Relief

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Satyricon (1)

  The woman poured out this rhapsody in a loud excited voice, the battle-line wavered for an instant, then all hands were recalled to peace and terminated the war. Eumolpus, our commander, took advantage of the psychological moment of their repentance and, after administering a stinging rebuke to Lycas, signed a treaty of peace which was drawn up as follows: “It is hereby solemnly agreed on your part, Tryphaena, that you do forego complaint of any wrong done you by Giton; that you do not bring up anything that has taken place prior to this date, that you do not seek to revenge anything that has taken place prior to this date, that you do not take steps to follow it up in any other manner whatsoever; that you do not command the boy to perform anything to him repugnant; that you do neither embrace nor kiss the said Giton; that you do not enfold said Giton in the sexual embrace, except under immediate forfeiture of one hundred denarii. Item, it is hereby agreed on your part, Lycas, that you do refrain from annoying Encolpius with abusive word or reproachful look; that you do not seek to ascertain where he sleep at night; or, if you do so seek, that you forfeit two hundred denarii immediately for each and every such offense.” The treaty was signed upon these terms, and we laid down our arms. It seemed well to wipe out the past with kisses, after we had taken oath, for fear any vestige of rancor should persist in our minds. Factious hatreds died out amidst universal good-fellowship, and a banquet, served on the field of battle, crowned our reconciliation with joviality. The whole ship resounded with song and, as a sudden calm had caused her to lose headway, one tried to harpoon the leaping fish, another hauled in the struggling catch on baited hooks. Then some sea-birds alighted upon the yard-arms and a skillful fowler touched them with his jointed rods: they were brought down to our hands, stuck fast to the limed segments. The breeze caught up the down, but the wing and tail feathers twisted spirally as they fell into the sea-foam. Lycas was already beginning to be on good terms with me, and Tryphaena had just sprinkled Giton with the last drops in her cup, when Eumolpus, who was himself almost drunk, was seized with the notion of satirizing bald pates and branded rascals, but when he had exhausted his chilly wit, he returned at last to his poetry and recited this little elegy upon hair:

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  Luther’s teaching, as Spengler understood it, attacked the abuses of the Catholic Church and was based on Scripture. As far as his positive theology was concerned, however, Spengler was less clear: Luther, he said, relieves the conscience that has been burdened with error and false scruples, through which Christians have been made anxious rather than comforted, driven to despair rather than recovery, even though the way to salvation is “utterly sweet and healing.”56 In other words, Luther seemed to be repeating pretty much what Staupitz had preached. It seems that at this stage Spengler—a linchpin of Staupitz’s Nuremberg sodality—could see no real difference between Luther and his former confessor. But all seemed united against the rapacious indulgence-sellers. Before the debate, Luther had been an unknown. Now, in the wake of the debate, the very first image of him appeared on the title page of his printed Leipzig sermon. It showed him as a thin, diffident monk, his anonymous features dwarfed by his giant cowl and beret. A circular border labels him as “Dr. Martinus Lvtter. Avgvstiner. Wittenb.,” the artist clearly struggling with how to make the letters legible. Barely a year later, after Cranach had produced what would become the most famous etching of the reformer, so familiar would Luther’s features become that there would be no need even to name him: By then, everyone knew what Luther looked like. [image "7. T he Freedom of a Christian" file=images/Rope_9780812996203_epub3_030_r1.jpg] [image "7. T he Freedom of a Christian" file=images/Rope_9780812996203_epub3_030_r1.jpg] THE YEAR THAT followed the Leipzig Debate was the most intellectually creative period in Luther’s life. The development of his views during this short time was extraordinary. The debate may have looked to contemporaries like a spat between two rival universities, a tussle between men with notoriously big egos, and of interest only to the educated, but by 1520, the “Lutheran matter” was on everyone’s lips, and it concerned not just the Church but politics, and the relationship between the empire and the papacy. That transformation is encapsulated in Luther’s three major works of 1520: To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation, On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church, and On the Freedom of a Christian. These made the breach with Rome irreparable, and established the foundations of what would eventually become a new Church, splitting Western Christendom forever. What led to this burst of intellectual creativity? To earlier historians, Luther’s story was one of unfolding inevitability: After his “religious awakening” in the tower—an experience they dated to sometime well before 1517—the Reformation followed on straightforwardly as its logical consequence. However, as we have seen, Staupitz and many others shared Luther’s views on God’s mercy and justice, and were also inclined toward the mystical religiosity that characterized his devotion at this time; still, they would not join his attack on the Church. Furthermore, Luther only arrived at his mature theology step by step, as he argued with his antagonists.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  Like Karlstadt, Zwingli wanted to overturn the division between clergy and laypeople. The Swiss and southern German evangelicals were deeply concerned about the Catholic abuse of the power of confession and absolution, and they targeted individual confession, replacing it with a general confession of the whole congregation. Zwingli prized communal values. He became a citizen of Zurich and accepted the burden of military service because citizenship demanded that a man should defend his city with his life. Zwingli saw the Eucharist as a collective event. Salvation involved the whole town and it was vital that it be morally pure; otherwise God’s judgment would descend on the whole community. As a result, the Zurich authorities set about punishing all those guilty of fornication, adultery, and gaming, and even paid spies to inform on the sins of their neighbors.2 Civic communalism, it seemed, could bring its own unforeseen tyrannies. —BY now Karlstadt himself was under surveillance, living at times in Segrehna with his wife’s family, at times in Kemberg where the local preacher and the electoral official reported on his movements. In 1526 he asked the Wittenbergers—Justus Jonas, Johannes Bugenhagen, and Luther’s wife—to be godparents to his son, and a delegation of Wittenberg dignitaries including Luther descended on Segrehna for the occasion. Named Andreas after his father, the two-year-old boy was unusually old for a baptism. He had been born when Karlstadt was banished from Saxony, and his mother, who had stayed behind, had not had him baptized—perhaps because Karlstadt was questioning infant baptism at this time, perhaps because she herself was sympathetic to Anabaptist ideas, which had spread after the Peasants’ War, that only adult believers should be baptized. Luther relished the irony of Karlstadt’s change of heart, remarking: “Who would have thought a year ago that those who called baptism a ‘dog’s bath’ would ask for baptism from their enemies?”3 The celebration at Segrehna was an attempt at reconciliation between the two men, now tied to each other anew by the bonds of godparenthood. And it seems that Karlstadt’s family exploited the occasion to the full. A few days later, Luther interceded with the Elector on behalf of Karlstadt’s wife’s uncle, the miller at Segrehna, while another of her relatives lodged in Luther’s house for several months while she recovered from the plague. In November, Karlstadt himself wrote from Berkwitz, to say that he had lost seven horses, had little livestock left, and would have to sell up. Could Luther ask the Elector to let him move to Kemberg? Luther frequently interceded for others with the Elector, but there is something odd in his punctilious insistence on doing everything Karlstadt requested—asking the Elector repeatedly to allow him to live in Kemberg, and mediating for his relatives—as if he was proving his devotion despite a hidden antipathy.4

