On Being Nice

When my brother and I were growing up, my parents went through various phases of what our religious education should look like. This was a matter of some public import as my father was the minister at the local Presbyterian church. I remember being quite unhappy the year we were surreptitiously enrolled in summer bible school and thereby losing a week of our outdoor play.

We duly endured the week of boredom, but I don’t remember ever having to go again. In retrospect I wonder if the program was canceled the following year or my parents were just trying to avoid open insurrection on our part.

Then there was the time that we had a family goal of memorizing bible verses. I can’t remember how we did it, but I do still remember a verse from Psalm 133: ‘Behold how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity.’ I was puzzled by this passage as I felt that my brother and I spent much of our time fighting and competing with each other. It felt like just another admonition to stop causing trouble and to put on a surface show of niceness.

My great Aunt Evelyn (or was it Elinor?) added to this perception one summer when she complimented me and my brother on how well we got along. She was an older and more formal person and my brother and I were always on our best behavior when we were visiting her at her mansion in tidewater Virginia. We tussled and punched each other when she wasn’t looking and smiled nicely when she was.

When she complimented us on our behavior, I told her that we argued and fought a lot. She said that it doesn’t matter what you do in private, it’s what you do in public that counts. This too, did not make sense to me, but I clearly understood that these are the rules of the game. A veneer of niceness is required and most people have no interest in what is actually going on inside you.

I myself learned that growing up meant ignoring what was going on inside me. It was often messy and confusing—so many feelings that kept changing. Rather than voice them and cause disturbance, it was much easier to pretend they didn’t exist. When my mother said we could stay up an extra half hour to watch some special program on a school night if we were not grumpy the next morning, I learned that no matter how I felt the next morning, all I had to do was pretend I was fine and she would be happy.

So I was, for the most part, a well-behaved boy. But the cost of this winning strategy was an increasing distance from my self. Practicing not paying attention, I learned not to pay attention. But when we turn away from what we don’t like, it rarely just goes away. More often it goes underground.

The poet Robert Bly used the image of a black bag to talk about all this turning away. He said that we all carry a black bag with us through our lives. Whenever we encounter something dark or painful or unwanted, we simply put it in our black bag and go on. While this strategy has immediate benefits, the problem is that our back of unwanted and unprocessed experiences gets heavier and heavier. Finally we are so encumbered by that which we have not allowed ourselves to experience that we can hardly move.

Bly’s encouragement is to open up the black bag. Open up to that which is unacceptable—all the things we have not allowed ourselves to see and feel and know. Nothing is really hidden. Everything you have ever experienced is with you right now. There is a gift of the dark and unwanted.

Turning toward the darkness is turning toward what is alive – turning toward the burning. This is not easy and only happens over time. But when we do this work of turning toward, we find that things are not what we think they are—that even the most painful and unacceptable experiences have some gift to give. We are transformed through darkness. This is not for the faint of heart, but is a requirement for anyone who wants to live into the fullness and freedom of being human.

But I also meant to say how grateful I am for what I did learn from my parents and how many passages and teachings from the bible are still with me – still resonate inside and guide me on my path. I have especially been partial to the Psalms—those lovely songs of discouragement, lament and praise. I woke up thinking of one that has been with me for the past few days as I try to come to terms with the senseless killing of George Floyd and the outrage that has arisen in and around us.

It’s from a lovely collection of translations and adaptation by Stephen Mitchell: A BOOK OF PSALMS.

Psalm 4

Even in the midst of great pain,
Lord, I praise you for that which is.
I will not refuse this grief
or close myself to this anguish.
Let shallow men pray for ease:
‘Comfort us; shield us from sorrow.’
I pray for whatever you send me,
and I ask to receive it as your gift.
You have put a joy in my heart
greater than all the world’s riches.
I lie down trusting the darkness,
for I know that even now you are here.

Personal Practice: Sit quietly for a moment. Then turn your attention some bit of poetry or sacred writing that has touched you during your life. It might be something someone said recently, or it might be a passage you memorized long ago. Whatever comes, hold those words with you for a while. Remember when you first came across the particular passage. After a while, write it down and share it with a friend. Appreciate the wisdom inside you that resonates with these particular words.