God was fed up. In a crash of thunder He yanked up to Heaven three influential humans: Bill Clinton, Boris Yeltsin and Bill Gates. "The human race is a complete disappointment," God boomed. "You each have one week to prepare your followers for the end of the world." With another crash of thunder they found themselves back on Earth.
Clinton immediately called his cabinet. "I have good news and bad news," he announced grimly. "The good news is that there is a God. The bad news is, God's really mad and plans to end the world in a week."
In Russia, Yeltsin announced to parliament. "Comrades, I have bad news and worse news. The bad news is that we were wrong: there is a God after all. The worse news is that God's mad and is going to end the world in a week."
Meanwhile, Bill Gates called a meeting of his top engineers. "I have good news and better news. The good news is that God considers me one of the three most influential men on Earth," he beamed. "The better news is that we don't have to fix Windows 95 or 98."
I find it fascinating that on the eve of the new millennium, the supposed 2000th anniversary of Jesus' birth, the dawn of a new century, the most dominant theme in our culture is Y2K compliance. Now, I know the new millennium really began in 1996. When the Church of Rome was developing a new calendar in the sixth century, a monk named Dionysius Exiguus made a mistake of four or five years in calculating the birth of Jesus. And I also know that chronologically inclined purists believe the new millennium will really begin on January 1, 2001.
Putting all that aside, the culture is looking forward to a global party even as we are just a tad anxious about what the stroke of midnight will do to our computer-dependent culture. We are going to have a party right here New Year's Eve - a cultural celebration in words and music and dance - but will usher in the new millennium with a period of silence here in this hallowed hall. It will be a different kind of party from that at Times Square in New York.
There is another way of looking at the Millennium. Last week I received in the mail a large multi-color brochure from an outfit called Bottom Line Books - "How to protect yourself and profit from the coming worldwide money panic." There were screaming headlines from the likes of USA Today - "World Markets Plunge!" "Dow Falls 357 Amid Collapse in Russia," and "Year's Gain Gone: Fear on Wall Street: Dow falls 513 points!" The peddlers of this "special financial alert" are willing to sell you The Bottom Line Money Book as they exploit fears of global financial chaos and our culture's obsession with money and markets.
At the same time the theological Cassandras of our time are giving dire warnings about the end of the age and the fate of our immortal souls. The Jerusalem syndrome is in full swing - the belief by some Christians in the Holy City that they are Biblical characters returned to earth to usher in the Kingdom of God or the Apocalypse or the end of the age - take your pick. There are going to be a good many surprised and disappointed people New Year's morning - if I'm wrong, I'll be among them.
And so, while the culture is gearing up for a Millennial bash, while the Bottom Line Books publishers are warning us about the millennial money panic, while the religious millennialists are predicting the cataclysmic end of the age, I am gearing up to slow down and pay attention. If only we could pay as much attention to the way we lead our lives as we do to Y2K and our portfolios, if only we could pay as much attention to the here and now as to the end of time, we might just make it into the 21st century with something a little deeper than crashed computers, Wall Street wizards and crazed Christians. In a word, I suggest we make spiritual preparations for the Millennium. I love this time of year - an opportunity for centering and contemplation, a time not to forget the outer weather of events, but to consider more deeply the inner weather of the spirit. It's a time for a change of pace - a deliberate slowing down - an opportunity to catch our cosmic breath and pay attention.
The French writer Simone Weil provides us with a text: "Attention is an acceptable form of prayer." With Annie Dillard I like to walk "to keep an eye on things." I walk virtually every morning - outdoors, no matter what. Some wonder at the wisdom of walking in a Rochester winter, but I love it. Unless there is a sheet of glare ice on the sidewalks, I take myself for a walk around my urban neighborhood just off the Oxford Mall. I could get a Nordic Track or stationary bike or some other technological device to get the same amount of aerobic exercise. But I like to go somewhere - to notice things along the way.
As I step out my door I am at once engaged by the Seven Painted Ladies - not what you think - they are seven architecturally interesting Victorian houses built around the turn of the century. Ours is one of them. There are turrets and towers, stained-glass windows and porches, mosaics and gingerbread galore - a feast for the eyes. I turn the corner and walk along Oxford Street - complete with magnolias and carefully-tended flowers. Their extended season is over now, but the silhouette of these angular city dwellers is fascinating.
I pick up the pace - my initial pain and stiffness give way to a feeling of well-being as the heart begins to pound just a little harder and I can stretch the legs just a bit further. I begin my walking meditation - enjoying whatever weather the day brings and rejoicing that for another blessed day I am able to enjoy it at first hand.
This is not a solitary meditation, for there are others out and about in the early morning light - those heading off to work - first brushing the snow from their cars - as I revel in my detached three-car garage, which at least relieves me of that chore. There are many other walkers of all shapes and sizes. I greet each one - and most of the time get a befuddled or bemused response. The buses on Park Avenue are well underway with their reassuring muffled roar delivering people to work or play.
