A Buddhist and a Methodist…

A year or three ago I came across a children’s book written by Thich Nhat Hanh, called A Pebble for your Pocket. The whole thing is quite lovely. I especially loved and remember the section about anger. He talks about holding one’s anger as one would ideally hold a colicky baby — listening warmly and affectionately and tenderly, not threatened or reactive or otherwise taking it personally; not dismissive, suppressive, scornful, or otherwise pushing it away; not enraptured, enmeshed, or otherwise morbidly attached to it.

Recently my friend gave me a most beautiful book on prayer by J. Neville Ward. In the chapters on fear and suffering, he talks about pain, whether of the body or the mind, as an alarm signal, a warning that something needs attention. The right use of the mind, whether in fear or in pain, is to either come to some decision to act, or else to realize that in this case no action is warranted or possible. In the case of fear, it is then necessary to detach or disengage from the fear, as “further brooding on the matter is a misuse of the mind” (68). In pain that goes beyond the ordinary warning signal, it is necessary to “accept the situation, reject [one’s] resentment and self-pity, and… to wish to do God’s will in this situation” (77). I imagine Ward would see both cases as a detachment, and that detachment does not mean denial or repression, but involves acceptance and wise action.

I think the two could talk to each other, especially in further illuminating what detachment is and is not.

Thich Nhat Hanh might point out that it could be fruitful to explore how brooding and self-pity compare to and differ from compassion toward the self. That sometimes sitting with a feeling or set of feelings might be more fruitful when it is less focused on solution and action, and more focused on simply listening, observing, allowing, feeling, caring — on simply being with the self that is afraid or in pain. How often what our friend needs is not our advice or problem-solving assistance or external help, but our compassionate presence, affectionate and warm, often silent, unhurried, unworried — should we not offer the same friendliness to ourselves?

J. Neville Ward might suggest that it is important to know when enough time and energy has been invested in the matter, and when it is time to turn to action, whether action to resolve the matter, or some other action of doing God’s will in the situation.

I wonder if both would agree that the cessation of the sense of fear or pain is not the only or most reliable signal that it is now time to detach and move to other things. The very terms “detach” and “move” suggest something to detach and move away from. So there must be some other signal or signals by which one can sense when to remain still and silent with the feeling(s) and when to go on to something else while the feeling(s) continue in the background — some sense of having done what is called for, having reached the end of what can be done in this moment.

Perhaps it seems peculiar that I could worry that detachment could entail any sense of scorn or lack of compassion toward the fearful or pained self, that I would need reassurance that compassion and acknowledgment don’t (have to) cease when one turns to action or other matters. I wonder if either or both of these authors would readily understand that worry.

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