Wednesday April 26, 2006
Conspiracy theories
“Bad luck comes in bunches,” my mother might have said about last Thursday. She had a saying for almost any occasion, drawn from the vast folklore of the British Isles.
Last Thursday was not a good day for me. I had just come back from a week in Edmonton. I had three days at home before I left again, for ten days in Ontario – three days in which to write four newspaper columns, complete a book, attend three meetings, judge eight submissions for a writing award, and get new springs and tires installed on my car.
I was feeling harried.
Thursday morning, I realized that I also needed to see my accountant about my income tax, mow the lawn, and renew some prescriptions.
I tried to take care of the prescriptions first. My doctor couldn\’t see me until next week. The walk-in clinic was backed up. I waited almost two hours, fussing and fretting over lost time.
On the way home, my car blew a radiator hose. I arrived home in a cloud of steam. Some of it came from the car.
Stresses build up
I know, I know – if I weren\’t in a rush, if I\’d had more time, if I had prepared myself better, none of those misfortunes would have caused a crisis.
But at such times, it\’s hard not to imagine a malevolent little god somewhere, deliberately laying traps for unwary humans.
As such times, I begin to appreciate the appeal of some primitive religions. It\’s never safe to generalize, of course, but in general, they envisage a consortium of hostile gods who have to be appeased with gifts and sacrifices.
It\’s hard not to feel like a victim of a conspiracy sometimes. If not by the gods, then by fate, chance, or unfeeling bureaucracies.
But I remember when our daughter was a teen, with a tendency to stay up later than she should. She came home from school one day and blurted, “Why is it that whenever I haven\’t had enough sleep the night before, the teachers are all in a bad mood?”
Joan and I burst into gales of laughter. Even our daughter got the point – eventually. The teachers weren\’t in a bad mood; she was. And her mood colored her perceptions of her teachers.
Centre of the universe To receive this column regularly via e-mail, send a request to [email protected]. E-mail subscribers also get excerpts from correspondence about these columns. Please forward a copy of this column to anyone who might be interested in subscribing.
If you want to order my books, you can call 1-800-663-2775 in Canada, 1-800-328-0200 in the U.S., or order them on-line at the Wood Lake Books website.
For a lighter look at ethics, faith, and life, I recommend Ralph Milton\’s weekly e-newsletter Rumors. You can subscribe to it at the Wood Lake Books home page in Ralph Milton\’s Site, or by sending a note directly to [email protected].
It\’s also worth pursuing Richard Fairchild\’s United Online site. Another site worth visiting is David Keating\’s \”SeemslikeGod\” page.
In truth, we all see ourselves as the centre of the universe. Ask almost anyone to draw a picture of their world; they\’ll draw themselves in the centre. Since Galileo, we know intellectually that the universe doesn\’t revolve around our planet, let alone around us as individuals. But emotionally, we still see ourselves in the middle.
Sometimes seeing ourselves on the edges might offer a healthy dose of reality. Neither the people around us, nor those imaginary gods, care much about our shortcomings – they\’re too obsessed with themselves.
In the grand scheme of things, a blown radiator hose looks less significant.
A little humility can change one\’s perspective quite dramatically.
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Copyright © 2006 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study groups permitted; all other rights reserved.
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