CAN YOU GET IT?

It’s hard to believe that I moved back to the east slope of the Rockies almost a dozen years ago. When I did, a woman from a former congregation (far away) sent me a letter announcing that now she was going to come live with me. She was NOT invited! In fact, I had not seen her for years and had no intention of living with ANYONE. But somehow, she had made this decision without even knowing what sort of life one lives here, one I’m sure would not suit her at all. When I challenged her, she said that no one who was so self-disclosing in the pulpit was entitled to turn away from freely given intimacy like hers. In the end I managed to discourage her or maybe her attention just wandered in some other direction.

I preached about my own life because I could hardly tell the secrets of the people in the congregation or previous congregation. I was nervous even about telling my animal control stories from ten years earlier. The Blackfeet have very mixed feelings about their stories being told. When it comes to fancy praising stories that ennoble them and their past, that’s okay. But if one is meaning to analyze crime on the rez, thus exposing a LOT of information that could be used in ambiguous ways, then forget it. I’ve had local white rancher’s wives threaten me with lawsuits if I EVER write about them or their children, as though it were some form of voodoo that would rob their souls.

But I have never been very friendly about ministers who are “therapeutic” and especially those who use the pulpit for their couch and confide all their deepest worries. What this misguided and needy parishioner didn’t understand was that even when I used myself as an example, I was being selective and could have told a contradictory story -- also from my life. Is it television that teaches us to be so flat and gullible? Screenwriter’s secrets? Formula writing? I find that these people are unable to resolve contradictions and therefore insist on “truth,” giving it a moral value when, in fact, it is simply a disguised need to have things explained on their own level of understanding.

Or is it that so many people live lives so simple and predictable, never exposed to other cultures or tough ideas? Certainly in the short period of time I taught in a nearby off-rez school, I found that the “good” kids were walling out everything but the safest dynamics: family, good grades, 4-H, etc. Which is not to say that family, school and organizations can’t be packed with complexities and tragedies. They’re only pretending if they think differently.

One of the reasons dry cowboy humor is so popular here -- as it is among cops, soldiers, and, well, good ministers -- is that it is a way of handling miserable situations without committing emotionally. Emergency responders of all kinds know this because it is simply not possible to take every needy person home with them. It’s not even possible to get them help every time. But it’s always possible to learn from the incident and one way to “package” it is in a little capsule story. Seems to me there are quite a few of them in the Bible.

Richard Stern, who was my writing professor at the U of Chicago, advised us make it a practice to slip in a bit of irony after every strongly emotional scene. It shows intelligence to recognize that nothing is ever pure. Otherwise one risks death by treacle. But too often people try to cut sweetness with obscenity or bitterness. I myself have a tendency to be either flip or sarcastic, which are both distancing mechanisms.

One of the best counselors I ever had was one of two working with a circle of ministers and seminarians. Someone had asked me a question which I thought I had answered. There was a silence. Then she said, “You think you have us all fooled, don’t you?” More silence. Clearly, she was the only one there who saw this. It took a while for the group to react. My own reaction was relief. I hadn’t known I was maintaining a facade. (Everyone who goes into the ministry does that because the image is so impossible.) More importantly -- I hadn’t realized how much energy was tied up in the effort. It wasn't a moral rebuke -- it was a practical observation.

Only recently someone pretty “hip” who had known me a long time said she thought I’d been free and happy all my life because I’d always made choices I really wanted. She knows that I’ve had long stretches of unemployment that forced me into jobs I didn’t want. But it doesn’t register. I’ve said over and over and over that I came back here to write, to escape all the traps of having to make a living now that I had a house and a social security check. I don’t want to do anything but write, have never wanted anything but to write. Not to be a writer, not to be one of those cute little chicks who write vampire novels, but to sit here and seriously reflect on issues the way I used to do in sermons. I don’t even care whether anyone reads the stuff, which is lucky because they don’t, mostly. One of the ironies is that in this village where everyone is endlessly curious about the neighbors they will pry and spy but not simply read what I write.

It’s a little weird that one of my most understanding readers is a middle-aged poet in the Netherlands who has a twin, but then, not many people around here are into Deleuze-guattarian social theory and we are. It’s not a matter of having information or being elite. Rather it’s about a secure and hard-won point of view that really works. When I try to explain it, nothing registers for people here because they are so deeply invested in the ideas the theory system is meant to destroy.

At the Christmas Stroll last week I finally had a chance to visit with the local Methodist minister. (She lives in the country miles away and serves multiple towns.) After a couple of duds who interpreted ministry as an elegant profession done mostly in an office or in a pulpit, this woman is impressive. She “gets it” and goes after it. Her preaching is learned, dense, very Biblical and right on the money, but done without a manuscript and down on the floor, walking in front of the pews. She used to be an Air Force officer and now lives on a ranch. Should I make it a point to acquire her as a friend? She’s beautiful without being pretentious, a joy and probably an inspiration. If you think I should, you’re not hearing me. And for “God’s sake” (God will appreciate it) don’t friend me, give me a thumbs up, or invite me into your social media circle. Just read the damned blogs. Comments always welcome.