In his masterful exposition on social psychology existing during the middle ages, Victor Hugo documents the lives of some women who lock themselves into 'premature tombs' for years and even decades until their deaths. They were the disconsolate who had witnessed great sorrows, and dedicated their lives to mourning their losses in hollowed-out and walled-up rooms throughout Paris. The frequency of these life-tombs was greater than one would expect, as Hugo said, "This sort of tomb was not so very rare a thing in the cities of the Middle Ages."
I often wonder of the extreme devotion people contrive toward penitence, such as these woman who would masochistically suffer to prove a point. Hugo explains one such woman,
Her chest rested on her knees, which her crossed arms pressed closely against her breast. Doubled up in this manner, clad in brown sackcloth which covered her loosely from head to foot, her long, grey hair pulled over in front and hanging over her face, down her legs to her feet--she seemed at first only a strange form outlined against the dark background of the cell..."I'm wont to pity such persons who live so lively and long in grief that there is no escape, to wonder at a person with such strength of stubbornness who relinquishes a path that could have helped so many others, and develops only an inner-pointing and reclusive eye.
The word of wisdom in the LDS church teaches "moderation in all things," and Pres. Packer taught to "avoid being extreme and fanatical." I wonder if such moderation and avoidance of fanatics may also apply to the amount of grief one imposes on oneself.
No disrespect is meant, yet one may too often hold onto grief rather than cede it to the Saviour, who is the rightful owner of such. It may be I most judiciously carry grief from past sins rather than abandoning it and moving forward. There must be some sort of balance.
No comments:
Post a Comment