"I don't care anymore."
A subtle but deadly spiritual malaise
This story is part of a light-hearted series on the deadly sins, but it is not light-hearted. I didn’t know how to make it so. It follows on after my story about sloth (below the story). Content warning: very Christian but no attempt to change anyone’s mind either.
Ann was up late watching YouTube videos about the monks of Mt Atmos in Greece. Very interesting! But that meant she got out of bed with barely enough time to make it to her 8:00 class. She grumbled about the university scheduling early classes as she sprinted. Oh look, there’s Jenna running for her class. Lazy. At least I am only walking fast.
As she got to the door of the classroom, a young student named Clovis opened the door for her. (What an unfortunate name! What were his parents thinking?) She scowled and ducked her head.
She headed toward her usual seat, but a boy with a bad haircut was there instead. In fact, he looked like he had forgotten to brush his hair. He must be new to not know that was her seat. She slipped into the seat beside him, pointedly not looking at him in greeting.
At one time she had wanted to get a Master’s in theology and work in parishes to help others learn to love God. Her heart had been on fire then. Not so now. It was all she could do to make herself go to classes. Nothing seemed to reach past her sour mood, or whatever had its hold on her. She had stopped praying except for a few “Have mercy!” and “Help me!” prayer arrows shot toward heaven. She knew she was in a bad place, but she was still praying, right? She still believed in God, didn’t she? Didn’t she?
Her attention returned to the earnest young professor standing in front of the class. The professor was silent for a moment, perhaps launching one of her own prayer arrows. Then she set down the book she had been reading and leaned back on her desk, as if bracing herself.
“We have come to the point in our discussion of the seven deadly sins where we have to discuss a sin called acedia. The desert monks used to call it the noon-day devil. We might refer to it as spiritual lethargy, laziness, or sloth. The word acedia is not known by most Catholics but it should be.
“What are its symptoms? At first it is a slacking off of spiritual disciplines, perhaps in small ways. Forgetting the rosary once or twice, or sleeping in instead of praying are ways it could begin. Then excuses become common for why getting up for prayers can be dispensed. It is even possible to lose one’s taste for prayer or reading scriptures entirely, and still deny that there is a problem. ‘I’m just growing out of my initial enthusiasm. My faith is more realistic, more mature.’ Eventually, the soul finds itself questioning some of the more inconvenient aspects of the faith as being too rigorous or simplistic, whichever argument works. Gradually the fervent soul becomes lukewarm.
“Acedia is not uncommon, and it is deadly. I wouldn’t be surprised if some here in the class are in the grips of acedia. Or even some of the professors!” She smiled at the class, then sighed. “Any questions?”
“Would such a soul still go through the motions?” asked the student beside Ann.
“For a while, until faith is lost entirely. It may develop a distaste for the sacraments, though, and will eventually abandon them. It might even adopt a pseudo-religion, explaining why this new religion brings comfort without all the unnecessary superstitions, prayers, and rituals.
“You see why this is a lethal sin,” she said.
“Is there hope for such a person?” the student asked.
“Yes, but it depends on how far gone they are. God can intervene and send someone across their path who reignites the fire of faith. I was such a person.”
The class stirred, surprised.
“Yes,” she continued. “My moment of grace was the realization that the Holy Spirit dwelt within me, and had from the moment of my baptism. I had not driven him out by my apathy and sloth, He was within me now! The One whom I had sought in my early days so earnestly was there waiting for me. Suddenly my desire to pray returned, and my belief in the Church did also. I began to recognize how I had sinned in my past life and not recognized it or excused it. I returned to confession.”
“But what made you vulnerable to acedia?” Ann asked.
“ Unconfessed sin. Lying to myself and others about what seemed to be little things but weren’t.” She paused. “And do you know what opened me to the grace of conversion? A friend confronted me about my sin. Oh, I was angry and argued with her, rejected what she was saying, but it planted a seed in my heart that all was not well. I began to pray about what she said, and bit by bit my eyes were opened.
“There is always hope and mercy.”
Ann felt a tiny flutter in her heart, like the reawakening of something almost dead. She felt tears in her eyes. She couldn’t help it. Suddenly she remembered all her “small” sins of judgment, scorn, and lack of charity. Oh, and the big one, acedia.
“What did you do to change?” asked the young man beside her, no longer a boy in Ann’s eyes.
“Discipline. The discipline of daily prayer. I don’t mean the rosary or other litanies. I mean mental prayer, talking and listening to God. The discipline of being responsible, paying my bills on time, cleaning my house, taking time for my husband, doing all this in a serious intentional way. And of course, practicing charity and humility in my dealings with others.
“Well, I think that’s enough for today,” the professor said. “For next class, write an essay about acedia. Write about yourself, or others, confidentially of course, and how acedia is deadly. If any of you would like to talk to me individually, let me know, and we’ll make an appointment.”
Ann lingered until everyone else had gone, then shyly approached. “Professor, I’d like to make an appointment.”
Other stories:
Well-handled, Ann. You are wise to call attention to this in a way that gets around any defensiveness.
Acedia is so heavy and draining. Even it weren’t wrong, it would still be joyless and miserable. 💙
nicely done and strikes far too close to home with me.