There are those who are trying to set fire to the world,
We are in danger.
There is time only to work slowly,
There is no time not to love.[1]
-Deena Metzger
My life feels divided at the moment between those days when the latest destruction of vital and important work, rights, the health of the planet demands urgent attention and those when a little hand slipped in mine and a voice still learning to form words require a no less urgent attention, but of a different kind.
The first tightens my chest, quickens my pulse, fuels both my sense of indignation and my fears. It sends me into rabbit holes of news sources, searching in a curious but perhaps morbid way for what else has gone wrong since last I ventured into news of the current state of the world. It sets my fingers typing furious emails to Congressional representatives and calling Congressional offices. It propels me to attend online organizing calls for action and protests on the streets. It all feels fast and furious -- that we must act quickly before there is nothing left to save.
The second releases my breath, calms my nervous system. It requires a slower pace – life at the speed of a long hike being a walk around the woodpile. In this time matrix we take long lunches – why eat spaghettios by the spoonful when each little ring is just the right size to place on a finger and eat one at a time?; stop whatever we are doing to marvel at all the pine siskins at the feeder and research a new never-before-seen bird who has joined them – a red-breasted nuthatch – who knew such a glorious bird existed?; and respond patiently to the hopeful “read again?” with a second, third, fourth repetition of the beloved bedtime story. When the world would turn my gaze outward, it is as if this little one would take my head in his hands, turn it toward his sweet face, and say “here, now,” demanding nothing but pure presence.
Sara Ruddick describes the giving of “attentive love” as one of the main tasks of maternal – and by extension, grandmaternal – care.[2]. Ruddick took her concept of attentive love from Iris Murdoch, who drew her inspiration from Simone Weil. Weil defined love as “intense, pure, disinterested, gratuitous, generous attention.”[3] I used to read those words slowly to my students, asking that they take in fully what each would require. “Intense” – from the Latin intensus – meaning “with extreme force, strength, degree, amount”; “pure” – from the Latin purus – meaning “clean, unmixed, free from dirt, unadulterated”; “disinterested” – from the Old French – desinteresse – meaning “free from personal or self-interested bias”; “gratuitous” – from the Latin gratuitus – meaning “done without pay or favor”; and generous – from the Latin generosus – meaning “to be of noble birth, excellence, magnanimity.” Such love comes from a place of complete goodwill, unmixed with any sense of gain for self. It is noble, magnanimous, and strong. In truth, the world requires no less of us. As frenetic as the overwhelm of events and the demands of resistance may cause us to feel, this – intense, pure, disinterested, gratuitous, generous attention to each other, the needs of humanity, and the earth – and the unhurried tempo they require, may well be what we most need to repair the world.
“I believe that our world is on the verge of self-destruction and death,” wrote feminist theologian Beverly Wildung Harrison, “because the society as a whole has so deeply neglected that which is most human and most basic of all the works of love – the work of human communication, of caring and nurturance, of tending the personal bonds of community.”[4] “To tend” is to give one’s attention to. “Tend,” “attention” -- from the same Latin root -- tendere – meaning “to stretch, extend.” The image is of extending one’s neck to see and hear more closely; of extending one’s arm to reach out, to offer, to hold; of extending one’s heart, one’s compassion, both to distant others and ones closest at hand.
I’ve always loved what I thought to be the relation between the verb “to tend” and the adjective “tender,” for they seem so closely connected to me. To be tender, to act with tenderness, is synonymous with loving and caring, as is the giving of attention. Yet surprisingly, “tend” and “tender” do not derive from the same Latin root, with that of “tender” and “tenderness” being not tendere, but rather tener, meaning “soft, delicate, of a young age.” It is in this sense that Audre Lorde advised that “we have to consciously study how to be tender with each other” in recognition that we each have within us that “brave bruised girlchild” who needs our encouragement and gentle care.[5] We need both the outreach of tending and the gentle care toward those parts of us that are most tender. In tending, in giving our attention, we must receive and respond to the other tenderly. And before we are even able to attend to someone we must first know what it is to be regarded with tenderness. As Lorde wrote, we must “know we are worthy of touch before we can reach out for each other.”[6] To imbue someone with that sense of worth is perhaps the most important and radical work we can do in this moment. As author Jason Reynolds said in a recent interview, “I do believe that tenderness is the most radical form of expression”[7] -- radical in requiring equal amounts vulnerability and strength; radical in how it could, in Lorde’s words, “keep this world revolving toward some livable future.”[8] How much more radical are expressions of tenderness in the current state of society in which toughness, cruelty, contempt, derision, and hate, especially toward the most tender among us, are far too often the forms of expression of those who feign to be our leaders.
“There is time only to work slowly.” I’ve pondered that line, why Metzger counsels us to take the time to work slowly on these issues that seem to demand a rapid response team. Perhaps it is that we need to respond with more thought and consideration than a panicked reaction would permit. But perhaps it is the recognition that any action – in order to be “good trouble,” to be responsive in a way that attends to real needs -- requires investing in growing and tending relationship, and that takes time. Many have been doing that work of tending relationship for years, decades, and the success of today’s resistance efforts is strengthened by the work that has come before. That work is also happening in the process of doing resistance work. In conversations at meetings and protests, I hear not only the dismay over the Trump administration actions and strategies to combat that, but also people inquiring about each other’s work and health and family and dogs and lives. The tending of relationship, the work of loving attention is the most important work we have to do and to overlook that in our hurry is to run roughshod over the very thing we most need.
. . . . .
As physically exhausting as a day with a two-year-old can be, these days are a reprieve from the speed and stress of the outside world burning down before our eyes. I imagine they are my salvation of sorts, reminding me to slow down, appreciate the wonders of the natural world, take time to be here now, and remember, in Metzger’s words, that “there is no time not to love.”
Sources
Harrison, Beverly Wildung. 1989. “The Power of Anger in the Work of Love.” In Judith Plaskow and Carol Christ, Eds. Weaving the Visions: New Patterns in Feminist Spirituality. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 214-225.
Lorde, Audre. “Eye to Eye: Black Women, Hatred, and Anger.” In Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches by Audre Lorde. Trumansburg, NY: The Crossing Press, 1984. 145-175.
Metzger, Deena. “Song.” In Looking for the Faces of God. Berkeley, CA: Parallax Press, 1989.
Ruddick, Sara. Maternal Thinking: Toward a Politics of Peace. New York: Ballantine, 1989.
Weil, Simone. The Simone Weil Reader. Ed. George A. Panichas. New York: David McKay, 1977.
[1] Metzger, “Song.” Thanks to Pat Bennett for bringing this poem to my attention.
[2] Ruddick, 119-123.
[3] Weil, 333.
[4] Harrison, 217.
[5] Lorde, 175.
[6] Ibid., 174-175.
[7] Jason Reynolds' 'Twenty-Four Seconds from Now' is a teen love story for all ages : NPR's Book of the Day : NPR
[8] Lorde, 175.