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  He recalled in 1531, “Our Lord God pulled me by force away from the canonical hours in 1520, when I was already writing a great deal, and I often saved up my hours for a whole week, and then on Saturday I would do them one after another so that I neither ate nor drank anything for the whole day, and I was so weakened that I couldn’t sleep, so that I had to be given Dr. Esch’s sleeping draught, the effects of which I still feel in my head.” 2 In the end, a “whole quarter-year” of hours had mounted up: “This was too much for me, and I dropped it altogether.” 3 The resulting liberation—and the amount of time it freed up—may have played a great part in the burst of creativity he experienced in 1520: Now he could devote himself to writing and thinking without interruption or guilt. All this grew only more intense, since the more radical his positions became, the more likely was a summons to Rome and a trial for heresy. As all those around him knew, such a trial would end with him being burned. With every theological departure he became bolder, because there was less and less to lose—and this made him think through all the logical consequences of the theological positions he had adopted. On June 24, 1520, the bull condemning Luther’s doctrine was published, and he was given sixty days from the date he received it to recant or be banned as a “notorious heretic.” The language is chilling and it is crammed with animal and hunting metaphors—the “foxes have arisen, trying to destroy the vineyards,” a wild pig is trying to attack Peter, the sheep need protecting—which may owe something to the fact that Leo approved the bull on May 2, 1520, when he was watching a sow hunt at his castle in Magliana, southwest of Rome. 4 Luther had rejected the compromise attempts of Cajetan and of the papal envoy Karl von Miltitz, so there was no going back in his fight with the Curia. Rumors of attempts on Luther’s life also persisted; it was reported, for example, that a doctor of medicine who could make himself invisible “by magical arts” had been ordered to kill him. 5 All this coincided with a major change in Luther’s thought, and in the character of his religiosity.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Since unfaithfulness was not the issue, Ross’s suggestion was completely out of the blue, particularly coming from someone who had just declared his commitment to the teachings. The radio alarm clicked on in the bedroom, my six o’clock wake-up call. I couldn’t think of a more absurd way to start the day. “It’s been a tough night, and I need to go to work,” I said, cupping his face in both of my hands. “We can talk about this later.” [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] One hour later, dressed for work, I bolted through heavy rain toward my wrecked car. The driver’s door opened after a stiff tug on the handle. The car was drivable but lacked its previous luster. As I backed out of the driveway, the tire rubbed the wheel well at the sharpest part of the turn. Joining the queue of traffic on Skyline Boulevard, I welcomed the light of day and the solitude of my half-hour commute. Just three days earlier, sitting in the safe enclave of my therapist’s office, she had asked me to imagine my “dream life.” “What do you want more of?” she asked. My first answer came without hesitation. “The exhilaration of expanding my skills through my work.” Each new client or project allowed me to discover new things about myself. It was a joyride for me, and I definitely wanted more. “What do you want less of?” was my therapist’s next question. That answer also came clearly and without hesitation. “Freedom from the rigid JW routine. I don’t want my spiritual value tied to how many hours I spend in field service, or whether or not I show up at the Kingdom Hall.” In that small room, where it was okay to utter the most blasphemous words, I then said, “Basically, I want to be left alone, to sort out what I believe, about God, spirituality, the world.” My voice trailed off there. Then I added, “Without interference or having to explain or justify it to anyone, including my husband. And if I want to work late, so be it. If I want to rest, so be it.” As I passed the first billboards at the city limit, my wind-shield wipers kept a pounding rhythm. Next came a moment of lucid precision as I realized Ross’s words were a gift. He had proposed one choice—divorce—that would grant me that freedom. It all seemed so clear and benevolent. He deserved a nice, subservient, “Christian” wife who would join him, as I once had, in the intricate lifestyle of a true believer. If I stuck around as I was, his relationships with the community would be impacted, as would our marriage. For me, divorce was a free pass to avoid the hassles of rebuilding a union addled by different dreams. Instead I could use my energies elsewhere and turn my inquisitive mind to grand explorations of the world at large.

