Moving Toward Purity of Heart

This week I reflect on purity of heart.

Restlessness (aka Acedia)

Restlessness is not unique to us in the midst of a pandemic. It's been around a long time, and we can learn how to combat it from early church leaders.

An Experience of Waking Up

 Life should be a process of waking up. I was recently thinking about some of my own waking up experiences. I define waking up experiences as times when you realize that something is other than what you thought it was, when you become aware that what you know is insufficient, or skewed, or seen through a lens that distorts your vision. Paul talks about seeing a dim reflection in a mirror in 1 Corinthians 13:12, and Rumi says “Wake up, wake up! You have slept millions and millions of years. Why not wake up this morning?”

 Father Richard Rohr had a recent series of daily messages about corporate sin, the sin perpetrated by powers and principalities that we often fail to see as sin because we benefit from the system. Reading these reminded me of one particular waking up experience. I woke up to the way I was swept up in a materialistic, acquisitive culture, and how incompatible that was to my faith.

 I was not asleep to the disparities among people, both within our country and in the world in general. I’d participated in mission trips and I knew that I had significantly more resources than most of the world’s people. But the waking up was the recognition that I was allowing myself to be swept along in the general current of American culture, which is oriented toward acquiring, holding, and protecting assets, and that this way of living did not feel healthy for me as I sought to practice being a faithful disciple of Jesus, who had very few assets.

 It’s interesting how we pick and choose which parts of Jesus’ teachings we want to follow and practice, or any of the Bible’s teachings for that matter. Some of my waking up experiences have been around the recognition that I cherry-pick which of Jesus’ examples I try to follow and which I choose to ignore or explain away as irrelevant or unrealistic.

 I realize that to live in our culture I will need certain assets to function effectively in the vocation I feel called to practice. But I am also aware that much of what I have is superfluous. While I am far from living as simply as Jesus did, I am continuing to work to detach from the desire to acquire and hold material assets because it is an expected practice of our culture. It requires attention and discipline, because even in the Western Church, we don’t necessarily advocate for going against the grain of our culture with regard to materialism.

What experiences have you had of waking up? Are you fighting to stay asleep? These are questions worth pondering, and questions I return to time and time again.

 

Scarcity vs Contentment

The man who thinks nothing of goods has freed himself from quarrels and disputes. But the lover of possessions will fight to the death for a needle.  –John Climacus

John Climacus was born in 570 and lived as a monk on Mount Sinai in Egypt. Yet his wisdom is timeless. For it is not the amount of one’s possessions that makes one possessive, it is the inner disposition of heart.

Possessiveness is rooted in a disposition of scarcity, a fear of there not being enough. It isn’t limited only to possessions. I have known people who are possessive of spouses or friends. They see love as a scarce resource. Possessiveness can extend to experiences, where a fear of missing out keeps one always focused on the next vacation, the next concert, the next big event.

Scarcity tells us that we are not enough just as we are and that having more, doing more, or receiving more attention will assuage our insecurity. But this is fear’s way of blinding us from trusting God, who loves us as we are and whose love and provision are abundant and limitless.

When our inner disposition is fear, there is always something to protect and defend. Fear builds walls. When I live in fear, I see situations and people as a threat to my well-being. This happens in obvious ways, but also in ways so subtle and insidious that we may not recognize fear as the driving force. When we are jealous of another because they get more attention than we do, when we worry about what others think of us, when we are obsessed with holding and increasing our possessions, fear is controlling how we see the world and how we see ourselves.

When our inner disposition is contentment, we can share our time and possessions freely with others. We don’t build walls when we live from a place of abundance. We don’t have to quarrel with others when we have nothing to protect or defend. When we can be content with however others think of us, when we act out of desire for the well-being of another and don’t need to be appreciated or recognized, we can come to know the inner peace that passes understanding.

All around us is a culture of fear and scarcity. But we don’t have to buy into that way of seeing the world. That way is a way of bondage. The way of abundance is the way of freedom.

Entombed

John 11:1-44

Jesus, I think of you crying at the grief of your friends,

Martha and Mary, and over the death of Lazarus.

