Lessons From (and for) The Circus of Life: Clowns!

Generally speaking, you either love 'em or you hate 'em, but very few people have no feelings one way or another about clowns.  They creep you out, or they keep you laughing.  They represent childlike wonder and playfulness, or want to lure you to your death (like Stephen King's terrifying Pennywise the Dancing Clown).

Having been a clown myself, I lean toward the more positive attitudes about clowns, although I can certainly understand their power to unnerve.  They are clearly human, yet their exaggerated faces suggest something else.  They are ... extreme ... and they definitely seem to be hiding something.  Whether that "something" is demonic or delightful is in the eye of the beholder.

In 1964, the Lutheran Council produced a film called, simply, Parable, for the Protest Pavilion of the World's Fair.  The figure of Christ is depicted as a clown, with the world as a circus.  It was only 22 minutes long, there's no dialogue, and it is largely unknown or forgotten today, yet the ripples it made continue to this day.  (Some say that it inspired the Clown Ministry Movement of the 1970s and 80s.)

Whatever your particular relationship with clowns, the intent is to represent irrepressible joyousness and play.  A clown is essentially child-like, someone who looks at the world through innocent eyes.  Their actions and reactions are exaggerated, to be sure, yet they are also fleeting.  A clown doesn't stay mad for very long, and they almost always return quite quickly to a giggle or a guffaw.  Nothing phases a clown; clowns are eternal optimists.  Even a sad clown -- like Emmett Kelly's "Weary Willy" -- never gives up, whether trying to crack open a peanut with a sledgehammer, or sweep the spotlight off the stage.  Drop a stick of dynamite down the pants of a clown and they might fly up into the air, but they'll invariably come down into a forward roll with a smile on their face.  This is one of a clown's lessons -- don't give up, don't lose hope, and keep in touch with joy even during hard times.

Clowns also remind us to appreciate even the smallest and most mundane of things.  A clown doesn't need much to fuel their wacky form of whimsy.  Avner the Eccentric, a modern clown, needs only a napkin, a class of water, or his hat in order to generate the review his one-man show received from Joel Seigel on ABC-TV, "I laughed for two solid hours.  The show only lasted an hour and a half."

And clowns always "think outside the box."  While appreciating simple things, clowns are never satisfied to use a thing as it is, asking, "what else can I do with this?"  Clowns rarely employ the simplest solution to a problem; efficient productivity is not their goal.  So, instead, they are always looking for the most fun way.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

On Prayer

One of the words that often trips up the "spiritual but not religious" is:  prayer.  As with "God," many of us have grown up with very specific ideas of what "prayer" is, ideas taught to us in church -- either a specific faith community or the "secular church" of mainstream, popular media.  We've often been told that prayer is all about reaching out to "God" to ask for things (for ourselves or others), to express gratitude, or simply to give voice to our awe.  The wonderful author Anne Lamott summed up these modes of prayer in her book, Help, Thanks, Wow: the three essential prayers.

I've already written at some length about the problematic images many people have of "God," and how, when they reach a point of deciding that they can't believe in those images anymore, they close their eyes, minds, and hearts to any idea of "God" at all.  The same is often true with "prayer" as well.  Over the years I've talked with a great many people who've told me, essentially, "I was taught what prayer is.  What I was taught no longer makes sense to me.  Therefore, prayer no longer makes sense to me, and I don't 'believe' in it."

Yet even when a person discovers a new way of understanding what the word "God" might point to, the (let's call it) indoctrination on the subject of prayer is often extremely deeply rooted.  We don't know what to do with talk about prayer if the "God" we've come to understand is not that "God."

The 19th century historian, philosopher, and author Ernest Ranan offered one way of making a transition to a new understanding with what's come to be known as The Prayer of the Agnostic:  

O God, if there is a God, save my soul, if I have a soul. 

Others have suggested that we could see prayer not so much as talking to someone else, and more as talking to ourselves.  We could think of it as making us more conscious about, for instance, the needs of of another person, or our gratitude for the gifts we've been given.  Prayer is, then, not a means for making sure that some external "God" knows something.  This understanding of prayer is about making sure that we know it.

You could also think of payer as an exercise of our creative, spiritual imagination.  Those of us with pets talk to them all the time, yet we know that they can't really understand what we're saying.  Yet we essentially "pretend" that they can.  (Those of us with adolescent children often pretend that they are listening, too!)  We can think of prayer this way as well -- we can personify that "Sacred Something" and talk as if "it" can understand us.

This is not as ridiculous as it might seem.  Dreams aren't "real," as we usually define reality, yet often we can find in our dreams' imagery important insights that do effect our "real" lives.  And using the pet metaphor, many people can tel stories of how talking to their pet has helped them to work through a difficult decision or discover something they hadn't known.

In 2005 Skinner House Books published Simply Pray:  a modern spiritual practice to deepen your life.  In the next several posts I'll summarize some of what I cover in that book about the nature of prayer, and a practice which many have told me has been very powerful, whatever their beliefs might be.

Paxt tecum,

RevWik

Talking To Yourself

This week I want to offer an exercise.  You can do it once, or several times.  You can do it in your head, out loud, or in a journal.  The only thing you need, really, is the right attitude -- be playful.  If you over-think it, it won't work.  If it does work for you, though, it this can be really illuminating.

Think back to a time when you thought you had a pretty good idea of how you wanted your life to be.  Maybe you were 16 when you had it all figured out; maybe you were 12.  Maybe, for you, it was even a little younger than that, or a little older.  It is certainly possible that at different ages you had it all "figured out" in different ways.  So here's your first chance to avoid over-thinking.  Don't try to come up with the "right" age, the "perfect" age.  Just think back to a time when you thought you had a pretty good idea of how you wanted your life to be.

When you have an age in mind, create a scene for this younger you.  What were your favorite things to wear?  What kind of music would you have been listening to?  Would your room have smelled like incense (or something else)?  Or do you see yourself somewhere else?  Try to imagine yourself, at the age you've chosen, in a setting that makes sense to you, and try to give all of your senses something to play with.

Then imagine you, as you are now, entering the scene.  Introduce yourself to your younger you.  Make whatever small talk comes to you, and then ask the question:  so ... how do you think I've done with your life?

Remember ... don't over-think this.  If a feeling comes up, listen to it.  If words -- whether they surprise you or not -- go with them.  Don't question your younger you's responses, just pay attention to them.  Ask questions, but don't challenge or defend.

It's good to make some kind of record.  Write the "conversation" down in a journal, if that works for you.  Record yourself narrating the encounter, if that's easier.  And -- once more -- don't over-think this.  Be playful.  Be curious.  If you like, think of this as a kind of lucid dream, and see what you might learn from it.

Pax tecum,

RevWik