Wile E. Coyote
I’m reading Sean Carroll‘s so-far-fantastic-book The Big Picture. It’s tagged as an exploration of the origins of life, origins of meaning, and the origins of the universe. My Kindle lists it at 840 pages, and so far each one is worth reading.
I am of that happy and dopey ilk who doesn’t notice these things. I know that when they are mad, people say things they don’t always think. I know that there are times when people play word-games and mind-games. In general, I’m just so interested in whatever I’m doing that I’m not bothered by whatever you are doing. Some say it’s a flaw and maybe it’s ego. I say it keeps me out of a lot of hot water. Years ago I did an end-around with my Mom during one of her ‘now, don’t tell your sister this…’ phone calls: I stopped her and said I don’t want to know anything that I can’t tell someone to their face at the Christmas party. She said…Okay…and made an excuse to hang up the phone. Then she didn’t talk to me for six months. We’ve got on fine ever since. I’m seriously out of the family gossip loop and I can’t say how many days or weeks of good living I’ve recovered.
How does this relate to the cartoon? To Wile E. Coyote? Reading Carroll, and I can’t imagine this was what he was hoping for as a writer, my first thoughts were about how debilitating it is to stop and assess every meaningless thing around you. Of course, meaninglessness is in the eye of the beholder. If you stopped mid-sentence in a conversation to look at Mom’s shoes, I wouldn’t think a thing of it. But her? My gosh. There’s a week’s work of angst-ridden subterfuge there.
What would Jesus say?
It’s been worn on many wrists, but what would Jesus say? In John’s gospel, Jesus begins the fourteenth chapter with a gentle salutation: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You trust in God, trust also in me.” He ends the same chapter with a gift: “Peace I bequeath to you, my own peace I give you, a peace which the world cannot give, this is my gift to you.”
This is the crux of Mom’s anxiety. It’s wondering if we are good enough, if we pass the test, if we are well thought of. For Mom and her friends, or so-called friends, (she’ll decide later), it’s an if-then proposal. If your kitchen is clean, and if your children are well-behaved, and if you go to the 11:00 service at the Lutheran church, then you’re okay. But if you wear those shoes to church? Honey? You’ll be out of the club before we pass the plate.