“Then the fever left her and she waited on them…”

--Mark 1: 29-39

How often have I heard a homilist (or jokester after mass) comment with some sense of irony on this brief passage about Peter’s mother-in-law.  Countless times I have heard the wry note that this poor woman must get off her death bed to wait on the men. Isn’t that the way it always is! The poor woman can’t even take a sick day! Heck, the implication goes, Jesus only healed her because the men wanted her to fix them something to eat.

            And yes, there is humor to be had here, especially on Super Bowl Sunday.  Therefore, before I go to far, let me first say: men –get your own darned chips! And make your own queso. And when it’s time for the game to start, ask your wives (and mother-in-laws) if they’d like to come sit down and watch the game with you --while you wait on them. 

And maybe during the half-time break, instead of watching Justin Timberlake undress anyone, maybe you’ll take a break and ponder the day’s readings.  There is much to consider her, definitely much more than a simplistic little joke about gender stereotypes.

Hearing these three readings together (Job, 1 Corinthians & Mark) I was left with a picture of our call to serve.  First there is that reading from Job 7:1-4; 6-7 that reminds us of the misery and emptiness one feels when suffering alone.  Job (perhaps like Peter’s mother-in-law) loses hope in his suffering. He even senses that he “shall not see happiness again.” Struggling with a long and seemingly meaningless illness one can lose hope (by golly, some of us lose hope after a couple of days with a cold or a sore throat! And some of wonder whether we will ever see happiness again when the guacamole runs out before the chips!!! Aargh! The horror—the horror…  Why is this happening to me? Why has the Lord turned against me? And why have the Patriots just called another time out???  Please Lord, don’t let Tom Brady have a wardrobe malfunction?

Then there is the reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (9:16-19; 22-23) in which he proclaims that he makes himself “…a slave to all… becoming all things to all, to save at least some…” and this he does “for the sake of the gospel…” that he too might have some share in it.  What does that tell us? Well, here’s what it says to me: It’s not about you [Herman Sutter]!  It’s not about whether you look good in the eyes of the world or whether you seems successful or even whether you get a fair share of the chips and queso!  It’s about the gospel of the Lord. It’s about spreading that gospel in whatever way and however best you can. And that may look different every time, and with every different person you meet (and serve).  Sometimes you will need to be weak, and sometimes you will even need to be a slave in order to serve the Lord’s gospel. But why? Because, as Jesus says near the end of Sunday’s Gospel reading, “For this reason have a I come…” This is the reason we are here. This is our mission. Our vocation. Our call from the Lord: to preach the gospel.

  And when the Lord touches us, when He takes our hand, we no longer want to lie in bed, we no longer want to bemoan our sufferings, when we feel His touch, our soul responds; and I think that is what Peter’s mother-in-law is an icon of. Wen Jesus touches her, she immediately gets up and serves. Like Paul, she becomes a servant for the Lord, that she too may have a part in His gospel, and in the spreading of His love.

So, when you hear someone make a joke out of this verse from Mark’s gospel, perhaps you will remember –it’s a lot more than that.