The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris [58]
PRIDE
Abba Elias said, “What can sin do where there is penitence? And
of what use is love where there is pride?”
—THE SAYINGS OF THE DESERT FATHERS
The young monk read from the Bible: “The Lord God called to the man, and said to him, ‘Where are you?’ He said, ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.’ ” I have always found that to be a poignant summary of the human response to evil: I was afraid, I tried to hide. I thought I knew where I was, at an everyday monastery Mass. But I was distracted for a moment by a thought that seemed absurdly out of place; I recalled that I’d forgotten to put on my favorite silver bracelet, the one I usually wear. It was handmade by the husband of an old friend, who gave it to me when I graduated from college. In the crazed atmosphere of Bennington in the 1960s, when so many faculty were having affairs with students that it was easy to become cynical about marriage, this couple had always seemed remarkably stable to me, still in love after more than twenty years, and good to be with.
I tried to concentrate on the gospel reading, a peculiar one: after Jesus began to preach, to cast out demons and heal the sick, some people had assumed that he’d gone mad. They tried to convince his family that Jesus himself was possessed by demons and should be restrained. “How do we respond to the good?” the monk asked in his homily. “How do we respond to the presence of the good?”
Suddenly I remembered another silver bracelet, lost in the shadows of my life, one my husband had given me, or had tried to give me, years before. It was beautiful lying in its box, but I was disappointed to find that it was a cuff bracelet, a kind I’ve never liked to wear. I had suggested to David that we replace it, or ask the silversmith, the woman who’d made his wedding band, if she could modify it. He said that he would, but I never heard any more about it. Now, for some reason, I remembered this event, and saw it clearly for the first time. The gift was good, and I had rejected it. I know my husband well enough to know that he would have taken it as a rejection and also that most likely he still had the bracelet buried among his things. I resolved to ask him, and also to apologize.
David was surprised, but he did remember, and after a few days found the bracelet in its original box. He polished it, and I now wear it. And all because I heard two questions: “Where are you?” and “How do we respond to the good?” The other reading at Mass that day was from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians: “We do not lose heart . . . our inner being is being renewed every day.” My pride will resist any change I haven’t chosen, but it’s powerless against this force of which Paul speaks, the conversion that occurs without my even being aware of it, except when it erupts suddenly into my life. A statement of John Climacus, typically self-contained and bristling with certitude, suddenly made sense to me: “Men can heal the lustful. Angels can heal the malicious. Only God can heal the proud.”
ANGER
His abba, taking a piece of dry wood, planted it and said to him,
“Water it every day with a bottle of water, until it bears
fruit.”
—THE SAYINGS OF THE DESERT FATHERS
If it is true that the Holy Spirit is peace of soul . . . and if anger is
disturbance of the heart . . . then there is no greater obstacle to
the presence of the Spirit in us than anger.
—John Climacus, THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT
One night, many years ago, I was angry at my husband. He’d had good news—the galleys of his second book of poems were coming in the mail