Even in your tears you were disparaged by others.

We can be so cynical and mean to each other.

Maybe your tears were also because of that.

Today, Christ, you still cry for those entombed and those

who love them, whether the tomb is death,

prison, disease, oppression or fear.

You cry for the cynics, the proud and powerful who

do not even know they are dead, who are unaware

they are entombed by their pride, their power, their hate.

The stench is terrible and you cry.

But you do not turn away.

You remove the stone.

You call us out of the tomb.

You unbind us and set us free.

You have the power to speak us into life.

Are we listening?

Wounds

They treat the wound of my people

   as if it were nothing:

   “All is well, all is well” they insist,

   when in fact nothing is well.   – Jeremiah 6:14

One verse given today.

One verse.

Yet it speaks truth with force,

for all is not well. Humanity is wounded.

People fleeing their homes looking for hope,

people hungry, longing for food,

people sick, praying for medicine and treatment—these

are the wounded we see. But there are others.

People who close borders,

people who blame the poor,

people more concerned about dollars than neighbors—wounds

of privilege fester unseen. Heartlessness causes wounds to

stagnate and stink, like the Dead Sea.

Wounded people everywhere.

God, give us hearts that hurt for others,

heal our wound of uncaring.

Disturb us, shake us awake until we see your face

at our borders, in the clinics, on the streets,

in struggling schools, at the grocery store.

Give us eyes to see you with love, not contempt.

May we not rest until all is well

and all are well.

The Unspoken Implications of What We Say

Recently I heard someone talk about a pleasant surprise she had experienced. She was making a large purchase and discovered when she was about to settle the transaction that a significant discount would be applied to her purchase. She said it was a blessing. I wanted to say “No, that is not a blessing. It is good fortune, but hardly a blessing.”

Some Christians attach the word “blessing” to capitalistic, materialistic, self-promoting ventures. I do believe we are blessed, but not when we get a bigger house, a better deal, or an award. We are fortunate to receive such things, but not blessed.

If we call these fortunate events a blessing, then what do we call it when our house is foreclosed, when the car repair costs more than we expected or when we are passed over for a promotion? Do we say that God is cursing us? That God does not find favor with us?

The other expression that carries the same weight is “It’s a God thing,” as if God really cares that we got a better interest rate than expected on the car loan for our new Lexus. God is not Tinkerbell, or Santa Claus, or a genie who grants our wishes. I think most of us know this, but we still debase who God is through our choice of words and the weight they carry.

I had the privilege of hearing someone talk about the way her faith had grown through the years. She used the word “blessing” but not to describe some fortunate turn of events. Instead she said that although her first husband had been an alcoholic, there was blessing in her circumstances because she learned to cling to God through the difficulty. Years later, she says that had she not had the struggle of that painful marriage, she would not have the faith she has today.

I’ve heard similar stories from cancer patients, from those who are financially destitute and from people who have suffered in other ways. I don’t think God causes these difficult events of life. I don’t believe the unexplainable and unexpected pain of life is a barometer of God’s favor.

What I know is that my faith has to be like the roots of a tree, firm and grounded in the heart of Christ. Seasons change, storms blow hard and break us open, sun shines and life takes fortunate turns. I’m no less blessed in the storms than I am in the sunshine.  It is not the presents of God that bless me, but the presence of God. To be content with who God is—that is a blessing for me and a blessing for God.

Sharing

As children most of us have to be taught the importance of sharing. A sense of possessiveness seems ingrained in our human nature. I remember reading, when my children were small, of a parent who claimed her child’s first words were “dat mine.” Sometimes we force our children to share by prying their tiny hands open to extract the object they won’t willing share with their friend.

Even as adults, me, my and mine are often used words in our vocabulary. We may still find it hard to share possessions. Many I know operate out of a fearful sense of scarcity, feeling that if their grip on something they value is loosened, it will be gone forever. They exhaust themselves protecting, defending and justifying not only their possessions but also their image and actions.

