Peace in Confusion

Grant Us Thy Peace

O Lord, my God,

grant us Thy peace; 

already, indeed, 

Thou hath made us rich

in all things!

Give us that peace of being at rest, 

that Sabbath peace, 

the peace which knows no end. 

Amen. 

St. Augustine

Peace.  The illusive quest of 21st Century life.  I have had several reminders this past week that I am not particularly at peace.  I am impatient, discontented, and edgy.  A bit lonely too.  Only by the grace of God have I not devolved completely into a Mrs. Bennet.

  People keep asking us how we are settling in. The physical answer is that the whole main floor of our house is ready for action.  The beds are assembled.  The fruit baskets are hung.  The dining room table has been delivered. The keyboard and dulcimer have their own little corner of the the livingroom underneath Seth's great big world map.  Judi's painting is hung over the kitchen table.  Physically, we are settling well.   

See?  All unpacked.  

But the word settle implies a resting.  Silt settles into the calm, slower moving part of the river.  Dust settles when the wind dies.  I am not settled yet.  There is a cognitive dissonance about moving here that I hadn't reckoned on, and I didn't really notice it until all the physical things were taken care of.  It makes settling hard.  

Cognitive dissonance is one of the first terms I learned as a young education student around the turn of the century (It was 1999.  I can say that.).  We all build patterns of behavior, expectations in our minds, and then when we encounter something new, we have to demolish part of our pattern and work the new habit or expectation in.   There are "should be's" in our brains, and when those should bes no longer fit the world in front of us, we feel uncomfortable.  We feel helpless.  We feel unprepared.  That's cognitive dissonance.  Look up Piaget.  

Like most first born perfectionists, I like to imagine that I have the information I need to live a productive, efficient, effective life.  Cognitive dissonance is my least favorite state of mind.  Living in a new community that by necessity does things much differently than any community I've lived in before, leaves me integrating a lot of new information into my current patterns (called schema by Piaget).  My current needs, like finding an orthodontist for my daughter, are running into my preconceived ideas, like there ought to be one within thirty minute's drive.  The same could be said for the kind of grocery prices that I'm used to.  An hour away at least.  When will the snow fly? Today, apparently. Cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance!

The locals recognize and sympathize with these difficulties.  They are full of advice, invitations, and the occasional offer to drive.  They also water all their perennials well before the first frost of November and schedule eating fresh vegetables because, you know, good, cheap produce is an hour away.  They know the game, and they appreciate that the game takes some time to get used to.  So I have no pressure;  I'm just uncomfortable.  

In the middle of all this emotional static, I came across a passage in The Complete Julian that really struck me:

To me was shown no more cruel hell than sin, for a natural soul hates no hell except sin, and all is good except sin, and nothing is evil except sin.  (Revelation 40, emphasis mine)

"Nothing is evil except sin."  Until I read that, I would have classified my discomfort as evil.  We have a habit, I think, of categorizing uncomfortable things as bad.  Speaking solely for myself, I know that I have an inner three-year-old who pitches a fit in the back of my mind when life doesn't feel quite stable.  "Aaaah, something is wrong. This isn't fair. This world is evil and out to get me.  I shouldn't have to go through this. This should be easier."   But if sin is the only thing that is evil, then my growing pains are not evil.

The corollary, "all is good except sin," is more shocking when you think about it.  I mean, it certainly applies to me.  Cognitive dissonance means that I am growing and learning. The roots and branches of my conscious mind (and unconscious mind, I'm sure) are expanding and broadening.  This is a good thing, and when I have a moment of perspective, I can see it that way.  That's one of the reasons I write: moments of perspective.

However, a lot of pains we can't call good without divine perspective.   A friend of mine is starting her second round of chemo for her third round of aggressive breast cancer.  Members of our congregation just lost  the family farmhouse to a fire.  One can't call those things good.  Up the ante and look at all the pains in the world that are caused by sin, by evil -- abuse, extortion, war, environmental destruction, murder -- and one's head whirls.   Julian knew plenty about pain and uncertainty living in the 1300s with plague and uprising and oppression, yet she could call everything good, except sin.  How did she do that?

Well, she had a divine perspective.  She understood that God wants nothing more than to have us close to Him.  Therefore, anything that pushes us closer to God is a good thing, and anything that pulls us away is evil.  And I also get the feeling that she expected a certain amount of pain in her life. She had already built that schema in her brain, so discomfort didn't cause her any cognitive dissonance.