THE MUGWUMP
March 2006
article for the Collect, publication for St. Thomas Episcopal Church,
Medina, WA
A few years ago, I attended a retreat for young adults. At one point in the weekend, we spent some solitary quiet time and had the opportunity to express the fruits of our meditations through art.
One participant had been suffering from mild depression. She drew a glorious panorama of yellow and orange that looked like the sun captured in stained glass. A little off-center, smack dab on top of this beauty, she placed a little purple blob with a ghostly face. Despite the beauty all around, our eyes were drawn directly to that little purple intruder. Frankly, it was kind of cute, but you had to mentally remove the blob to imagine the symmetry that lay beneath.
The artist explained to us that the glorious drawing represented the beauty of herself as a creation of God. The purple blob, a “mugwump,” represented her tendency to spiral into depression. It was just a part of who she was. It interrupted the beauty, but she could at least recognize that it was there and try to laugh about it a little.
Lent is the time of year when we draw our mugwumps. We focus on our “shadow-selves,” the parts that we are bothered by or ashamed of—the parts that are undeniably within us, but which are not part of what we ultimately believe. We may not understand why we have these traits or why God would allow them to exist within us, but we must acknowledge their reality.
The first step toward gaining control over an evil force is to name it—to call it what it really is. Only then can you gain the perspective you need to reduce its power. I learned this lesson again when I read the Harry Potter books, in which Harry expresses his natural bravery through his willingness to speak the name of Voldemort, the Satan figure other characters only refer to as “he-who-must-not-be-named.”
What is that aspect of your personality that bothers you most? It might be something annoying, or it might threaten to destroy you. But if you give it a name and place it in the context of yourself as a creation of God, you may find that it is not in control. This principle is certainly at work in the phrase, “Hi, I’m _______, and I’m an alcoholic.”
From God’s perspective, your mugwump looks small, powerless, and maybe even a little bit cute. It blots out a portion of the beauty, but it does not break the symmetry of God’s creation. Next time you recognize your mugwump, say, “Oh, there you are!” Through prayer, place it against the panorama of God’s grace. Then move on toward Easter.