Freedom, however, is not found in possessiveness but in generosity. Those who are happiest are not those who cling tightly but those who live with an attitude of openness and abundance. They have learned that sharing is life-giving, not only for those with whom they share but also for themselves.

I read a quote recently from Andre’ Louf about prayer that teaches me something new about sharing:

Prayer is a heart that overflows with joy, thanksgiving, gratitude and praise. It is the abundance of a heart that is truly awake.

When we share, we pray. When we live from a stance of abundance, we are truly awake. And when we are truly awake, we are able to share not only our possessions, but love, life and presence with others. To be present with others we have to be awake, aware and open. We let go of the need to be right, the need to protect ourselves, the need to maintain a certain image and even the need to be understood. A posture of abundance frees us to joyfully offer ourselves to others, to receive joyfully from others, and to live prayer as we share life with each other. 

Impulse Items

Earlier this week I was in a big-box retailer to purchase one particular item. I picked it up quickly and headed to the cash register. Because of the season, I had to wait in a line to complete my transaction, which gave me an opportunity to observe the folks waiting in line with me.

I notice how many were studying the impulse items that were strategically placed by the cash register, and how many ended up adding one or more of these to their purchases. I wondered how many of these would end up as part of someone else’s Christmas gifts, these last minute, unthought through purchases.

Our culture is a culture of impulsiveness, not only in this season where we may feel the need to purchase more and more items to demonstrate our commitment to another. But in this season, we are often more susceptible to impulsive action. It seems to me that many of us wear a heavy coat of guilt, or at least of obligation in this season that is full of activity—eating, drinking, partying, purchasing, etc. I wonder if we see before us a whole host of impulse items, be they party invitations or actual things to purchase, and find it hard to resist adding them to our already full plates.

As we add impulse items to our life’s “cart,” we find it harder and harder to push through each day. Think about when you’ve had an actual shopping cart with a bad wheel—the fuller you fill it, the more you notice the cart’s defect. And just as a store doesn’t let you roll the cart to your car for free, filling our life’s cart with impulse items costs us dearly. It adds stress to our lives and our finances as we feel compelled to snatch up every event, every item that creates an expectation for us to respond by giving ourselves to it.

When we live impulsively, filling our lives with the expectations that others have of us, there becomes less and less room for God, less quiet in order to hear God’s still, small voice sing over us. When we are no longer anchored in Christ, we are subject to the constantly changing expectations of our culture.

We cannot draw life from impulse items. They actually disconnect us from the source of life. They disconnect us from the Vine that is Christ. And just as a live Christmas tree holds up pretty well for much of the season, we look okay for a while. But a life lived according to the expectations of others will eventually leave us dry and dead inside. That evergreen in your living room, when cut off from its roots, is no longer alive, even if it remains green for several weeks.

Who you are, who I am, is enough. While others may not understand why we no longer respond to every expectation made of us, for us to remain alive and connected to the Vine, we have to acknowledge that we cannot be more than who God created us to be and that is sufficient because God has filled each of us with our own unique ability. The greatest gift we can give to God, and thus to the world, is to live the life God created us perfectly to live. We cannot live another’s life.

As Christ is born in us anew this season, may we draw from the life Christ has given us. May we give birth to our True Self this season, the self that is intimately connected to God.

The Dangers of Having

“You are enslaved by the verb “to have”. . . The very mainspring of your activity is a demand, either for a continued possession of that which you have, or for something which as yet you have not: wealth, honour, success, social position, love, friendship, comfort, amusement. You feel you have a right to some of these things: to a certain recognition of your powers, a certain immunity from failure or humiliation. You resent anything which opposes you in these matters.”

                                                --Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism

In this season where gift-giving and receiving is the subject of almost every advertisement and many conversations, it may seem antithetical to consider that “having” is something to beware. If you have children, you may at least be aware that it is dangerous to fulfill their every desire to have, but there are more subtle aspects of having, which Underhill mentions, that may escape our notice.

We are a discontented culture. That discontentment not only manifests in our consumerism but also in our voracious appetite both for experiences and self-improvement.

