When 'green' does not refer to the environment

In recent years, I have had the good fortune to become acquainted with the writings of James Alison, whom I consider to be one of the most outstanding living theologians. I'm without the energy, at the moment, to discuss his work on 'original sin through Easter eyes' or his development of the mimetic theories of Rene Girard. Yet, in a nutshell, two ideas which James sets forth I find rather unbearably true (and this because it is difficult for us to admit that the commandments' ending with an exhortation against covetousness is a structure leading to the biggest of spiritual problems, not an afterthought after all the juicy sins were taken.) He sets forth how much of human desire (in this context, not the enjoyment of the goods of creation, but envy,frustration, and rage) is built on coveting what others have which we see as lacking in our own lives. He also presents a superb image of how Jesus eliminated the old, pagan religions, based on scapegoats and placating, by becoming a scapegoat himself.

I can see, in my own life, where much jealousy is based not on the 'whole picture' of what another seems to possess, but on the pain of seeing a lack in one's own life. Perhaps the married envy the supposed freedom of the unmarried, or the single the companionship of marriage - and this though the former cherish their spouses and the latter are glad to be without the responsibilities.

My readers know of my love for 1960s rock music, and how I sometimes find it a convenient manner in which to express emotion. (Yes, I normally preferred the opera - but there are days when the Beatles seemed to capture my own era far better.) I'm probably the last person on the planet who remembers an obscure Simon and Garfunkel song, "Richard Cory." It goes on about Richard's wealth, power, style, and so forth - and ends with the surprise that he 'put a bullet through his head.' Well, I suppose we all know, from the tabloids if nowhere else, that wealth and power are not guarantees of happiness or even sanity. Yet, when my own poverty was paining me most, I would sing out with the refrain, "I work in his factory. And I curse the life I'm living, and I curse my poverty, and I wish that I could be Richard Cory."

(Franciscans are not supposed to admit that they ever curse their poverty, but you heard it hear first.)

Oddly enough, when I did come to know some people who were relatively wealthy, there were many aspects of their lives which I did not desire in the least. As material goods go, I'm basically contented with a certain frugal comfort (who else do you know who used her small inheritance to buy a wheel of Stilton?) Nor do I have the slightest desire for the endless working hours of some wealthy people - who hardly get to enjoy what they do have. And I like 'social' contact to mean 'friends' - not obligations or networking. The envy was far more subtle. I had the good fortune to have an education, and pine for the days when I was an operatic singer, a gifted writer and researcher, one who could go on in four modern languages, etc., etc.. What made me jealous was that, coming from a working class family, I ended up forced by necessity into jobs which I not only hated but were such a strain as to harm my health. (I shall note that there undoubtedly are women out there who would envy anyone who had been a department head.) I was bitter that I did not have the freedom to pursue the areas that I loved - that being chained to that desk all those years not only kept me from using my genuine gifts but left me so emotionally spent that I was too worn out to pursue them in the evenings.

I envied the rich their choices. Yet I wonder if too many of them really have the options - or use them if they do. I was only looking to have enough to 'get by,' and to use my talents in a limited fashion, fulfilling and enriching to those I knew but no road to fame or fortune. Perhaps a wealthy woman whose gifts were for the arts and humanities might have been forced into a business career, just as I was, because it has a higher price tag. In fact, it may have been worse, because she may have felt a need to never be contented but always seek further wealth and prestige.

Please excuse me if I sound self absorbed. I'm using an example from my own life merely because it is that life which I know best. :)

Envy does poison us. We may be unaware of this, but, when jealousy has us in its grasp, we can see our interaction with others as if it were a competition. Many of these 'contests' are really stupid, as we would realise if we stopped to glance at the essence. Yet they are highly painful. When others envy anything they believe we have, they will need to find some form of attack. Our own envy leaves us blind to our own treasures.

The spiritual life is neither a matter of achievement nor a contest of any sort! Am I alone in seeing it as if it were at times? (Rhetorical question, of course. Anyone who has ever lived in a convent saw the 'contests' for who was the holiest, most abstemious, most likely to wear knickers that had big holes in them to prove the commitment to poverty, first to be up to say good morning to Jesus when others languished in bed till only an hour before dawn...)

I personally think that, where recognising a sin, honestly faced and leading to repentance, can be helpful even if we feel humiliated, the jealousy we do not see is destructive. (Before this seems self righteous, it is a problem with which I've always had to deal.) I know, in my own life, that much of the jealousy comes from my own pain and frustration. I can live with my past sins - because I am in awe of the Good Shepherd who led me from them, and drew me to repentance when I did not even see the importance of this as yet. (Come now - did you really think that those who have no major problems with chastity never had to face a need for major conversion? The sins I had to face were harder to recognise and far less fun.) What is hard for me to face, in middle age, is that I, who had promise in my young adult years, would have no hope of being remembered for anything other than being... well, she worked in an office, didn't she?

Here, we Christians are called to a Eucharistic life - a 'sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.' Envy, frustration, and the like not only cause problems with our relationships with others. They keep us from the altar of sacrifice (not, as James Alison well states, the old pagan placating and violence - but that Eucharistic emphasis I just mentioned).