Book Review: Acedia and Me

Recently, I contacted my writer friend, Kyle White, to recommend Andrew Peterson's creativity book, Adorning the Dark. He fired back his own suggestion of a read that conveyed him through much of the early days of the pandemic. I immediately set out to acquire a copy of Kathleen Norris's Acedia & me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life. Of course, the title alone is a mouthful. I thought, "what in the world is acedia and what does it have to do with writing, marriage, or monks and how do those three things intersect?" I had to slow my processes down. Each page was worth savoring. Norris writes descriptively and prescriptively. I copied down more quotes than I could ever fit in a book review.

Acedia is hard to pin down. It is depression. It is discontent. But it is intense. At one point she describes it as "weariness, despair, ennui, boredom, restlessness, impasse, futility... easily recognized by anyone who has ever felt stymied, whether in writing, art, prayer, marriage or parenting." She also writes, "Acedia is a danger to anyone whose work requires great concentration and discipline yet is considered by many to be of little practical value. The world does not care if I write another word." Oh, how I relate! Have I not written precisely that many a time?

But what encouraged me was her insistence that acedia, whether or not a sin, must be fought against with determination. If we give in to this despair, we sacrifice the gift of a new day with all its potential. We wallow in it, when we should rise above it to lay our possibilities, our words, our gifts before the Lord. Acedia not only affects writing, it plays into our worship and our relationships; thus, the title. She writes quite a bit about monastic community, and although I have no experience with this, I have great interest.

Two other tangents stood out to me. One involves a criticism I share over the vociferous fomentation on social media. I struggle with several good friends who not only post rants against those who do not share their political perspectives, but also call into question how such could consider themselves Christians. Norris quotes Alasdair MacIntyre, "how often the self-proclaimed defenders of the right and the good do not seem to have noticed [in themselves] the vices of pomposity... exaggeration, and self-righteousness." Or another quote, by Garret Keizer, we "treat our churches as if they were political parties instead of the body of Christ, making them vulnerable to crass manipulation by idealogues."

But the second, I wanted to pin up on my board. In speaking of God's grace, Norris writes:

"The comedy of grace is that it so often comes to us as loss, sorrow, and foul-smelling waste; if it came as gain, gladness, and sweetly scented flowers, we would not be grateful.... It is... much harder to recognize this grace when it comes as pain and unwelcome change. In the depths of our confusion and anger, we ask: 'How can this be God's love? Where is God in this disaster?' For grace to be grace, it must give us things we didn't know we needed and take us places where we didn't want to go. As we stumble through the crazily altered landscape of our lives, we find that God is enjoying our attention as never before. And maybe that's the point. It is a divine comedy."

This has been so true in my life. Pain draws me closer to God, drives me into His arms, and demonstrates that God's ways are often counterintuitive. It is like the Laura Story song, "What if His Blessings Come Through Raindrops?" We struggle to see the rain for all its glorious life-giving potential because we focus on the downpour and the sticky, wet feel of our clinging clothes.

So, thank you, Kyle. I loved this introduction to Kathleen Norris. She packs so much wisdom and insight into her pages. Her writing, as a poet, is lyrical and true, full of observations and challenges. I will fight my personal battle with acedia with greater recognition, thanks to this book.