Back when I had an accounting practice, I remember reading a book that advocated for creating customer experiences, because it wasn’t enough simply to satisfy customer expectations. Business owners needed to craft a unique experience, something to thrill and excite those who came into contact with your company. We see how this is manifested in the growth of extreme sports, in worship that places an emphasis on entertainment, and in restaurants that create thematic atmospheres of jungles, medieval banquets or island beaches, to name a few.

Underhill says we feel we have a right to comfort, amusement, honor and love. We don’t enjoy failure or humiliation, but do we have a right to be exempt from these?

What if we were to see failure and humiliation as gift? If we could welcome the disappointment of not having, and see it as good? What if our appetite for having was replaced with reliance on God and the recognition that Christ alone is enough for us?

If we can begin to see everything as gift, then our compulsion to have diminishes. We can celebrate all of life, even the hurts and failures, recognizing that in all things, God is present with us, sustaining us, holding us, bearing the pain with us. We are never alone. That’s the best comfort, the best experience of all!

Divided Devotion

“Our friends there were too worldly and too clever at mixing the pleasures of the world with the service of God.”   (Story of a Soul, The Autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux)

Recently I read the autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux, who lived from 1873 to 1897.  What was most remarkable to me about Therese was her singular devotion to Christ from a very early age. Her observation about family friends was made when she was a child.

As I read her statement, I wonder if she might say the same of me? Am I too clever at mixing the pleasures of the world with the service of God? Is such “cleverness” what I desire?

Peter instructs his readers about such cleverness in 1 Peter 4:1-3:

Therefore, since Christ suffered as a human, you should also arm yourselves with his way of thinking. This is because whoever suffers is finished with sin. As a result, they don’t live the rest of their human lives in ways determined by human desires but in ways determined by God’s will. You have wasted enough time doing what unbelievers desire—living in their unrestrained immorality and lust, their drunkenness and excessive feasting and wild parties, and their forbidden worship of idols.

Human desires of unrestraint in food, entertainment, material wants, and physical pleasure—these sound a lot like the standard operating mode of our culture. Peter says that pursuing such things is a waste of time. Yet many of us who call ourselves Christians are right there, living in the unrestrained consumer mindset of our society. Maybe we are too clever for our own good, trying to live with such divided devotion. After all, Jesus observed: No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be loyal to the one and have contempt for the other. You cannot serve God and wealth. (Matthew 6:24)

Do I really believe Jesus? Does my life show that I am singularly devoted or am I trying to live with divided devotion, serving two masters, which Jesus says cannot be done? I don’t want to waste time trying to do the impossible! 

Wealth and Worth

But how terrible for you who are rich, because you have already received your comfort. How terrible for you who have plenty now, because you will be hungry.  

                                                                                                                Luke 6:24-25a

Recently I was part of a group studying Luke 6:17-31. When we got to the verses above, the discussion grew tense, pointed and critical. Like a hot spotlight, the group quickly moved the conversation from the recognition that we are the ones who have plenty and that Jesus’ comments might therefore be directed toward us. Instead the spotlight’s heat was focused on a more comfortable target—the poor—as some questioned who deserves our charity and how much charity is adequate.

When we equate wealth to worth, we pervert the message and example of Jesus. When we make ourselves the judges of who is worthy to receive our help, our arrogance is apparent. And when we believe that material wealth is a sign of God’s blessing, we make a mockery of the life of Jesus, who had no place to lay his head. (Luke 9:58).

It is a hard task to hold wealth with detachment, humility and faith. We cling to it, putting our trust in it to save us and we look to it to gauge our self-worth. The difficulty of having wealth and giving oneself in devotion to Christ is why Jesus said “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other or you will be loyal to the one and have contempt for the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Matthew 6:24)

You cannot serve God and wealth. But we don’t really believe that, as evidenced from the way many of us live, anxious about our assets and questioning whether and how much to give to others. That is why when passages such as the one from Luke are studied, people get tense and critical. We want to justify our lifestyle choices and try to make them fit with Jesus’ teachings, much in the way we might try to fit into clothing too small for us. Instead of justifying ourselves, it is better to acknowledge our need to be changed and to pray for a heart that desires to be changed. A glad and generous heart gives out of love for Christ, recognizing that all are made worthy by Jesus’ death on the cross, not by the balance in one’s bank account.  Holding wealth with detachment means we give without expectation, we give because love compels us to give, and we trust God with the outcome of our giving.

