Wanna Get Away?
Claude Monet, Water Lilies, 1906
Things are such a mess these days. Could it be possible to step aside from the whole thing, go somewhere where there is peace and contentment and tranquility? Lately, though, I’ve been worrying about all the guilt we are supposed to carry as we navigate the mess we’re in, as if it’s all our fault, each one of us. Wouldn’t it be great to get away from feeling guilty all the time?
In the late nineteenth century, William Butler Yeats wrote a deservedly famous little poem about stepping out of it all. It’s called The Lake Isle Of Innisfree. Yeats finds himself walking down Fleet Street in London one day, consumed by all the bustle and flurry of emerging modern life in the city. Suddenly he is swept up into memories of those long summer days spent as a child on the peaceful isle of Innisfree. Could he possibly just go somewhere like that where he could find such utter peacefulness?
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
Isn’t that a lovely dream? This little poem had influence on idealistic young people in the 60s and 70s who wanted to build utopian communes. That didn’t work out so well, as we know. The lesson seems to be we can’t let our imaginations get out ahead of reality.
And yet, don’t we all share Yeats’ deep desire to go somewhere where there is peace and quiet and tranquility, both in our settings and in our hearts? A place where “peace comes dropping slow,” where things are all a glimmer, where noon’s a purple glow?
In the dentist’s chair the other day I was gently scolded that I’m not getting at the buildup around those back molars. Yikes, I thought, here’s something new I need to feel guilty about.
And then as we drove to church on Sunday, I was reminded, later in the day, that driving our car is possibly related to the horrific floods in Pakistan. Guilt seems relentless, from across the world even, from so many different angles.
We seem constantly reminded, especially in our part of the country, that we use too much water. You need to get rid of all those plants, maybe half of them, at least, and all those flowers. Guilt is all over the place. The list goes on and on.
I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian world where guilt was considered the main motivator toward becoming a good person. It took me years to find the grace God was offering me all along. What alarms me now is that secular culture has adopted all the guilt part of fundamentalism, and yet knows nothing about grace. We’re living in a new kind of fundamentalism, this time where God never shows up to lift the burden of guilt.
The Protestant revolution is one poignant historical example of what happens when guilt becomes too heavy to bear. Surely, right now, a revolution is in the making, because the burden of guilt just may tip over the edge of what we can handle.
I’ve been thinking of the wise and balanced model of Jesus. Jesus forever calls us to fix things, to help usher in the kingdom of God on earth, just as it is in heaven. But he offers us peace in the process. Yes, be activists of sorts, but not with that enormous package of guilt, the kind of shame we want to spread around for everyone to deal with.
Jesus famously encourages us to “look at the birds in the sky, they do not sow and reap and store in barns.” Don’t be so anxious: “Can anxious thought add a single day to your life?”
And then we get that famous punchline: “Consider how the lilies grow in the fields; they do not work, they do not spin,” and yet they blossom with extravagant beauty. This is the balance I’m looking for. Keep active, sure. Stay aware, yes, but stop carrying that massive guilt trip—remember, consider the lilies. That could be the beginning of a new revolution, maybe in the world, surely in our hearts.