Resisting joy

I'm headed off to the mountains this morning to spend a weekend exploring art: collage, multi-media, acrylic -- it should be fun!

But I'm feeling a bit guilty about it: I had already paid for the weekend when my printer, after some 8 years of robust and uninterrupted service, decided to give up the ghost rather suddenly.  Given that its replacement is costing me twice what I've spent on this weekend, that part of me that is the responsible parent/conscience is shaking her finger and saying, "See, I TOLD you you shouldn't go off and enjoy yourself!"

Thinking about that this morning, I realize there is a very persistent voice in me that is always trying to stifle joy.  I understand now where it comes from, but understanding doesn't seem to stifle the voice, it just helps me resist it -- sometimes.  Which means that whenever joy arises some part of me still gets very anxious and I have to spend a little time talking it down.

Desmond Tutu tells a story in my reading in  Made for Goodness this morning about a time when he was too tired to talk to his father, who then died suddenly later that night.  Bishop Tutu is discussing the guilt he still feels, years later, for having lost that last conversation with his father, and he points out that there is some part of him that feels God shouldn't forgive that mistake.  "If I forgave myself, would it mean that I had taken my transgression too lightly?  Would it show that I hadn't understood the gravity of my fault?  I almost feel annoyed with God.  'How can God forgive me?  God just doesn't understand.  These things are serious!' 


'I know better than God,' says my unforgiving arrogant heart.  When I hear my thoughts, I recognize the disapproving voices of the religious leaders and teachers of Jesus' own community.  Like the critics and carpers described in the introduction to the story of the prodigal son, I am surprised and annoyed that Jesus is welcoming a sinner.  I am especially surprised because that sinner is me."

What unforgiving arrogant hearts we have, to insist that though God forgives others, our own sins are much greater and therefore unforgivable; to live always under the shadow of fear that our particular challenges are surely deserving of guilt and punishment. And how sad it is, that for so many of us those disapproving early childhood experiences and voices -- especially the ones in the "children should be seen and not heard" camp -- have instilled in us a lifetime, not only of guilt, but of resistance to exuberance. 

Those voices are a little louder in me than usual this morning.  But I plan to ask them to quiet down and step aside.  The workshop is bought and paid for; it's time to let it go and just ... enjoy!