Engorged and Empty

I don’t know where it began—this notion that we need more. Maybe it was cable TV, when we went from three channels to hundreds. Maybe it was all-you-can-eat buffets. Or maybe it arose with mass production. However it began, we live in an age of choice, of muchness, of endless options.

Years ago, when my children were small, one of them told me about a toy he wanted for Christmas. My husband and I went to a big-box toy store to buy the requested item. When we found the aisle where the requested toy was sold, we were greeted with so many choices that we didn’t know which one to buy.

At the grocery store where I most often shop, soft drink choices line both sides of an aisle. Sometimes my husband and I sit down to watch TV for a short time and spend so much time scrolling through the available programs that we find it’s bedtime before we can figure out what to watch. I can’t even listen to all the songs on my iPod, so I cannot imagine what I’d do with Spotify. And when I broke my hand last week I even got to choose the color of my cast.

A few weeks ago our pastor spoke in his sermon of the tension between the desire for more and the sufficiency of enough. In a society where we are inundated with choices in everything from potato chips to cast colors, why are we still so dissatisfied? Why are so many people angry, unhappy and miserable?

I have just come off two months of a very full schedule. While the items on my calendar were all good, I felt as though I was drinking from a fire hose—too many events, too much food, and too little quiet. I am part of a small group that is studying spiritual disciplines this fall. All the calendar activity wound down about the same time that we came to the chapter on fasting. As the author described how fasting makes us light, joyful and pure, I thought of how tired, heavy and unfocused I felt. I actually began to look forward to less—less food, less noise and fewer events.

With all the choices I have available to me every day, what nourishes my soul is the intentional choice to avoid the barrage of options I have for stimulation that keep me living at the surface of life. Instead, I need to open a space within for Christ. I want to be content with the sufficiency of God.

Locked Doors

The evening we arrived home from our mission trip to El Salvador, I unlocked our house and was convicted by that simple act that I routinely perform. Unlocking the door was a profound demonstration of our culture of ownership and individualism. The reason unlocking the door seemed suddenly so odd was because we had spent a week in a village where houses and hearts were open and unpossessive.

We took a Frisbee, some rubber balls and a soccer ball for the children of the village to play with. Our entire group observed a different spirit among the children than we are used to seeing among children at home. Often, what we see with children here is a desire to possess something entirely. It is not easy to have a community ball because someone wants to claim ownership, or wants to monopolize the use of the ball. However, we saw none of that among the children of the village where we spent the week. It was so amazing to us that we regularly commented on it. We would hear lots of noise as children played with the items we had brought, but never any angry words, and never any tears.

One child took the Frisbee home one evening and I wondered if we would see it again the next morning. But when we arrived, there was Kevin with the Frisbee, ready to play with the other children and with us. He knew it belonged to the community and had only taken it home for safekeeping until it could be stored at the village school.

Why the difference between our children and the children we encountered in the village? I wonder if our locked doors teach our children more about title law than we realize. Our notions about possessions and ownership filter down into the minds of our children even if we have not directly taught them anything directly about these concepts. We used to hear our own boys say “Dat mine” when playing with each other or with other children. Even as we try to teach our children to share with others, our own locked doors proclaim “Dat mine” to the world outside our homes. Our keys and alarm codes speak louder to our children than our lessons about generosity and sharing.

Thomas Merton said this: “God, Who owns all things, leaves them all to themselves. He never takes them for His own, the way we take them for our own and destroy them. . . His love is not like ours. His love is unpossessive. His love is pure because it needs nothing.”