• From Shunned (2018)

  He’s heard stories about me, the worldly, renegade aunt who is to be avoided. I shook Tyler’s hand formally, then hugged Randy and Marlene. Bob slipped his shoes back on, and Ove handed us our jackets. I was too warm to cloak myself in wool. “It’s time for you to leave so we can talk about you,” Ove said, and giggled to press home the joke. Everyone else laughed awkwardly. Bob and I just looked at each other. What a jerk. “Until we meet again,” I said, keeping one hand on the doorknob and waving with the other. The night air gripped and soothed me. Bob grabbed my hand as we walked to the car. I unlocked the doors and slipped behind the steering wheel. Bob got in and pulled his seat belt into place. Looking back toward the house, I saw everyone standing on the front steps, watching us leave. We both waved as I turned on the ignition, put the car in gear, and drove away. The reprieve was officially over. Death Exemption 2006 had run its course. Epilogue: The Death Exemption, 2010 [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] If your everyday practice is to open to all your emotions, to all the people you meet, to all the situations you encounter without closing down, trusting that you can do that, then that will take you as far as you can go. And then you will understand all the teachings that anyone has ever taught. —Pema Chödrön F our years passed before I saw my parents again. True to the détente we had worked out over the years, the occasion was another death exemption. It was a Sunday morning in March. My parents had flown in to the Bay Area the night before. I’d picked them up at their hotel and driven here. I’d presumed the next death exemption would be to memorialize one of them. Instead, I was grieving the well-lived, all-too-short life of my beloved Bob. Mom and Dad had accepted my invitation to attend his service. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] His decline was swift and shocking. It began when he took a hard fall in the wee hours of the night, stumbling over a bathrobe belt that had fallen from our bed. His back never felt right after that. He experienced the sensation of his spine being stuck in places, like well-worn piano keys that fail to rise back to their original position. A back specialist was consulted to help us resolve this nuisance. An MRI revealed a spine riddled with a white, cotton-looking substance. Bob didn’t need back surgery. He needed an oncologist. The oncologist arranged for a barrage of diagnostic tests, and twelve days later we learned Bob had Stage Four cancer of the esophagus. We stumbled into the alternate universe of medical care for the seriously ill, a yawning vortex where time contorts and folds inside itself, stretching into a nonlinear black hole.

• From Shunned (2018)

  We were sitting around the breakfast table when I told them I’d had a sexual relationship with someone who was not my husband.” I felt absurd saying the word “sexual” in the company of these men. “And I told them I was not sorry about it. I told them, and my husband, that he was free. And telling them this made me feel free.” All three men watched my expressions closely as they listened. Potter was leaning back, stroking the edges of his mustache. Ray and Jeremy sat still in their seats. “I tried to explain to them that this isn’t about sex, but I don’t think they heard that part.” “What is it about, then?” asked Ray. “It’s about feeling like I belong in the world, instead of separating myself from it—embracing it, versus condemning it. And, it’s about taking the time to explore other spiritual ideas, about God, love, what it means to have faith.” I knew this last part was worse than admitting to any “sexual misconduct,” which was why my family had refused to hear it. Openness to other beliefs was a step toward apostasy, an unforgivable sin. Adultery was one thing. Even if I had no regrets then, they hoped for some future dark night of the soul when I’d see the error of my ways and return, riddled with guilt. Of course they’d welcome me. But apostasy was the worst kind of sin, a denial of Christ and his sacrifice; the bridges back from there were not so easily mended. “Have you joined another church?” Ray asked, possibly trying to clarify if I’d already become an apostate. “No,” I said. I’ve had such a hard time getting out of this religion, why would I join another? Everyone sat in the gaping quiet. Ray looked at the other elders. “Does either of you have any more questions for Linda?” Jeremy and the Third Man shook their heads. “Then, Linda,” Ray said, “will you please excuse us while we confer?” I got up and walked through the foyer, out to the front steps of the Hall. Inside they were discussing my situation, making an official decision about my standing in the congregation. I thought of resting on the steps but felt too energized to sit still and walked down the sidewalk to the parking lot. I paced around the lot, my car the only one there. Years later, I would look back and realize I could have simply written a letter and been done with the whole matter, without putting myself through this formal process. But I was still in the clutches of a certain way of thinking, responding to the experience of being evaluated. I adapted my exit to the religion’s terms, believing that was the only way to be decent and noble.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Like the rest of my father’s family, she was not a Witness, and we had limited contact with the “worldly” side of the family. She was always kind to me, though, and I thought of her with fondness. I recall her dismay with my choice to skip college and go into full-time pioneer work. “You’re smart, Lindy,” she said. “Think of all the goodness you could bring to the world if you had an education.” At the time, I dismissed her point of view. I was pursuing a noble path and believed what I had been taught: chasing higher education would distract me from my spiritual ideals. Armageddon would soon come, followed by the New System here on Earth. Calling attention to that event was my way of serving humanity. I always assured Grandma that my spiritual education would be more than sufficient to get me through the time remaining in this old, doomed system. She’d roll her eyes and take a sip of tea. Dad wanted me to know about Grandma’s condition, in case I wanted to visit her before she passed away. He had begun planning a service at the local funeral home. Disconnecting the call, I felt a warmth and inclusion I hadn’t experienced for a long while. A gust of winter wind thrust itself against the window beside me, and rain beat down on the overhead skylight. I sent a silent prayer to Grandma T., wishing her well and thanking her for creating this opening. I was being granted some kind of death exemption. In the years since I’d left the religion, I’d wondered how my family would manage around me during a crisis. Dad’s call started to answer that question, a question that weighed on me. With months, then years, passing without substantive communication, during which I had no idea about their health or other circumstances, my imagination gave birth to scenarios where I was excluded. True to their word, Lory and Randy had avoided all contact with me. As a result, I had been unsure of how—or even if—my family would communicate about illness or death closer to home. Today that worry was assuaged. If they called me now, before Grandma passed away, I knew they would grant me the same courtesy in the future. This was a dry run for the inevitable. I saw my chance to “test out” how to be with them before another loss occurred, one that would cause me a much deeper sense of loss. As much as I scoffed at the reasons we needed a death exemption, it was better than the alternative. That night I talked to Bob, reviewed my calendar, and searched the Internet for flight options. I slept on my decision but knew in my heart it was the right thing to go before Grandma T. passed away. Something unsaid in my father’s voice told me it would mean a great deal to him.

