Friday night I had the privilege of hearing Kathleen Norris read and answer questions at The Tattered Cover. It was a delight. At one point, I was one of a few people in the room with her before the reading got started and the room filled up. On a side note, it’s a strange experience realizing that a physical presence is the same person that wrote the words in a book you’ve read. Reading can be intimate, so trying to understand that a real person made that possible is just wild.
I did not find myself wishing I had kept the real person separate from the writing. She is a lovely person, at least in the small time I was in the same room as her. She was down to earth, sincere, funny, and smart. She provided intelligent answers to each question, but also used words like “crazy” and “cool.” Even my sister who has not read her books enjoyed the reading.
A few people asked about compassion fatigue, her research methods/habits, acedia and the quotidian, and more. Acedia is an even more interesting word and condition than I had previously thought. What’s fascinating is that the quotidian can be both a remedy and a source of acedia. She discussed how those afflicted with acedia don’t care and don’t care that they don’t care, so naturally, the monotonous everyday tasks of cleaning and cooking and making the bed and brushing one’s teeth seem pointless. Yet to crawl out of acedia one must do those very things. This is something I’ll have to explore, since lately I’ve had a hard time wanting to live in a clean apartment but not caring enough to actually clean (until recently). A lot of times I use the “what’s the point” question to evaluate certain tasks, and it’s easy to rationalize not doing so many things.
Kathleen talked about the connections between the individual’s experience with acedia and our society today. There is so much to care about, so often we tune out and can only respond with apathy. This is where the question of compassion fatigue provided some interesting implications of acedia. For those who spend their lives caring about/for others or certain issues, all the effort in the world can feel pointless when one does not see results. It’s easy to slip into acedia as a result.
When asked about her research methods/habits, she said they’re haphazard and she just reads a lot. She doesn’t consider herself well educated or a scholar, yet she’s extremely intelligent. I love this because she provides an example of a literary life without all the advanced degrees. Every week I convince myself of a new degree I should get simply because I’m curious about those subjects, but in the end, I realize that the library books I read will provide a pretty fantastic education all the same. (Not that I’m saying one can substitute a formal education with library books; rather, we can receive a good foundation from books.)
I haven’t started Acedia & me yet, but I’m a little familiar with some of the ideas. She said that a lot of what’s in The Quotidian Mysteries is in this new book, and since I loved The Quotidian Mysteries, I’m pretty excited. I highly recommend picking up one of her books.
Liturgy and Lauren Winner
For some time now, I’ve felt a longing for liturgy. Is that possible?
I’d say it began a little over two years ago when I started attending my current church. They integrated elements of liturgy and ancient Christian practices/rituals into the service. However, that has since changed, and I find myself wishing for a place that incorporates liturgy in a visible way, but I don’t know if it’s an important enough reason to consider finding a different church.
If I’m honest, I must admit that I don’t fully understand what liturgy means, the word itself and its manifestations. I’ve been stalking its meaning in earnest. When I read three of Lauren Winner’s books last year, I saw the richness of experience secondhand. She went from Jewish to Orthodox Jew to Christian, and in describing this process in her book Girl Meets God, she touched on liturgy in the Jewish tradition and a little bit in the Christian tradition.
Last November a friend mentioned a book called A More Profound Alleluia, which explains the liturgical elements in churches today. I think. I haven’t read it yet, though I mean to. So I wonder how much of my longing is for liturgy and how much is for inclusion in a communion of saints, so to speak.
At my grandfather’s funeral in January, so many elements of a Catholic mass came back to me, even though my family left the Catholic church when I was still in elementary school. There’s a part of me that wants to cling to my family heritage.
With the call-and-response, prayers, and daily readings, aren’t we joining in the Body of Christ? I realize those are not the only way to do so, but as I read The Life You Save May Be Your Own, I can see how liturgy joins people in a unique way.
The three songs, sermon, and closing song routine of many churches today leaves me lacking. Lacking what, I don’t know.
I realize that by even broaching the topic of liturgy, I must evaluate the church today (and in history), and I am in way over my head in that area. Many people have talked and written and ruminated about what church means and what it should look like and all the facets that go along with those questions. The more I read, the more I notice that I’m not alone (although I know few real life people who share my longing). As I explore the intersection of faith and art, I find others out there who express interest in liturgy. The established writers who have informed my developing idea of faith and art are/have been largely part of liturgical traditions. But what does this mean?
These topics are all bound up in what it means to be Christian and creative. I suppose I have not answered any questions in my sprawling, thinking-out-loud writing. I am infinitely curious, and that usually leads to more questions and rarely any answers. I suppose I’m writing this right now to ask if anyone else out there is curious about faith and art, or longs for liturgy, or wonders what the church should look like.