When I think of the way we saw the children share the few simple toys we brought, I believe we caught a glimpse of pure, unpossessive love. Their love and their lives reflected purity because there was nothing that they held back from us or from each other.

I wonder what I miss by living behind my locked doors. Jesus’ words in Luke 9:25 give me a clue: What advantage do people have if they gain the whole world for themselves yet perish or lose their lives?

Life doesn’t happen when doors are locked, either physical doors or the doors of my heart. Purity is not compatible with possessiveness. I pray for life, for release from locked doors.

Craving

Everything that is in the world—the craving for whatever the body feels, the craving for whatever the eyes see and the arrogant pride in one’s possessions—is not of the Father but is of the world.  

1 John 2:16

Craving is a strong word, tied closely to the idea of consuming. Consuming has taken on a new meaning for me after reading A Place at the Table by Chris Seay. What we crave, we tend to consume or devour when we are able to get our hands on it.

Craving for whatever the body feels conjures up so many images for me—food, leisure, exercise, and sex to name a few. Pleasure-seeking is huge in our culture, even if we have different ideas of what it is for us. For some, gluttony toward food is how they meet their craving. Alcohol or drugs attract others. Some are obsessed with fitness, while others are addicted to TV or the internet. Still others crave beauty, and may be fixated with the latest fashions or with constant redecorating of their homes.

It is not sinful to enjoy one’s food. In fact, it would be sinful to fail to appreciate what we eat (which, I am afraid, we often do). Both exercise and rest are good. Beauty, music, and pleasant surroundings are all portals to God when one is God-aware and uses them as acts of worship.

And that is the key. When physical gratification is self-directed, it is self-indulgent. When it becomes an act of worship, a way to glorify God, then it is a path to a deeper awareness of the presence of God in the world. Attentive and loving meal preparation, with gratitude for the blessings of abundant and healthy food, is worship. Taking the time to notice beauty, both in nature and in created objects, can call forth praise to God. Exercise can be a recognition that our bodies are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Rest can be the heeding of the instruction to be still and know that God is God.

Maybe worship is the opposite of craving, or maybe worship could be defined as a craving for God. What is the object of my praise, adoration and desire? What do I crave? In our pleasure-seeking, consumer culture, these questions are important ones to ask.

Bird Habits

We put a new bird feeder out in our yard recently. It replaces a feeder we’ve had for years that’s mounted on a pole set in concrete. After all these years, the squirrels have discovered they can jump to the feeder from the fence. Since both the feeder and the fence are not easily moved, we decided to abandon that feeder completely and replace it with a feeder that will exclude squirrels by closing when a squirrel (or a heavy bird) sits on it.

Because we haven’t taken the old feeder down (remember, it’s set in concrete), the birds are not moving to the new feeder. I have watched for several days as birds continue to land on the old, empty feeder, looking for seeds where there aren’t any. I have watched nuthatches go around and around the feeder, checking every opening over and over again, looking for a seed, when a feeder full of seed is only a few feet away. They are having a hard time breaking their habit, and the result is they are not getting the food they want. They can see the new feeder from the old, but have not explored it because they are fixated on the old feeder.

A friend of mine often speaks of the insidiousness of habits. We get into certain patterns of life and end up going through them mindlessly. Certain habits are good, such as tooth-brushing, but often our habits numb us to possibilities for something different and better. Often, whatever discipline we take on for Lent, whether it is giving something up or taking on a new behavior, reminds us how habits can define us and control our lives. Sometimes, our Lenten discipline becomes a new habit, replacing a current habit with a more beneficial practice.

Isaiah 42:20 is a verse that speaks to the numbness that can come with habits:

You have seen many things, but don’t keep watch.

   With ears open, you don’t hear.

Even spiritual habits can become ineffective. We may go through the motions of morning devotions or Bible reading and find that Isaiah’s description fits us. We read but do not comprehend what we read, or we listen without absorbing what we are listening to. James describes this so well as he warns his readers not to simply go through the motions of discipleship: You must be doers of the word and not only hearers who mislead themselves. Those who hear but don’t so the word are like those who look at their faces in a mirror. They look at themselves, walk away, and immediately forget what they were like. (James 1:22-24)

Our habits can be the stumbling blocks to our growth in discipleship. Habits can strangle Christ right out of our lives if we fail to take stock of their influence over us. We can miss the ways Christ is at work in the world and prevent Christ from working in us when we are so committed to certain habits.