• From Shunned (2018)

  “Then don’t ask,” I said, my voice clipped. I felt the absurdity of the situation, confessing to something that happened a year ago, as if it were occurring in the present. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you say to a person over the phone.” “I suppose not,” Ross nodded, resigned. “And I was afraid you’d blab to everyone, and I couldn’t do that to my family. I want them to hear this from me, not through the grapevine.” “Probably a good call,” he said. The check was delivered to our table, and Ross picked it up. “Let me get this—a small price to pay for news of my freedom.” He had become distant and lethargic. “Your family will be devastated not to be able to see you.” “As if they have no choice as to how they’ll react or treat me.” I could feel anger rising in my throat. “They won’t see it that way, and you know it.” “No kidding.” I knew he was right. He understood, as I did, that my family would turn away from me if I were to be disfellowshipped. “Mom thinks I’m having breakfast with you to discuss getting back together.” “Hope springs eternal,” Ross said. “She’s in for a grim reckoning.” We sat for a moment, contemplating this, nodding our heads. “My plan is to enjoy their company over the weekend, then sit them down and tell them before we leave on Sunday. I know how selfish that sounds, but I want to have some time just being with them.” “Before you drop the bomb?” “Before the hammer comes down,” I said. “But this is none of your concern. It’s my challenge to face, not yours. It’s time for you to get on with your life. You deserve that.” “Thanks for finally being straight with me,” he said. We both sat quiet for a long moment. “Linda, forget about me, us, everything—you’re walking away from Jehovah.” He shook his head, his voice pleading. “It’s a dangerous game you’re in—like playing Russian roulette with your life. I just hate to think about it.” I didn’t reply, having developed a Teflon coating against that line of thinking. We stood without saying a word and walked to the street corner together. “Goodbye, Ross,” I said. “Goodbye, Linda.” We gave each other a hug and walked in opposite directions. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] I’d expected to feel sad. Instead, as I drove my mother’s car through Portland’s city streets, I was relieved and a little gleeful. The conversation had freed me from the yearlong weight of a secret life. Over the year, I’d started to locate—to remember—a wise, ancient, knowing part of myself, a more authentic self, and had risked showing it. She wasn’t fully fleshed out, this new self, but I was proud of her and I liked hanging out with her.

• From Satyricon (1)

  The public servant, however, was not derelict in the performance of his duty for, snatching a cane from the innkeeper, he poked underneath the bed, ransacking every corner, even to the cracks in the wall. Twisting his body out of reach, and cautiously drawing a full breath, Giton pressed his mouth against the very bugs themselves. (The pair had scarcely left the room) when Eumolpus burst in in great excitement, for the doors had been broken and could keep no one out. “The thousand sesterces are mine,” he shouted, “I’ll follow that crier out and tell him Giton is in your power, and it will serve you right, too!” Seeing that his mind was made up, I embraced his knees and besought him not to kill a dying man. “You might have some reason for being excited,” I said, “if you could produce the missing boy, but you cannot, as the thing stands now, for he escaped into the crowd and I have not even a suspicion as to where he has gone! Get the lad back, Eumolpus, for heaven’s sake, even if you do restore him to Ascyltos!” I had just succeeded in persuading him to believe all this when Giton, nearly suffocated from holding his breath, suddenly sneezed three times, and shook the bed. Eumolpus turned at the commotion. “Hello, Giton,” he exclaimed, “glad to see you!” Then he turned back the mattress and discovered an Ulysses who even a ravenous Cyclops might have spared; thereupon, he faced me, “You robber,” said he, “what does all this mean? You hadn’t the nerve to tell me the truth even when you were caught! If the god, that umpires human affairs hadn’t forced a sign from this boy as he hung there, I would be wandering from one pot-house to another, like a fool!” (But) Giton was far more tactful than I: first of all, he dressed the cut upon Eumolpus’ forehead, with spider’s web soaked in oil; he then exchanged the poet’s torn clothing for his own cloak; this done, he embraced the old gentleman, who was already somewhat mollified, and poulticed him with kisses. “Dearest of fathers,” he cried, “we are entirely in your hands! In yours alone! If you love your Giton, do your best to save him. Would that some cruel flame might devour me, alone, or that the wintry sea might swallow me, for I am the cause for all these crimes. Two enemies would be reconciled if I should perish!” (Moved by our troubles, but particularly stirred by Giton’s caresses, “You are fools,” exclaimed Eumolpus, “you certainly are: here you are gifted with talents enough to make your fortunes and you still lead a life of misery, and every day you bring new torments upon yourselves, as the fruits of your own acts!)” ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:

