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A person who lives only at the active level is like someone who only breathes out, or like a heart that only releases blood. That would be a strange kind of life, if indeed it were even possible. With increasing automation and earlier retirement, many are threatened with the loss of purpose in life. Indeed, we may all wonder what we would do if all the things we keep busy with were suddenly to be taken away. Would that not constitute a serious identity crisis for all of us? We must face this problem, because our spiritual journey reminds us that we are primarily called to be and not to do anything. What we do is of course important to all of us. But there are times when we can’t do anything, when inactivity is forced upon us: when we’re caught in a traffic jam; or obliged to wait in a doctor’s office, at an airport, or in a railroad station; or when we are old and sick and simply waiting for death. When such inactivity is forced upon us, we are obliged to be receptive. That is why we become frustrated, because we have never learned receptivity. Yet our lives ought to be composed of receptivity and activity. This is the root of the whole question of work and leisure. There is a give and take at all levels of life. We start life by breathing in and we end it by breathing out. In between we follow the same rhythm of breathing in and breathing out. The heart follows a similar pattern, taking in blood and releasing it. A person who lives only at the active level is like someone who only breathes out, or like a heart that only releases blood. That would be a strange kind of life, if indeed it were even possible. Nevertheless, we should not suppose that activity-passivity, productivity-receptivity, give-take, represent a dichotomy of work and leisure. Passivity is not leisure; neither is receptivity nor a mere taking in. Leisure is not the opposite of activity, productivity, or work. Rather, leisure is the right balance between give and take, between work and rest, and it can therefore be achieved in work as well as in rest. Unleisurely inactivity and of course unleisurely work are perhaps more familiar, but there is such a thing as leisurely work and leisurely recreation. Still, the question persists: What is leisure? As the balance between work and rest, it is the opposite of idleness because it is the basis from which good work starts and grows. We might say that leisure is the beginning of all virtues in the sense that it is an inner attitude of openness and trust. Its characteristics are “taking it easy” rather than “keeping busy,” of “allowing things to happen,” not “keeping things under control.” Trust is necessary, because we can only let things happen if we believe that things will work out all right, that events and circumstances and things and situations come from a source that wants our good. We can open our hands and receive these things without the nagging fear that they are traps. The difference between this inner openness and a kind of nervous choosiness is the difference between an open hand and a clenched fist. Thus, leisure is the basis for a full awareness, for as long as we pick and choose we limit our horizons. And, to the degree to which our awareness is increased, our aliveness is increased. That is what leisure is – the amount of our aliveness. The Psalmist sang, “Vacate et videte”: “Have leisure, be leisurely and see that I am God.” Leisure is the condition of seeing and having communion with God. All that God asked of Abraham was: “Walk before me and be perfect”; not do this or that, but simply stand before me, be yourself. And that is an important aspect of leisure, and why it is so difficult for us to grasp in this society. It is the uncompetitive attitude. It is the trust that we are accepted as we are. Surely God loves us as we are. We don’t have to merit that love. Most of the time we emphasize doing, living up to standards. Christ told us, “God’s realm has come,” or, in the words of the Psalm: “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.” That is all the effort required of us – to open wide our mouth and God will fill it. All that St. Paul said about entering the rest of God can be taken in the sense of “relax and take it all in,” that is, an attitude of contemplation. By contemplation I mean simply this: On a winter morning you pull back the curtain and you see that it is snowing. You see snowflakes swirling and dancing. You look up and they are white against the dark sky; you follow them with your eyes and at one point they disappear. Then you look again and they reappear, white against the sky, and you lose yourself in this image. That is just what I mean by contemplation – no special effort. There is enjoyment, and an element of celebration, and both spring from an attitude of leisure. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
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