If Lent can be a time to break habits, we may discover new ways to experience God. God can only enter us through our broken places, and broken habits can open us to new ways of paying attention to God. We can shake off the numbness that habits can bring and see and hear how God is at work in the world and in our own lives in new and fresh ways. I don’t want to be like the nuthatch that keeps going around and around a place where there is no food. I want to be aware of God’s Spirit speaking to me. I want to see the opportunities for discipleship open all around me. Come Holy Spirit! Blow away the numbness of mindless habits and fill the space with You!

Good Food

“Don’t work for the food that doesn’t last but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Human One will give you.”   John 6:27a

In A Place at the Table, Chris Seay says that he spends a lot of time thinking about what he will eat each day. I can make the same observation about myself. I give a lot of time and attention to what I will eat, from planning menus to clipping coupons to shopping and cooking and looking for new recipes. I don’t know how much time I spend pursuing food that doesn’t last (and I’m not just talking about what I eat, but all the impermanent stuff I do), compared to the time than I spend eating the Word of God, praying the Word and living the Word. How much of what consumes my time, energy and resources is superfluous?

So much of what commands our time and attention is the equivalent of “empty calories.” It is living a life that is driven by desire instead of intention. Living according to desire or craving leaves me hungry and unsatisfied, looking for more and rewiring my brain to think that I need and deserve more to be happy. We want something so we “sacrifice” and work to get it, or we go into debt to get it. But do we sacrifice and work for greater intimacy with Christ or do we expect we’ll get all we need from God by our weekly attendance at worship, occasional almsgiving and some service to others when it is convenient with our schedule?

When Cain and Abel brought gifts to God, the reason Abel’s gift was accepted was that it was the best of what he had. Cain’s gift was what he had available. Does God get my first and best time, attention and resources, or do I fit God into my already crowded schedule and checkbook, and then, only after I’ve committed my time and resources to what I want to do or purchase?

There is a certain automobile ad that has been running lately that uses the slogan, “Someday your life will flash before your eyes. Make it worth watching.” It shows a couple traveling to exotic destinations, eating at fine restaurants, walking on a red carpet, and other similar activities. Such is a life lived for desire, pursuing food that doesn’t last. A life lived with the intention to grow more intimate with God will not have the patience or interest for such desire-driven pastimes. When you’ve tasted the joy and peace that comes from growing intimacy with Christ, you cannot be satisfied with the empty calories of desire-based living.

Saint Augustine speaks of food that lasts in this quote: You called, you cried, you shattered my deafness. You sparkled, you blazed, you drove away my blindness. You shed your fragrance, and I drew in my breath, and I pant for you. I tasted and now I hunger and thirst. You touched me, and now I burn with longing for your peace.

Burning, panting, hungering for God, an all-consuming longing that makes one ache out of love and desire for God—that is not something you fit into your schedule. It is what you build your whole life around. It is the food that endures for eternal life.

Bad Vines

Several years ago, my husband, Jim, planted a grape vine at our house. It was one he had found on his family farm and he thought it was an old variety. We didn’t expect much from it the first couple of years, because it had to get itself established. Jim did what he could to help it along.


We both got excited the first year we saw it bloom, but it didn’t produce anything that year. We were patient, however. For several years we watched the vine hint that it might produce grapes, but while the vine was lush and healthy and growing, no fruit ever showed up. Jim finally wrote it off, but we left it where it was planted.

It grows outside a window where I read and journal. I watch the birds land on it, and I’ve watched it grow all over a boxwood beneath the window, all over the window itself, and into the maple tree that might as well be called “bird central,” because it is the favorite spot for birds to land before and after getting seeds from our bird feeder. Just this past weekend, it reached a new milestone—it has managed to attach its tendrils to a limb from the flowering cherry tree planted in a corner of the yard.

