lights on, nobody home

A new roommate moved in to my condo last week. Unfortunately, day by day I have become increasingly dismayed over a multitude of instances which I consider violations of my space. Cabinet doors are routinely left open, items are left scattered about after their use, shoes sit on the furniture, lights left indiscriminately on, and the toilet remains unflushed. When I return home I consistently find something not being attended to. I wanted, not an admission of guilt, but a simple "I'm sorry," but none was forthcoming. I felt hurt because my home - and by extension, myself - was not being afforded the respect it deserved. The expectations of an orderly house have been abused.

It's a matter of awareness. To handle things with attentive care, whether through our speech, touch, or mind, is the embodiment of the divine. Of course, it is extraordinarily difficult to be conscious of everything we do and to do it with love, but I saw no evidence of an attempt. An early lesson from the convent was a reprimand for noisily clanging the dishes while placing them in the dishwasher. I was intent on hastily completing my task in order to enjoy free time in other, more pleasant, activities. But my Sisters reminded me that every action required heedful attention - from quietly closing doors to never hurrying. When we wash the dishes we do it carefully that even plastic dishes are given great accord. When we talk we speak with a reverent tongue as if speaking to one most honored. Everything we do is performed as if the our entire life depended on our work - as indeed it does - for the extension of our touch knows no bounds. In such a way, everything and everywhere is a potential for the sacred to emerge.

So a feeling of distress arose on account of my roommate's indiscreet manners. While unmindfulness may have upset the tranquility of my home, anger destroyed my inner peace even more. I became overly anxious and couldn't sleep until I came across a quote by the Taiwanese Buddhist nun, Cheng Yen, who said, "To be angry is to let others' mistakes punish yourself." I quickly realized that my roommate was not purposefully inflicting harm and that only my emotions were the root of my misery. The key to letting go of the pain was forgiveness.

However,  "Everyone believes in forgiveness until he has something to forgive," remarked C. S. Lewis. Why should I forgive when I was the one who (it seemed) required forgiveness? Yet this is what Jesus is attempting to relay to his disciples in today's gospel. In the parable of the Unmerciful Servant, he explains that we are all human and all in need of divine grace. There is no end to forgiveness. Peter, on the other hand, expects a quick fix. He wants to know when his work is done so he can get on to other, more preferable, activities. The Christ tells him that the job is never done. 

Forgiveness is not about accepting unacceptable behavior, it is about relinquishing our resentment and thoughts of revenge. On this anniversary of 9/11

that's something to be mindful of - and perhaps something we should have been aware of ten years ago. But forgiveness takes time for true healing and can't be forced. When we forgive, we let go of of our anger, not our ethics. We can then move on and not be disturbed when the lights are on but nobody is at home.

love, always,

pia