You shall be driven away from human society
Daniel has been asked to interpret a second dream from King Nebuchadnezzar. The interpretation basically says that the King has grown mighty, and powerful, and unfortunately, proud, callous, and unfair to the oppressed. As a result, he is driven away, and his kingship crumbles. His son takes over, and he fares no better, and eventually Darius is the King. Darius is the one who is goaded into throwing Daniel in the lions’ den, because the other leaders of the country don’t like Daniel. They encourage the king to proclaim that anyone who worships anyone or anything other than the king should be thrown in the pit, knowing that Daniel prays thrice daily. So Daniel’s thrown in with lions, and God saves him.
Today’s reflection however focuses on solitude, as King Nebuchadnezzar was banished to be away from all people. His was a forced solitude. The commentary by Henri Nouwen points out that solitude is not the same as privacy, or a place where we recharge our batteries, or at least this is not the solitude of John the Baptist, Jesus, or the brothers of Taizé. He writes “solitude is not a private therapeutic place. Rather, it is the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born”
When have I experienced that kind of solitude, either because it’s been forced or voluntary? I don’t think I’ve had any extended periods of solitude, although I think I’d like to experience that. I do find moments of that refreshing conversion when I get in the zone doing something physical. Right now, those moments come when I’m painting, or sanding, or planning. My mind is mostly empty, and I conclude the work surprisingly refreshed – dusty, but refreshed. I’m not sure that my old self dies, but I do find old things made new, or broken things transformed.
I am in a place of some unsettledness, with regard to a job, a ministry, a working kitchen or bathroom. The living room and dining room are covered in plastic or filled with power tools, and a card table for dining. Where this caused some angst before, I’m settling in to a place of suspended contentment. I’m not sure when or how these things will settle, but eventually the pieces will fall into place. This realization has occurred over time as I’m sanding. It’s a peace I experience when my hands are busy and my head is free. It’s not that I visibly pray when I’m in that alone space, but I do find big patches of time where I wasn’t thinking about anything, almost as I’ve understood what meditation is supposed to be like.
Some of this solitude of mine has been forced; I need to get a working shower and find a place for a table before Thanksgiving. And I’ve relished in the time I’ve spent by myself doing that work. I think when I get a little further along, I may seek out some opportunity for a longer experience of solitude. I still will need to keep moving; I’m not one to sit quietly in a room for hours. But maybe I’ll find some nice, repetitive knitting project and bring it along. This morning, I’m thinking about the moments of stolen solitude I’ve found, and am deeply grateful for those opportunities.
Daniel has been asked to interpret a second dream from King Nebuchadnezzar. The interpretation basically says that the King has grown mighty, and powerful, and unfortunately, proud, callous, and unfair to the oppressed. As a result, he is driven away, and his kingship crumbles. His son takes over, and he fares no better, and eventually Darius is the King. Darius is the one who is goaded into throwing Daniel in the lions’ den, because the other leaders of the country don’t like Daniel. They encourage the king to proclaim that anyone who worships anyone or anything other than the king should be thrown in the pit, knowing that Daniel prays thrice daily. So Daniel’s thrown in with lions, and God saves him.
Today’s reflection however focuses on solitude, as King Nebuchadnezzar was banished to be away from all people. His was a forced solitude. The commentary by Henri Nouwen points out that solitude is not the same as privacy, or a place where we recharge our batteries, or at least this is not the solitude of John the Baptist, Jesus, or the brothers of Taizé. He writes “solitude is not a private therapeutic place. Rather, it is the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born”
When have I experienced that kind of solitude, either because it’s been forced or voluntary? I don’t think I’ve had any extended periods of solitude, although I think I’d like to experience that. I do find moments of that refreshing conversion when I get in the zone doing something physical. Right now, those moments come when I’m painting, or sanding, or planning. My mind is mostly empty, and I conclude the work surprisingly refreshed – dusty, but refreshed. I’m not sure that my old self dies, but I do find old things made new, or broken things transformed.
I am in a place of some unsettledness, with regard to a job, a ministry, a working kitchen or bathroom. The living room and dining room are covered in plastic or filled with power tools, and a card table for dining. Where this caused some angst before, I’m settling in to a place of suspended contentment. I’m not sure when or how these things will settle, but eventually the pieces will fall into place. This realization has occurred over time as I’m sanding. It’s a peace I experience when my hands are busy and my head is free. It’s not that I visibly pray when I’m in that alone space, but I do find big patches of time where I wasn’t thinking about anything, almost as I’ve understood what meditation is supposed to be like.
Some of this solitude of mine has been forced; I need to get a working shower and find a place for a table before Thanksgiving. And I’ve relished in the time I’ve spent by myself doing that work. I think when I get a little further along, I may seek out some opportunity for a longer experience of solitude. I still will need to keep moving; I’m not one to sit quietly in a room for hours. But maybe I’ll find some nice, repetitive knitting project and bring it along. This morning, I’m thinking about the moments of stolen solitude I’ve found, and am deeply grateful for those opportunities.
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