• From Shunned (2018)

  I opened a can of soup to warm on the stove and drew a hot bath. I didn’t feel guilty anymore for lying, if indeed withholding private information can be called lying. I had a plan, and Ross would be thanking me soon enough. It was a relief to know he’d found someone else to love. A solitary lifestyle had never suited him. I was ready to take the stand for my freedom to a whole new level. I’d been bucking the current—pushing against reality—and it was exhausting. It was bigger than I was, and it was time to surrender to the call of my heart, without reservation. This would require me to tell my family and the elders the truth, My Truth, to bear witness to my own story, the only one I could fully vouch for. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] The next evening, I started working a plan that was fine-tuned over several therapy sessions. I phoned Deborah’s husband, Ray and requested a visit—known as a shepherding call—to discuss a “pressing personal matter.” We found a mutually agreeable time, contingent on his finding another elder to come along. It was unthinkable for him to visit the home of a single woman alone or meet with me in a public place. Next, I called my parents. Some weeks earlier, they’d raised the possibility of my flying home in the summer and joining them for a vacation in Central Oregon. For about five years running, we had rented the same large house in a resort town there. We’d always found it a fun and restorative place to go together. I’d stalled my mom when she’d first suggested it, but that night I told her I’d been able to schedule some vacation time, and we agreed to secure the house after all. I set down the phone receiver. I could almost smell the sweet perfume of the pine trees that lined the meadows there. It would be the best place to tell them the truth about my life. It held enough happy memories to feel safe, but it was a place we could all leave behind. I’d enjoy our time together. I’d absorb as much of their love and affection as possible—the emotional equivalent of storing nuts for the winter. And then I’d sit them down for a talk the morning before our drive back to Portland and tell them the truth. I couldn’t be sure how they’d react in the moment. But I was absolutely sure of one thing: they would shun me. They’d believe they had no choice, that it was what Jehovah wanted and a rightful rebuke for someone this haughty. I knew this was the last vacation I’d have with my family for some time to come, if ever. They, of course, would be oblivious to this plan, anticipating my visit as always, glad to see me, hoping for some glimmer of humility in my spiritual state. It would be a shock— but then again, maybe not.

• From Shunned (2018)

  In this moment, you have everything you need. Millions of people are hungry, and you have this delicious meal and new pots and pans to cook it all in. And you have wine. I toasted the air and took a sip. Leo was sitting in the corner, watching me. You have the endearing affection of a kitten. I scanned the rest of the room. A piano. A TV and VCR. A couch and chair. A warm coat. A roof over your head. A good job. A company car. Good prospects. You’re physically strong and healthy. You’re just beginning to make new friends. This was how I would talk myself down, out of the highest, most delicate branches of the panic tree: by getting my bearings in a single moment and noticing all that was working, large and small. The options seemed to be Prozac, the Kingdom Hall, or continue riding the wave, putting one foot in front of the other, not getting too far ahead of myself with upset and worry. We all need a place to call home, a native habitat that our soul recognizes, and where it exhales with relief upon entry, knowing this is where we belong, where we know and are known. The Hall offered me a place for community and connection. There, I would never have to worry about being alone or forgotten. I often toyed with the idea of returning to my former religion, if only for that security stemming from the familiar, but more than that, I daydreamed about how it would feel to be okay with my family, to walk into Mom and Dad’s house, open the refrigerator, help myself to some morsel, and have a mundane conversation about the garden tomatoes. Because what is more native than a daughter being welcomed and accepted by her family? Chapter 13 Let yourself be drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray. —Rumi The next weekend, I was sitting with my best work friend, Cindy, in my living room after dinner. The conversation had moved from parents and past boyfriends to a long-standing frustration Cindy had with one of our coworkers. “I have no room to quibble,” I said. “Until I sell something, I don’t think I can point fingers at any one else’s shortcomings.” Cindy looked down, not saying a word. “What are people saying about me, Cindy?” “That’s a tough one,” she said. “Everyone likes you. Everyone thinks you’re capable and smart. No one doubts you’ve been working hard. The way you revamped our sales proposals is helping everyone.” She paused to sip her wine.

• From Shunned (2018)

