Jessica Coblentz » Simplicity

Wide White Margins, And A Few Words

Jessica Coblentz — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 05:49:01 +0000

On the days when I particularly overwhelmed–when I am convinced that any reform in my church will require at least 10 million perfect words, when I am sure that nothing I can think or say or write will ever make any difference, when I am tempted to think that the countless number of books in Harvard’s theological library may actually make so little an imprint on the world–on these days you will probably find me cross-legged on the floor of the Harvard Bookstore. I will be hunched over barren pages held together by thin bindings in the poetry aisle. Their words belong to people that most people do not know, people I do not know.

I don’t just come for the poems; I come for all the white space that fills these poetry books. The white space actually comforts me more, I think, reminding me of two things: First, reminding me of the arduous silence–all the wordless thinking–that accompanied very worthwhile word I have ever written. Wordlessness can be precious and productive in its own ways. Second, reminding me that I do not need to say everything–I do not need to say everything–only a few beautiful, dangerous, honest-to-God, true things. Poems are so captivating because they say so much with so little.

I am so little, and I want to say something worth so much.

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/kokjebalder/366508847/

That “Simple” Tension

Jessica Coblentz — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 18:55:40 +0000

Once again, I find myself sitting on the carpet floor in our family room surrounded by piles of clothes, empty suitcases, and books. The choas of the packing process doesn’t overwhelm me like it used to. Having packed up and moved so many times in the past few years, I no longer anxiously question whether all of that will fit into all of those, and I know that once it does, it will miraculously weigh less than the 50 pound baggage limit that my airline requires.

What are unnerving, however, are the lingering questions of simple, ethical living that take the forefront of my mind whenever I find myself on the living room floor folding t-shirts and stuffing shoes into empty suitcase corners again: “How in the world did I acquire so many things? I had completely forgotten about that pair of sandals–why am I packing them? And why did I buy them in the first place? Why didn’t I use that money for other things–for other people? People with greater needs?”

It’s not just when I’m packing that I am confronted with these doubting questions. They merely sound louder in my mind when I have to pack, and subsequently face all my stuff at once. These questions sound when I spend time with the poor, when I buy my $3 latte, when I read the gospels, when I talk with the “Save the Children” rep outside the bookstore, when I pay my monthly credit card bill…. These are the tense questions that every mindful member of the Economically Privileged must grapple with at one point or another.

Burdened by the guilt that so easily creeps into these honest inquiries, I used to seek a clear-cut prescriptive for simplicity. I wanted to pick up a book, or listen to a sermon,or happen upon some conversation that would reveal exactly how to give, spend, and save my money and belongings in an ethical way. I keep reading, listening, and sharing, but I have come to the conclusion that I will not find the formulaic life-style prescription that I once sought. The tension that accompanies simple living in a privileged society simply is not that simple! This realization has helped to free me from the unhelpful guilt I often face. I am able to give myself a bit more grace, knowing that this is complicated to workout, even as I continue to recognize that it is an important tension to address and react to.

Community has been a great, productive aid in seeking simplicity. Just the other day, Kristy Calaway, a blogger at CTA’s Young Adult Catholics blog, wrote about the difficulty of simplicity as she packed up her belongings for a cross-country move like mine. It was encouraging, challenging, and inspiring to read a peer’s reflection on our common, complicated pursuit of simple living. When I share a meal, pick out an outfit for the day, or wander through the shopping mall alongside people who are also voicing questions about ethical purchasing, excessive materialism, and common good, I am more honest with myself about how my relationship to money and things impacts who I am and the greater world around me.

So, from one inquirer to another, I would challenge you to take some time to grapple with the questions that arise from the complex tensions of simple living in our modern world. Your reflection, and your lives, will encourage me as I try to go on living a better, more ethical existence each day.

Ice Cream, Jesus, and Others: Part II

Jessica Coblentz — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 00:51:00 +0000

If you are a regular reader, you may recall an entry I posted a couple weeks ago called, “Ice Cream, Jesus, and Others.” It explained my recent unrest with my too-frequent ice cream indulgences. Should I be purchasing ice cream cones when there are plenty of other things I claim to prioritize more? The whole frozen dessert thing had simply surpassed moderation so I decided to exercise a little simplicity with a weeklong ice cream fast.

Well, after a week and a half without ice cream, I decided to treat myself to a cone last Thursday. It was a blazing hot day, I was hungry, and in desperate need of some time to myself. “I will get a cone and sit in the park!” I concluded after carefully considering whether this would be an appropriate occasion to reintegrate ice cream into my diet. The week and a half away from the dessert had made me more mindful of my cravings, and how unthinkingly I had indulged them. Lesson learned: I would be much more considerate about this indulgence, and more reverent of its pleasure.I took my salted caramel single scoop sugar cone to the park where I planned to sit and write until my salsa dance class began in an hour or so. I savored each lick of the cool treat as I watched dogs play in the fountain, children roll around in the grass, adoring couples cuddle on park benches. Then, with the last gooey bite, melted ice cream splattered onto the white cotton collar of my dress. Little beige ice cream stains all over me just in time for a night of salsa dancing…

If I didn’t know any better, I might call this a sign from God: a reminder, perhaps, about taking simplicity—and my delicious indulgences—seriously, considerately, cautiously. But that unfortunate bite was probably just a coincidence of my own making. A coincidence, like the fact that I haven’t eaten any ice cream since then…

Ice Cream, Jesus, and Others

Jessica Coblentz — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 05:18:00 +0000

“Ice cream is the original soul food.”

–Lexie Saige

“Live simply that others might simply live.”

–Elizabeth Seaton

On a day retreat I attended in LA this year, the facilitator, a Sister of Notre Dame, said something about the Eucharist I had never considered before. “Why did Jesus give his disciples bread and wine?” she asked rhetorically. “Because Jesus wanted them to have what they needed–bread–and he also wanted them to have pleasure, life to the fullest–as represented by the gift of the wine. Christ wants that for us too. Extravagant joy and fun and pleasure. We shouldn’t be pushing the beauty of this world aside–Jesus didn’t; we should be experiencing life to the fullest like Christ did!”

This profound interpretation of the Last Supper is too-often employed as a selfish justification for my summertime ice-cream addiction. I love ice cream. I could eat a single scoop sugar cone of Molly Moon’s salted caramel ice cream every day from June to September. I really could. “This creamy, cool cone is a celebration of life,” I tell myself, “Life to the fullest, right? Well I’m pretty sure life doesn’t get much more complete than this…” I really think crazy things like this when I am intoxicated by great ice cream.

I’ve been thinking of fasting from the ice cream addiction for a week. Yes, a week (baby steps, okay? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere…). I have not abandoned my Christian philosophy of “Life to the fullest,” but I have begun to feel the tension of my excessive indulgence amid a world where so many people don’t have what they need. What if I passed the $7 I spend on ice cream to one of the many local charities that struggle in this difficult economy? That money could satisfy many more stomachs than the solitary one it’s been serving. If Jesus wanted everyone to get what they need, then I have to be a part of making that happen. My devotion to this frozen treat need not blind me from the fact that many people don’t have the bread they need, so I can scale back on one of the many “wines” I enjoy.

Next week I’ll give an update on this summertime simplicity experiment, my mouth watering and all.