Carpe Cogitatio

Carpe Cogitatio.

Don't know for  sure that is correct, but it seemed like a good title.  Seize the thoughts.

I attended the Synod Assembly this last week.  We had a bishop's election.  Six years ago I was a candidate for bishop, though with the current bishop up for reelection there was not a significant chance of getting elected at that time.  

"Are you happy not to be experiencing the anxiety of being a candidate today?"  It was a question that was harder to answer than I imagined.  I'm delighted that in the end we elected a younger, energetic, and vibrant pastor to that position.  Given the state of my health every rational thought I have, is that my being a candidate for that position would not be a good thing.  Gratitude.  And yet disappointment.

I realized later that the most honest response would have been "I wish I was well enough to have been considered."

"Are you well, David?"  I struggled to answer that question throughout the weekend.  "Yes, I'm doing well."  Sometimes the opportunity was there to go through a more extensive answer.  I thought about that question a lot.  I was reminded of the words of a young man during the early days of my ministry.  He had AIDS.  "I have a very serious disease, but right now I'm not sick."

Carpe Cogitatio.  For lack of a better term, this is what I experience even now during the good times.  My thought patterns remain subject to being seized by this disease.  I know not to act on them.  I recognize them for what they are.  But they are there, and uncontrollable.  

I'm sitting in worship.  Trying to focus on the liturgy, the sermon, and to relish to be able to worship without being the leader.  Hymns are sung.  Lessons are read.

And then in the midst of it my thoughts are seized, and I'm carried away.  One of the most frequent and curious thought cycles I go through is that I'm the President. POTUS.  The focus is not on the drudgery of that most demanding position, but rather on some peripherals.  I imagined returning to our Synod Assembly as President.  

This train of thought gets oddly particular.  I imagine holding a town hall meeting, a time of conversation at 5:00 am.  (So as not to conflict with the business of the day.)  I imagine being asked to be the guest preacher.  I imagine mundane things like going and coming from the event.

A door is open.  I see the back hallways of the convention center.  And then a horrific thought.  I imagine being ushered through these back corridors in the building for security reasons.  And then I remember that photo of Robert Kennedy lying on the kitchen floor, his head held by the dish boy. . .  I wonder how often President's think about such things.

I'm preaching.  The most powerful man in the world preaching at a Synod Assembly.  First there are the Presidential words, and then, "Grace to you and peace. . ."  "We are in the presence  of greatness, of the most powerful force in the world.  With one word everything changes.  This power, present in a little bread, a little wine, stands in contrast to all the nuclear bombs.  For this is a power to create, not destroy."

I shake myself.  "What is Bishop Wells preaching about?"  I want to listen.  

Grandiosity is a symptom of bipolar disorder.  Sometimes psychotic episodes as well.  I comfort myself with the fact that I've never actually shown up at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue expecting to be let in.  Underlying these thought patterns is a desire for a global pulpit.  On a more reasonable level, this blog gives me an outlet for that desire, though the numbers are modest, I do have readers from around the world.  

I withdraw to the designated smoking area outside of the building.  Reality returns.  I'm in control once again of the thoughts within my head.  And yet at the same time I am struck by how out of control these thought patterns can be.  I can't imagine ever, EVER, being a politician.  Not my cup of tea.  But then I am the President.

One of the reasons to write about these secret thoughts, is to bring them out into the day light.  Perhaps such honesty will cause them to dissipate.  The burden of being President is too much for me to bear right now.  I'm content to be a parish pastor and woodworker.  

And so for today, that is what I shall be.