The Nun's Question
Hello. After some heavy lifting on the threeness of the world, and a long-form reflection on climate change for Perspectiva earlier this week, I wanted to share something gentler and shorter about a micro story that’s been coming to mind. The vignette is adapted from the book, Soul Food by Kornfield and Feldman (1996, p124).1
The Nun’s Question.
There’s a nun who will never give you advice, but only a question. I was told her questions could be very helpful. I sought her out.
‘I am a parish priest,’ I said. ‘I’m here on retreat. Could you give me a question?’ ‘Ah yes,’ she answered. ‘My question is, “What do they need?”’
To tell the truth, I came away disappointed. I spent a few hours with the question, writing out answers, but finally I went back to her.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Your question has been helpful, but I wasn’t so much interested in thinking about my congregation during this retreat. Rather I wanted to think seriously about my own spiritual life. Could you give me a question that will help?’
‘Ah, I see,’ she said. ‘Then my question for you is, “What do they really need?”’
I have known about this vignette for twenty years and still don’t know how to feel about it. Initially I found it a bit troubling, as if the question as answer missed the point of the question as question. But it is beginning to make sense to me.
I spent the first part of my adult live travelling the world playing chess, and following my bliss. It was great while it lasted, but I have no wish to go back there. I am now in a phase of life where I regularly need to make myself available to colleagues, friends and particularly family in need. This pattern of responding to the needs of others often leads me to feel I need a break from responsibilities and time to myself, which can feel strange given the extent to which my self is constituted by and for others.
On a daily basis, I find am relieved to sit down with a coffee I have just made, or that I put my shoes on to head out for a walk, or that I am eager to go into an event in central London, only to discover ...
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