  There could be no more hemming and hawing. My next steps were clear and poignant and absolute. “No, Ross,” I paused. “No, you’re not free.” I could hear a deep sigh from him that turned into a groan. “Woman,” he said, “you’re killing me.” “Guilty as charged,” I said. It was seven o’clock in Portland, and this was a Tuesday night, when he would usually have been at the Kingdom Hall. “No meeting tonight?” I asked. “Couldn’t do it tonight,” Ross said. “Just feeling too down to be around people. I’ve been trying to reach you since six.” “Should I be worried about you?” I asked pacing again. “No. Don’t do me any favors. I’ve got plenty of people here covering that territory.” “Well, then,” I said, “if there is nothing else you wish to harass me about, I’ll be going.” “Good night.” And I heard the click of the phone line trail off into oblivion. I opened a can of soup to warm on the stove and drew a hot bath. I didn’t feel guilty anymore for lying, if indeed withholding private information can be called lying. I had a plan, and Ross would be thanking me soon enough. It was a relief to know he’d found someone else to love. A solitary lifestyle had never suited him. I was ready to take the stand for my freedom to a whole new level. I’d been bucking the current—pushing against reality—and it was exhausting. It was bigger than I was, and it was time to surrender to the call of my heart, without reservation. This would require me to tell my family and the elders the truth, My Truth, to bear witness to my own story, the only one I could fully vouch for. The next evening, I started working a plan that was fine-tuned over several therapy sessions. I phoned Deborah’s husband, Ray and requested a visit— known as a shepherding call—to discuss a “pressing personal matter.” We found a mutually agreeable time, contingent on his finding another elder to come along. It was unthinkable for him to visit the home of a single woman alone or meet with me in a public place. Next, I called my parents. Some weeks earlier, they’d raised the possibility of my flying home in the summer and joining them for a vacation in Central Oregon. For about five years running, we had rented the same large house in a resort town there. We’d always found it a fun and restorative place to go together. I’d stalled my mom when she’d first suggested it, but that night I told her I’d been able to schedule some vacation time, and we agreed to secure the house after all.

• From Shunned (2018)

  In those shadows, we slowly undressed and, without saying a word, curled up in bed and drifted into the sleep of relieved refugees. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] Despite the warmth Steve and I shared at Christmas, during the long, soul-searching week leading up to New Year’s, I realized our romance was over. On a night when the temperature was seven degrees below with the wind chill, I went out with him for what I knew would be our final dinner. When he walked me to my car, I said, “I think we should stop seeing each other.” I felt like I’d stepped into a Seinfeld episode. I used all the clichés: “It’s not you, it’s me,” and “I hope we can be friends.” “This just isn’t working,” I continued. He didn’t resist. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming,” he said. We kissed once on the lips; then I got in my car and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I saw him step into the black pavement outline where my car had been, under the streetlight. He’d have no trouble finding a cab to take him home. My relief was much bigger than my sadness. I couldn’t muster enough remorse to cry and decided to stop dating for a few months. It took too much energy, and I needed to build my strength, focus on my work, and try to confront the existential dilemmas facing me. I caught myself staring into space a lot over the coming days, curled up with a kitten I’d adopted from the local shelter, wondering if unsatisfying romantic relationships were punishment from God for leaving my marriage. Scratching his chin while talking to Leo, I got a scary glimpse of my future self, years hence, holed up in my apartment, gray and frail and alone, wearing a quilted bathrobe, surrounded by cats. The neighborhood children would call me the Cat Lady behind my back, and I’d pass out stale hard candy at Halloween. The next day stretched before me with no plans. I pushed through the void and headed out to an early-afternoon matinee at Watertower Place, then wandered through the shopping mall, finding post holiday crowds surging past the corners of each escalator bank. What weeks earlier had seemed blessed and shiny now felt tired and brassy. The music was irritating, and every face appeared devoid of joy. This really is an awful holiday . I decided to leave, but with a free evening looming ahead of me, I was reluctant to return home. The first thing I did when I got to my apartment was to check the phone for messages. The stutter of the dial tone gave my heart a hopeful lift. Someone had called me. My whole body relaxed as I listened to a call from Deborah, an elder’s wife from the local Kingdom Hall whom I’d met a couple months earlier when Lory had come for a three-day visit.

• From Shunned (2018)

  I recall her dismay with my choice to skip college and go into full-time pioneer work. “You’re smart, Lindy,” she said. “Think of all the goodness you could bring to the world if you had an education.” At the time, I dismissed her point of view. I was pursuing a noble path and believed what I had been taught: chasing higher education would distract me from my spiritual ideals. Armageddon would soon come, followed by the New System here on Earth. Calling attention to that event was my way of serving humanity. I always assured Grandma that my spiritual education would be more than sufficient to get me through the time remaining in this old, doomed system. She’d roll her eyes and take a sip of tea. Dad wanted me to know about Grandma’s condition, in case I wanted to visit her before she passed away. He had begun planning a service at the local funeral home. Disconnecting the call, I felt a warmth and inclusion I hadn’t experienced for a long while. A gust of winter wind thrust itself against the window beside me, and rain beat down on the overhead skylight. I sent a silent prayer to Grandma T., wishing her well and thanking her for creating this opening. I was being granted some kind of death exemption. In the years since I’d left the religion, I’d wondered how my family would manage around me during a crisis. Dad’s call started to answer that question, a question that weighed on me. With months, then years, passing without substantive communication, during which I had no idea about their health or other circumstances, my imagination gave birth to scenarios where I was excluded. True to their word, Lory and Randy had avoided all contact with me. As a result, I had been unsure of how—or even if—my family would communicate about illness or death closer to home. Today that worry was assuaged. If they called me now, before Grandma passed away, I knew they would grant me the same courtesy in the future. This was a dry run for the inevitable. I saw my chance to “test out” how to be with them before another loss occurred, one that would cause me a much deeper sense of loss. As much as I scoffed at the reasons we needed a death exemption, it was better than the alternative. That night I talked to Bob, reviewed my calendar, and searched the Internet for flight options. I slept on my decision but knew in my heart it was the right thing to go before Grandma T. passed away. Something unsaid in my father’s voice told me it would mean a great deal to him. It was perhaps the only form of support he could accept from me, and thus the only one that mattered. The next day, I phoned Dad to declare my intentions to visit in two days, hoping Grandma would hold on.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Catherine and I emerged with the signed contract and a clear plan to move forward. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass of chardonnay in the neighborhood bar where we went afterward. “I never lost faith this day would come.” We clinked glasses. I thanked her for her support and sipped my wine. I was practically levitating off the barstool with relief. The stalemate had ended. Catherine used her cell phone to share the good news with Richard, paid the tab, and departed for her long drive to the suburbs. I walked toward home along Lincoln Park West, turning back toward Clark Street in time to visit my favorite shoe boutique. I told the owner I was celebrating, and he got right into the swing of things, helping me select a new pair of pumps as my reward. It was five o’clock when I walked into my apartment, no one but my cat to party with. Richard had left a message congratulating me. The first person I called to share my good news with was Cindy. She would be assigned to manage the relationship, and we were thrilled about the chance to roll up our sleeves and work on a specific project together. She was still at the office, where a large whiteboard was kept with an ever-growing list of new sales for each month. She promised to post my win “with your name next to it, so everyone knows.” My ego loved that idea. Next, I phoned Steve. The month before, I’d sent him a birthday card as a small peace offering. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him as a friend. He’d done so much to help me get acclimated in Chicago, and I really did care about him. Out of that gesture had come a casual dinner the week before, where we’d both admitted that friendship suited us way better than romance. He had always listened patiently to my work anxieties, and I knew he would be happy about my news. He promised to buy me dinner sometime in the next month to celebrate. “Or maybe you should pay,” he said. “You’re the one getting the big fat commission check.” And I laughed. Without the burden of romantic expectations, we were much freer with each other. So there I was, alone in my apartment. I took a long, hot shower then opened a bottle of wine. As I sipped a glass and scanned takeout menus, I noticed a complete absence of loneliness. In fact, I was grateful for the solitude. Managing details all week was intense, and the victory sustained me. Many questions had been answered that week. The fulcrum I’d organized my life around had come through. I could do this job and fashion a life in this town. What now seemed like trite and tedious doubts about the future vanished with David’s signature and commitment. I was staying in Chicago.

