{"id":1395,"date":"2005-08-23T23:40:25","date_gmt":"2005-08-24T03:40:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/theanchoressonline.com\/2005\/08\/23\/acedia-and-the-emporer-of-ice-cream\/"},"modified":"2017-03-16T19:11:53","modified_gmt":"2017-03-16T19:11:53","slug":"acedia-and-the-emporer-of-ice-cream","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/theanchoress\/2005\/08\/23\/acedia-and-the-emporer-of-ice-cream\/","title":{"rendered":"Acedia and the Emperor of Ice Cream"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

Call the roller of big cigars,
\nThe muscular one, and bid him whip
\nIn kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
\nLet the wenches dawdle in such dress
\nAs they are used to wear, and let the boys
\nBring flowers in last month\u2019s newspapers.
\nLet be be finale of seem.
\nThe only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.<\/em><\/p>\n

Take from the dresser of deal,
\nLacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
\nOn which she embroidered fantails once
\nAnd spread it so as to cover her face.
\nIf her horny feet protrude, they come
\nTo show how cold she is, and dumb.
\nLet the lamp affix its beam.
\nThe only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
\n \u2013 Wallace Stevens<\/p>\n

Yes, it\u2019s about death. Sort of. But then, acedia<\/em> is a kind of zombie-ish death to life, and I am wondering if I am in its grips.<\/p>\n

Acedia<\/em>. Spiritual torpor. Apathy. Depression. Zoned-out-by-burnout.<\/p>\n

I am not prone to it. As a naturally optimistic and buoyant sorta gal, I don\u2019t usually give in to the down-feelings, or if I do it\u2019s because my hormones are whacking me upside the head, and it will pass in a day.<\/p>\n

But today\u2026today I mostly felt wiped out. Perhaps I was just feeling tired and edgy and in need of my classic comfort cuisine: Vanilla soft-serve ice cream. Preferably Carvel.<\/p>\n

Suuuuure\u2026my thighs needed that<\/em>! Many scoops, please! Oh\u2026I had many scoops!<\/em><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t \u201cfeel\u201d worried, and yet I know that I am running a thousand \u201cwhat ifs\u201d through my mind, and they are flashing furiously by, in living color, like trains rushing past a window: What if Dad\u2019s vision never corrects?<\/em> This is not a man who can be left without the ability to drive and to hammer and to build!<\/p>\n

What if this lump is not just the cyst I am telling everyone it is?<\/em> Well\u2026to be honest, these were working breasts and I\u2019m starting to wonder if I will soon need to kick them out of the way as I walk, so \u201cbad news\u201d wouldn\u2019t be the worst thing in the world\u2026but it wouldn\u2019t be pleasant, either. I mean\u2026I\u2019d rather not die, please, just yet.
\n
\nWhat if my husband\u2019s employment ends?<\/em> Not good. Not good! Let\u2019s eat more ice cream. Stick a brownie in it!
\n
\nWhat if Dad has a second brain event?<\/em>
\n
\nWhat if Mom is the only one there when it happens, will she have another heart attack?<\/em><\/p>\n

How will my brothers live through that?<\/em> What if Buster, who is learning to be a volunteer fire-fighter, gets hurt? What if my sleep-apnea\u2019d elder son sleeps through next semester? What if my husband\u2019s next business trip is the one where all of my worst nightmares come true and the plane goes down, or blows up? Or he comes home with Avian flu?<\/p>\n

Dear Lord\u2026can I simply reach up and pull the Big Dipper from the sky, and use it to shovel frozen, sweetened cream down my throat? I need a scoop at LEAST that big, tonight!<\/p>\n

There is no trembling anxiety. I am not wringing my hands. I\u2019m just finding, as I go about the day, that every scenario plays out in my imagination with startling clarity. What if my MRI this Friday shows my brain is deteriorating rapidly, that I\u2019ll be an aphasia-ridden wretch in ten more years?<\/em><\/p>\n

Egad. More ice cream, please. Here, let me just duck down and suck it directly from the spout.<\/p>\n

Here is Kathleen Norris, describing acedia in her magnificent book The Cloister Walk<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026my capacity for joy shrivels up and, like drought-stricken grass, I die down to the roots to wait it out. The simplest acts demand a herculean effort\u2026I am observing my life more than living it.<\/p>\n

I recognise in all of this the siege of what the desert monks termed the \u201cnoonday demon.\u201d It suggests that whatever I\u2019m doing, indeed my entire life of \u201cdoings,\u201d is not only meaningless but utterly useless\u2026Worst of all, even though I know what the ancient remedies \u2013 prayer, psalmody, scripture reading \u2013 would help to pull me out of the morass, I find myself incapable of acting on this knowledge\u2026\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n


\nWell\u2026when you put it that<\/em> way<\/strong>, perhaps I am not suffering from acedia.<\/em> Prayer is still good. Psalmody is still effective, especially when it\u2019s being chanted on a few notes.<\/p>\n

But these are certainly tiring days, days when I find myself remembering scripture, \u201cas a child rests in his mother\u2019s arms, so will I rest in you\u201d and then doing a Michael Ledeen to the Almighty: \u201cfaster, please!\u201d Or, perhaps I should be saying, \u201cmore, please,\u201d for consolation is<\/em> there \u2013 it is available and being delivered\u2026it simply does not seem to be enough<\/em>. If God is the mother nursing me at the breast, I am the greedy suckling who cannot get near enough, or be fed enough. It is as though I have a tape-worm of the spirit, and no amount of heavenly succor will fill and satisfy this appetite.<\/p>\n

Ice cream is no substitute for the soft nuzzle of a loving God in whom one is seeking rest.<\/p>\n

In Bethlehem, God strode into the middle of humanity \u2013 entered in \u2013 the good Father, seeking out the meandering, stumbling, fool-headed children He loved. The Son embodied Him. The Spirit did the rest. Tonight, I think I will take all of these \u201cwhat ifs\u201d and any left over ice cream I can find and bundle them up in a sloppy, dripping, humble and woebegone bundle and ask the Holy Trinity to distribute it all amongst themselves. The Triune God can make much more sense of it all than I. And maybe when I awaken tomorrow things will seem a little better sorted-out, the nagging wrinkles might be somewhat smoothed. If I can have an understanding heart, I\u2019ll gladly let Him have the whole of the soft-serve.<\/p>\n

Hmmm\u2026parables and metaphors where I did not plan them.<\/p>\n

I want to say thank you for the comments and emails containing the promises of prayers and good wishes, and even advice \u2013 I hope you will forgive my not answering you all individually. I will, perhaps be better able to do that later in the week. Meanwhile, know that God is never outdone in generosity, whether it be of a material or spiritual nature, and all of your kindnesses will, I know, be repaid and then some.<\/p>\n

Meantime, I am resolute. I am not going to sink into the sticky molasses of depression. And I am not going to add five more inches to my hips. I am going to pray the psalms and canticle of the hour of Compline and then sleep, trying to keep in my heart the thing of hope and wonder: childlike faith. I am going to end my prayer with the poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton:<\/p>\n

\u201cHere dies another day
\nDuring which I have had eyes, ears, hands
\nAnd the great world around me;
\nAnd with tomorrow begins another.
\nWhy am I allowed two?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

God bless us all. And thanks, friends, for your generous hearts.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month\u2019s newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":112,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[44,96,138,163,175,205,209],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1395","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-catholicism","category-faith","category-its-all-about-me-me-me","category-liturgy-of-the-hours","category-monasticism","category-podcasts","category-prayer"],"yoast_head":"\nAcedia and the Emperor of Ice Cream<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. 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