Some New Delight
Much to the chagrin of the rest of the household, our house is ready for new furniture.
We have sofa shopped for two years, never quite finding the perfect fit. We weren’t in a hurry, as the existing couch was… fine. Despite its shredded upholstery far from the possibility of patching, the couch had plenty of cushion. Only half was covered with blankets and sisal to prevent our 13-pound shredding machine from scratching loose its thick threads (a serious feline digestive hazard).
A new couch would be free from the same hazards or wear, allow us to fit table-height seating for dining and work, and support a more efficiently arranged space. However, we still lacked the urgency to push us to let it go; shop after shop, no purchase was made.
Until one very inconveniently timed pest scare. I know we are called to love all of God’s good creation, but it matters not if they are fleas, termites, moths, or carpenter ants; they are not yet a loving neighbor of mine.
With a motivated urgency, the stuffing-coming-out-and-upholstery-shredded couch was swept from the house (all was clear; no sign of pests found). Despite our years-long replacement shopping and agreement that it should go eventually, its absence still feels wasteful.
The saga calls to mind the poem, The Guest House, by 13th century Sufi poet Rumi.
Hear these old words anew:
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thoughts, the shame, the malice,
Meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond. (The Guest House, by Rumi)
If you’ve read through the poem once, I invite you to read it again and to soak in its invitation.
Throughout our Eastertide series on letting go to hold what matters most, I have tried to meditate on this poem daily. Every time I read or speak it aloud, its words sink into different crevices of my soul.
The thought is not new to me of welcoming and learning from our sorrows, joys, shame, malice, and all the rest. But to actively participate in such a practice is also not yet second nature.
To welcome guilt? To meet it at the door laughing, inviting it in, learning in how it guides me? It feels much more practiced to avoid it altogether, or to try to transform it into something else. But as Rumi tells us, even if a crowd of sorrows violently sweeps our house empty of its furniture, they may be preparing us for some new delight.
How does sadness prepare us? Karla McLaren writes that “Sadness is a healing emotion that helps you let go of things that aren’t working anyway.” In learning to exhale and let go, we can connect to the healing that sadness brings to us; clearing the way for some new delight.
Like my family’s living room, we are so often unprepared to let go of something we imagine still has some use. We’ve been well trained with the mantra, reduce, reuse, recycle! But it is too the case that what may have served us well before may not need to be carried into the future, even if letting go of it brings feelings of sadness or anxiety: whether it be the shields or metaphorical masks we wear that have kept us safe, or the striving to perfection that has brought us this far, or the certainty we needed to navigate rough seas, or a way of doing ministry that has equipped disciples for decades.
In letting go now, we will be clear for some new delight: some new space of resurrection life where Christ’s love makes our old ways new.
In invite you to read Rumi with me this week, meditating on this poem as we consider what it is that we need to let go of in order to hold on to what matters most, both individually and collectively.
I will admit that the poem has seemed to do nothing for the cat, who perhaps mourns the couch absence the most; her claws have been noticeably sharper since its disappearance. Much to her surprise, something even more interesting has replaced it. The open space left behind is ideal to check our camping gear before the season begins. As I spread the various fabrics and checked for holes, she delighted in bounding from corner to corner, sniffing every seam and zipper, and soaking in the warmth of the insulated sleeping pad. Every time I climbed into the tent she would quickly follow, settling in for a contented nap.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
Where is your sorrow or grief making space for some new delight? I’d love to hear from you.
With you on the journey,
Pastor Karyn
