The Anchoress
When I find myself descending into the madness of political minutiae, I can’t stand myself.
Those times are also the times I find myself most tempted to forget about the humanity of the politicians we write about, and that is where I try really hard not to go.
It is easy to not lie about candidates, and it is easy to not “call names.” Name-calling is not a habit I’ve gotten into. But when I find myself stewing and my brains leaking out of one ear, and I’m forgetting – usually thanks the the obnoxious unfairness of the press – that politicians I dislike are probably perfectly decent human beings with whom I simply disagree very strongly…then I know it’s time to pull back, open the breviary and chant. If I don’t, then it all starts to become much too weighty, and I lose sight of the long view, and forget that so much of what we see and fuss over every day is transient and illusory.
And when you forget that, that’s when acedia rears its ugly head. No, thanks. Deacon Greg posts today on acedia, and on Kathleen Norris’ new book, Acedia and Me, which I am sure I will like; I adored her masterpiece, The Cloister Walk. All the same, it was Norris herself who – in that great book – counseled psalmody to ward off the demons of our own thoughts. And she was right!
So, this afternoon I stopped reading and writing and popped open the breviary for Evening Prayer, which is today remembers the martyrdoms of St. Cornelius and Cyprian. I recorded it (badly) for podcasting so join in if you want.
I have to apologize again for the quality of the recording. My elder son calls it “calumny” and I must say that today’s recording sounds pretty crappy even to my limited hearing, but the budget won’t handle the new computer and new equipment I would need to buy for things to sound better. I’m working on it! Any spare change left in the Amazon tip jar is greatly appreciated toward that end.
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