• From Shunned (2018)

  That day at the office, I was buoyed by a new sense of lightness and freedom and found myself looking forward to the commute home, when I could listen to more “church services” in my car. That day I heard a totally new description of “sin” as an archery term, and of “missing the mark” as a mistake in perception, losing sight of our essential goodness, or that of others. The god Marianne described doesn’t get angry when we take detours; he doesn’t see sins as mistakes he wants to punish. Our only mistake is thinking God ever condemned us in the first place. It was the most radical description of God I’d ever heard. Deep parts of me that had been tense and apologetic for months began to loosen and warm. Everything she was saying was exactly what I wanted to hear—which made me suspicious. I’d been trained to see the duality, the struggle between good and evil, Jehovah and Satan, the congregation and the World, true religion and false. And here was someone telling me these were perceptions based on fear, creating an illusion of separation—a very harmful dream that was responsible for a great deal of suffering. I wasn’t able to embrace—or even understand—everything she was saying, but I was drawn to it. My innate wisdom—the same small voice that had told me to leave my religion one year earlier—encouraged me to keep listening, to mull it over. If God was indeed patient, and I was entitled to the dignity of my own process, then time was on my side. [image "Images" file=Image00000.jpg] And yet, for reasons unexplainable in the moment, that very Sunday, I returned to the Kingdom Hall. It had been a brutally cold February, and I’d spent most of that weekend indoors and alone, curled up with the cat, doing laundry, eating, and reading. I longed to get out of the house and be in familiar surroundings, where a few friendly people might say hello to me by name. My homing device for “community” was still wired for the Kingdom Hall. I was experiencing guilty pleasure from listening to the lectures on the Course in Miracles and suspect I wanted to attend a meeting to see if I could capture anything redeeming from the sermon, anything at all to draw me the way the Course was drawing me. Ten minutes before the service was to begin, I walked into the foyer of the Kingdom Hall. I was relieved to see Deborah and Ray standing by the coat rack, peeling off layers of coats, hats, and scarves. Their greeting was warm and openhearted. “You’re welcome to sit with us,” said Ray. “I’m giving the talk today, so Deb would probably appreciate the company.” “Thank you,” I said, removing my heavy coat and hanging it next to theirs. The main Hall was filled with people milling around, finding their seats, talking. I recognized several of the faces from the dinner at Deborah and Ray’s house.

• From Shunned (2018)

  They would have made no special acknowledgment of the “worldly” holiday. I had avoided calling them over the last few days, and they hadn’t reached out to me, either. They may have suspected my heathen activities and didn’t want to be faced with the truth or a lie. Better to let the whole thing blow over. Every bit the guilty pagan, I felt my heart murmuring with faint echoes of shame. “It must be hard to be away from your family,” Bernie said. “Especially at Christmas.” “It is,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. I knew Steve had not shared my situation with her, and that she might misread the meaning behind my emotions. I took a deep breath to recover my bearings. “Being here has helped me along. You are very generous, and this present is perfect for me. Thank you. I’ll use it often; I’m sure of it.” Steve placed a Kleenex on my knee, and I dabbed my cheeks, grateful the attention had shifted to the next round of gifts. Without my asking, PFQ brought me another whiskey, which I gladly accepted and sipped through an evening that asked nothing more from me. Later, after we helped clear the discarded gift wrap and stacked the dishes, we said goodbye. Steve drove us back to the city, where the streets had an eerie stillness and repose, dark and cold as a butcher’s locker. Steve and I walked through the deserted lobby of my building and rode the elevator uninterrupted to the fourteenth floor. When we walked through my front door, Steve set down my gift in the kitchen and followed me to the bedroom. The blinds were open, and the city lights cast a blue aura, adding to the spectral mood. In those shadows, we slowly undressed and, without saying a word, curled up in bed and drifted into the sleep of relieved refugees. Despite the warmth Steve and I shared at Christmas, during the long, soul- searching week leading up to New Year’s, I realized our romance was over. On a night when the temperature was seven degrees below with the wind chill, I went out with him for what I knew would be our final dinner. When he walked me to my car, I said, “I think we should stop seeing each other.” I felt like I’d stepped into a Seinfeld episode. I used all the clichés: “It’s not you, it’s me,” and “I hope we can be friends.” “This just isn’t working,” I continued. He didn’t resist. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming,” he said. We kissed once on the lips; then I got in my car and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I saw him step into the black pavement outline where my car had been, under the streetlight. He’d have no trouble finding a cab to take him home. My relief was much bigger than my sadness.

