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Waltzing With Lizards
Alida M. DeCoster
September 14, 1997
Have you ever been given, by circumstance or design, a large block of unscheduled time? If
so, what was your reaction? Was it thrilling? The prospect of untold delights? Did it create in your
imagination countless possible projects? Some of you may be thinking, don t I WISH such a thing
could happen to me? We are all so busy, so tormented at times by our busy-ness, a substantial
vacation sounds like a luxury, and indeed, in many ways it is. I feel so lucky to have had the
opportunity to take a three month sabbatical along with my month vacation. And today, I am here
to tell you about it, and, I hope, offer you some insights along the way.
I recently saw an old "For Better or Worse" cartoon in which Michael and Elizabeth had just
been released from school for summer vacation. "YIPPEE! Hooray!" they shout. Then they walk
along in silence, and finally ask each other, "NOW What Do We Do?" In fact, it is not hard to find
things to do with unscheduled time, and I did many things, but that is not altogether the point of a
sabbatical. The word "sabbatical" comes from the same root as "Sabbath," and refers to the age old
custom of letting cropland lie fallow every seventh year to allow it to be refreshed and nourished.
Last spring before I left I referred to Sabbath time as a time for sacred rest, for wasting time
with God, for turning inward, for growing one's soul. It is very much needed in ministry if one is to
be a helpful spiritual resource to others. I needed to turn inward, even though I spent the first month
all caught up in my wedding, honeymoon and return to our nest.
I want to reflect on what happens when time is unscheduled, and to do so, I want to tell you
about a play I saw in Minneapolis last month. It was the 1975 prize winning play, "Seascape," by
Edward Albee. In the play, a newly retired couple is relaxing on a beach. Retirement brings on the
ultimate encounter with unscheduled time as many of you can attest. Here they are, Nancy and
Charlie on the beach. Nancy is excitedly talking about all the things they can DO now that they have
some time and are still healthy. Charlie just wants to nap. He wants to rest. We deserve a rest, he
says. I think these are the two most common first reactions to the prospect of unscheduled time:
thinking of lots of things to do and wanting to collapse and retreat from the world.
As they are talking and arguing, every once in a while Nancy looks out and remarks, "There
are two people over there. I wonder what they're doing?" A little while later, she'll remark on them
again, off in the distance, lying in the sun. Towards the end of the first act, these two people, who
are in fact, two large human size green lizards, appear on stage behind Nancy and Charlie. When they
turn and see them, they are frightened. Charlie stage whispers anxiously to Nancy, "Find a stick!"
They frantically try to figure out what to do. They finally lie down on their backs in a posture of
submission. The act ends. After intermission, the scene is just as it was left, but this time the lizard
couple is talking anxiously, frightened of these strange human creatures. They are looking for a stick.
Everyone is afraid. What happens during the rest of the play is a gradual befriending among these
couples. The frightening and the unknown become more known and acceptable. The final scene of
the play is a shaking of hands all around, and a little dance, which seemed to me like a waltz. That
is what my title refers to today.
Waltzing with lizards is my theme. I'll tell you my interpretation of the play. What I see in
this play is something of what I experienced this summer. As the decks were cleared, I faced my self.
My inner feelings, sometimes scary and strange, surfaced. The lizards in "Seascape" are like my fears
of aloneness, my self doubts, my fear of death, things I do not like about myself; all the scary things
that can rise into consciousness when I have free unscheduled time. It is a discipline to resist getting
very busy. It is a discipline to sit still and let the lizards come, to befriend them and waltz with them.
The gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell of Jesus being led into the wilderness. This is
just after he has been baptized by John and the Spirit of God has descended upon him like a dove. I
think of this as the First Sabbatical. The Spirit leads him into the wilderness, where he fasts for forty
days and forty nights. He is famished, the text says. This is an important image--famished, empty,
implying spiritual readiness, vulnerability. Then he is tempted by the devil, tempted to try to imitate
or prove God, tempted by greed and wealth, all of which he resists. He resists all this false prophecy
he could fill his ministry with. He courageously keeps his eye on the ultimate. Mark suggests that
Jesus is with "beasts" in the wilderness, and is led out by angels.
These are ancient traditional stories, pointing through images to some of the same ideas as
"Seascape." If we allow ourselves to wander into the wilderness of our own inner life, we, too, are
distracted and tempted by the mistakes that flesh is heir to. We, too, must confront beasts. But our
fears and temptations have less power over us when we are aware and conscious of them. What we
can learn is that beasts can be turned into angels, and scary things become less scary when we face
them.