From time to time I observe a man or woman of the street - often with a shopping cart - on patrol for what cans and bottles can be retrieved from dumpsters and waste receptacles and returned for a small fortune. I wonder at the stories of their lives that have brought them to this - a useful bit of clean-up, but a tough way to make a few bucks. And, of course, there are many canine friends walking their servants with a delight in existence known only to dogs. I greet each one and they always respond. I must pay attention to the sidewalk beneath my feet --dogs just do it - and dog servants often do not clean up - a vivid reminder of the limits of human nature. Of course, there are my feline friends as well - carefully surveying their domain with a quiet dignity known only to cats.
Overhead there is the occasional airplane taking some sleepy passengers to distant places for fun or work - leaving their wistful trail across an azure blue morning sky, or perhaps invisible in the frequent clouds. Stores and shops are beginning to open - there is the inevitable coffee klatch at the corner shop - where I used to greet a former neighbor - now dead. I wave.
The city is waking up and I along with it. The ritual of rising to meet the dawn is repeated once more - in Rochester and in many other locales throughout this world I call my home. I am a participant in this ceremony of resurrection from sleep and I am grateful.
If I am lucky - and arise early enough - too seldom - I can glimpse the moon still in the sky and then, rarely, behold the moonset and the sunrise with a single arc of my eyes across the horizon. Stars can be seen in daylight if I really pay attention and time my walk just right. There is wind stirring in the transient magnolia blossoms in spring before they take on summer green. In autumn it gently rustles the crisp and turning leaves. Finally, it rattles on the ice-streaked twigs and trunks - if I listen. There are transcendental possibilities in small journeys.
That walk is my morning prayer - a walking meditation in the Buddhist tradition - the miracle of mindfulness. I have never been very good at the imposed discipline of taking a certain time and place to pray - or meditate - or cogitate. So much literature on spiritual disciplines seems to take the "pumping iron" approach - "try harder." "But trying," wrote one theologian, "has a short shelf life, and I suspect recidivism is greatest not among dieters or smokers but among those who commit themselves to prayer. . . . Listen to the practitioner who has been praying an hour every day for two weeks. 'It's wonderful! It has brought new meaning to my life. There is nothing like it. You ought to try it!' It sounds like Amway or Mary Kay. . . . Prayer is not a rare thing to be searched for. It is the activity of life, the moving atmosphere that sustains life even when we are unaware of it. . . . Prayer is a gift of grace to the hurried, the undisciplined and the disorganized as well as to the people who live by a rule."[1]
My prayer life is more akin to the Maine farmer who was just sitting quietly for a long time, overlooking fields and valleys in the evening sunset. When he was asked "What are you doing?" his answer was short and to the point: "Noticing."[2] Alas, too often I am in too much of a hurry to notice things. Not only do I not stop to smell the roses, I often don't even notice their presence. Miracles surround me, but I have to make my next appointment. Mystery pervades my existence, but I just can't keep up with my job. When I awaken to what is forever happening, I realize that I am usually in a spiritually semi-awake state. My morning walks are a training exercise in noticing.
If only I could notice like Annie Dillard: "Now I am ready. Now I will stop and be fully attentive." But I have forgotten how to pay attention to my life; I am so easily distracted by its trivia. "You empty yourself and wait."[3] But I am too full of myself and the world; I don't have time to wait. "We are here to witness." But I am too much engaged with changing the world to witness it - just too busy for that. In the words of the old Zen poem: "Lightning flashes, sparks shower, in one blink of your eyes you have missed seeing."[4]
Yet, I am too hard on myself. While I cannot claim a spiritual discipline of which workshops and sermons are made, I do try to lead a prayerful existence. Like Victor Hugo, I say, "Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments, when, whatever the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees."[5]
It has been suggested that the spiritual difference between one person and another is simply the number of things they can see in a given cubic yard of earth.[6] Or as Ralph Waldo Emerson put it, "Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view."[7]
And so I say this prayer for the hurried, the undisciplined, and the disorganized - people a bit like me:
O Spirit that hears prayer, attend to these words:
I would say a prayer for the hurried ones,
Those who are spiritually undisciplined,
those whose lives are disorganized.
Thou must indeed hear the prayers of the deliberate ones,
those whose religious discipline is cause for admiration,
those whose lives are in good order.
Hear my plea for those who are in too much of a hurry;
Help to slow them down to hear the patient word of truth.
Attend my prayer for those who know not how to pray
That they might still partake of sources of strength;Let me plead for those whose lives are disheveled,
That they might know the sustaining strength of order.
Help us understand that the still, small voice comes to us,
Not only in the solemn setting of the sanctuary,
But in the hustle and bustle of our lives.
Help us know that sacred stillness sometimes greets us
When we seem least prepared to receive it;
Help us understand that the divine order of things
Supports us even in our confusion.
Let us seek to slow ourselves down;
Let us seek to cultivate disciplines of the spirit;
Let us seek to order our lives into works of beauty.
But, God of hurry and repose, Lord of discipline and impulse,
Spirit of the organized and disorganized,
Accept those of us who will never stop running;
Be patient with those of us who cannot discipline ourselves;
Bless us who never seem to get our lives together.
And so when you see me walking along Oxford or Park or Harvard, wave - but remember, you are waving to a man at prayer. "We are here to witness. . . . Quit your tents. Pray without ceasing."[8]
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