• From Shunned (2018)

  The check was delivered to our table, and Ross picked it up. “Let me get this—a small price to pay for news of my freedom.” He had become distant and lethargic. “Your family will be devastated not to be able to see you.” “As if they have no choice as to how they’ll react or treat me.” I could feel anger rising in my throat. “They won’t see it that way, and you know it.” “No kidding.” I knew he was right. He understood, as I did, that my family would turn away from me if I were to be disfellowshipped. “Mom thinks I’m having breakfast with you to discuss getting back together.” “Hope springs eternal,” Ross said. “She’s in for a grim reckoning.” We sat for a moment, contemplating this, nodding our heads. “My plan is to enjoy their company over the weekend, then sit them down and tell them before we leave on Sunday. I know how selfish that sounds, but I want to have some time just being with them.” “Before you drop the bomb?” “Before the hammer comes down,” I said. “But this is none of your concern. It’s my challenge to face, not yours. It’s time for you to get on with your life. You deserve that.” “Thanks for finally being straight with me,” he said. We both sat quiet for a long moment. “Linda, forget about me, us, everything—you’re walking away from Jehovah.” He shook his head, his voice pleading. “It’s a dangerous game you’re in—like playing Russian roulette with your life. I just hate to think about it.” I didn’t reply, having developed a Teflon coating against that line of thinking. We stood without saying a word and walked to the street corner together. “Goodbye, Ross,” I said. “Goodbye, Linda.” We gave each other a hug and walked in opposite directions. I’d expected to feel sad. Instead, as I drove my mother’s car through Portland’s city streets, I was relieved and a little gleeful. The conversation had freed me from the yearlong weight of a secret life. Over the year, I’d started to locate—to remember—a wise, ancient, knowing part of myself, a more authentic self, and had risked showing it. She wasn’t fully fleshed out, this new self, but I was proud of her and I liked hanging out with her. I’d come this far in overhauling my life and decided to put it all on the line. I had just seen with my own eyes and heart that Ross would be fine, and so would I. We’d come together at an important time in each other’s lives, and together we’d learned a lot about how to do life.

• From Shunned (2018)

  “I’d forgotten all about these,” he said, sifting through the pictures. “Thanks. I’ll take a closer look at them later.” He stuffed the photos back in the envelope, pushed it aside, and sipped his coffee. “Enough about me. How are you doing?” It was my opening, but I couldn’t bear to ruffle his feathers before our food had even arrived. I started by telling him more about Chicago—where I lived, how city living compared to the suburbs, and how worried I was to make my first sale. Our food was served, and I became aware of how hungry I was, slathering my biscuits with butter as I rattled on about the weather, midwestern sensibilities, and the Cubs cult of the North Side. He laughed in all the right places. “Can I bring you more coffee?” asked our waiter, a local theater actor who’d worked at the café for years. The question brought me back to Portland and the moment. “Yes, thank you,” I said, then turned to look out the window. A meter maid was ticketing a car just in front of the restaurant. “We leave this afternoon for Black Butte.” “So I heard. I ran into Ove, and he told me,” Ross said. The grapevine was alive and well. “No Randy this year?” “No Randy, no Ross,” I said, the words catching in my throat. Ross looked older then, his freckles faded, his hair more burnished than red. His blue eyes looked right through me. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?” he asked. He knew why I’d come. I just needed to say the words. “Yes,” I said, just as the waiter refilled our coffee cups. Ross didn’t take his eyes away from mine. I took a deep breath. “I’ve moved on, Ross. I’ve gotten involved with someone.” As I held his gaze, his eyes filled with tears. “So here are the words you’ve been wanting to hear: you’re free.” He kept looking at me, expressionless except for the watery eyes. “Free, free, free,” I said in a gentle, steady tone. Ross leaned his head back to keep the tears from streaming down his face. He worked to regain his composure. “I’ve expected this for a long while,” he said, “but hearing it feels terrible.” He wiped his nose with the napkin. “I thought I’d be happy to hear this, but I’m not.” Relief and a bone-tired peace came over me, sitting there, being honest, telling him the truth. Never underestimate the power of an honest answer, even if it means disappointing someone you love. We can all recover from disappointment, but lying about who we really are and how we really feel keeps everyone in chains. Just saying these words made me stronger, more resolved. I sat back in my chair and let out a sigh. “What’s his name?” “No names,” I said, adamant. “I’m afraid to ask how long this has been going on,” he said.