A Jungian writer, Dino Buzzati, has written about the Bogeyman, a mythical figure found in
western cultures. The image is used to scare, but when we really meet the Bogeyman, maybe he isn't
really so scary:
"[The Bogeyman] looked like a gigantic blackish animal, whose shape seemed
like a cross between a hippopotamus and a tapir. He was horrible at first sight. But,
after a closer, more dispassionate observation, the benign fold of his mouth and the
almost affectionate sparkle of his tiny eyes led one to perceive an expression that was
anything but wicked." (Parabola, Vol. VI, No. 4, p.64)
One of the novels I read this summer was Anne Tyler's Ladder of Years. One day, a married
woman, Delia, simply walks away from her family, down the beach in her bathing suit. She hadn't
planned to. It just happened. Her unconscious need to grow drove her to it. In her new lonely
anonymous life in a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, she copes by day and cries at
night. She is growing her soul. At the end of the story, she is a new and much more whole person.
Now THAT is a sabbatical. Rebecca Parker, president of Starr King School for the Ministry, declares
we all need conversion and transformation. We need to consciously go through our struggles to
grow our souls and become the whole people we are meant to be.
So, what about my sabbatical, already??? I have heard that it is very helpful to take time off
around major life changes, and I certainly agree. I got married in May. This was a life-changing
event that strained and stretched every cell of my being in new and wonderful ways. To have all our
special friends and relatives together for two days, to wear the best wedding dress ever, to have the
most beautiful day of the year, to have my divorced parents cheerfully together at the event, beautiful
music, food, and flowers and, most of all, Perry's and my love for each other and hopes for the future,
all left me in a daze that has taken four months to awake from.
And we awake to conscious marriage. Perry and I really work on our issues and sometimes
it is tiring. I'm not sure anything is so perfectly made for befriending lizards as marriage. Our
partners are our mirrors for growth. So often what we do not like in them are things we do not like
in ourselves. One theory of marriage says that we choose a partner to duplicate characteristics of our
childhood caregivers and finally heal our childhood wounds. We delight in each other and struggle
together for wholeness. Good sabbatical material!
We were drenched in beauty on our trip. We went to the Lake District in England, toured
the ancient mountains, or fells, covered with azaleas, rough yellow gorse, mist, and clouds. We
have dozens of pictures of cloud shadows over ancient hills and glacial lakes. We sat in tea houses,
walked, explored, observed, and on a rainy day, took a bus to the Laurel and Hardy museum in
Ulverston, Stan Laurel's home town.
The trip to Norway brought new sights and delights. The fjords lived up to my lifelong
fantasies. We passed my great grandfather's village of Balestrand on our cruise of the Sognefjord.
The scenery is spectacular, but the farmland scanty. No wonder he left Norway and moved to
Minnesota! We went to a folk music festival in the little mountain town of Al, and enjoyed the sights
and museums of Bergen and Oslo, before returning to England for a week in London. We came
home June 9.
Now if I hadn't just been married, I might have scheduled more extensive trips or adventures,
but my main adventure was right at home with Perry. While he was at work, I read, gardened, went
on outings that I rarely have time for, and took classes at G Street Fabrics. I waltzed with the lizards
of boredom and isolation somewhat, too. Two more adventures awaited me.
In July, I went to Berkeley to the Pacific School of Religion to take a course called
"Spontaneity in Preaching." Perhaps you have noticed that my style is a little different today. This
was a major waltz with lizards. I was absolutely terrified. The first day, our exercise was to pick an
object in the room and tell the group how it was like ourselves and how it was like God. I was
shaking with fear. Between shattering teeth, I said God and I were like the acoustic ceiling tiles. I
cannot remember why, but the point is, the world did not end. My contribution was about as good
as the next, and my fear began to subside. By Friday, I gave a ten-minute sermon without any notes.
Amazing! I am still a long way from giving a twenty-minute sermon to you without notes. I'm not
sure that is even a good idea, but much of my fear was eased and I had a wonderful time.
Though I missed Perry while I was away, I did it again: I went to Minnesota for ten days in
August and crammed in too many visits to beloved friends and relatives. This was not a good
example of using Sabbath time wisely. The rushing demon started to take over.
One other significant event happened this summer. I started to meet with a spiritual director.
Last spring, I told you I was planning to apply for the Spiritual Director training program at Shalem
Institute. I decided to postpone that decision. Meanwhile, I do have a spiritual director--I prefer
the term spiritual friend--who sits with me as I reflect on my spiritual growth from time to time.
This is very helpful. It keeps me conscious. It keeps my befriending those lizards that arise from my
unconscious mind if given the time and space.
My message this morning is that we are meant for conscious living and for joy. The hymn we
began with, my favorite, refers to making a guest. To me this means, making room for the
unknown guest, the perhaps unwelcome guest, within and without. Can we make a guest of the
lizard? And Tagore tells us in the responsive reading, joy is fearful joy. Life deeply lived does make
us fearful. I believe we are called to face our fears. Not all at once. That would be too much, but
gradually, over time. Gradually, if we encounter the fears that come to the surface, we will find that,
like the lizards, or the bogey man, they are really there to help us grow our souls. Amen.
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