I noticed this on a windy day, because I saw the limb unable to move when the wind blew. The vine, although much smaller than the limb it was attached to, had such a grip on the limb that I wondered if the vine would break the limb in a strong wind, damaging the tree but not harming the vine at all. As I watched the tree with its constricted movement, I thought about the lesson this vine was teaching me.

We took on the vine and tried to help it along, thinking it would be good for us when it bore fruit. How often have I gotten involved in some habit or activity or venture thinking it would be good for me or for my family? It may have been truly a good and beneficial thing for someone else or under different circumstances, but it fails to bear fruit for me. Instead of enhancing my life, it drains my life. Like the fruitless grape vine, it continues to spread its influence into my life, and I keep hoping things will change. When they fail to change, I may find it easier simply to let things continue rather than to make the change that will be life-giving for me because the change will be painful. Like this vine that we allowed to continue to grow, the activity or habit continues to spread its influence over me. My time may be so consumed by this venture or activity that I never stop to consider if it is drawing me nearer to God or pushing me away from God.

I would not have seen how the vine had spread if I had not been paying attention to it while watching the wind blow. The Holy Spirit, the wind of God, cannot move me if I have let the vine that is taking over my life continue its work. I have to pay attention to my relationship with God. I have to examine all that I am involved in to see if it is drawing me nearer to God, or, if, like my cherry tree, I am unable to move freely when the Spirit blows. I am unlikely to fall off a cliff away from God, instead, I drift away, inch by inch, as the tendrils of the fruitless vine overtake my heart.

If my life is unexamined, I won’t realize what is happening. Truthful examination won’t be pleasant, because when I really begin to look closely at my heart, I will discover that there are bad vines there. The only solution for the vine in our yard will be to cut it down. The same is true of the fruitless vines in my heart. It won’t be easy, and like plants often do, they will continue to try and put out new shoots. I will have to remain vigilant to put to death vines that have grown for many years but vigilance is necessary for me to grow toward God.

Sabbath and Silence

 One of my New Year's resolutions was to slow down, so this video got my attention. I'm facilitating a study of Richard Foster's Freedom of Simplicity, and as I've been reading in preparation for each week's discussion, I am sensing a connection between simplicity, singleness of purpose and slowing down.


The deeper I dig into spirituality and simplicity, the more counter-cultural I find Christianity to be. In Freedom of Simplicity, Foster observes that if we practice Sabbath, it goes against our urges to get ahead, be productive and provide for our own futures. The discipline of Sabbath leads us, if faithfully practiced, to recognize that life does not consist in the abundance of possessions or promotions or productive actions. Life is only found in our obedience to God and in the recognition that our God who loves us provides all that we need. As we detach from our culture's ravenous pursuit of status and possessions and power, we can learn to be content with what we have, to enjoy all that God has already given us in creation (including relationships), and we become more aware of the needs of others and thus, more compassionate. We then finally begin to live what we pray in the Lord's Prayer: thy Kingdom come, thy will be done in earth as in heaven.


Silence is the complement to Sabbath, because silence causes us to learn to quiet our minds. It is the inner manifestation of Sabbath, for if all we do is cease actual activity, our minds are likely to work overtime to make up for the lack of external busyness. In my own experience, without the discipline of contemplative prayer, I shift into thinking about what I will do when I am no longer practicing Sabbath. Silence is Sabbath for my mind.


Ironically, these disciplines are likely the most difficult for us to practice in our American society. When I've suggested dependence on God's provision, I've received sometimes angry protests. I understand, because I struggle to be dependent on God and find it difficult to reconcile productivity and dependence. It seems to me that we are often unwilling to accept that who we are is not defined by what we do, that, in fact, anything we do, for it to actually glorify God, has to arise out of who we are. And we cannot know who we are at the pace we live our lives. We can only discover who we are through the faithful, regular practices of Sabbath and silence.

Modern Manna

Last night, our pastor, Tommy Mason, began a Bible study entitled “Generous Living.” His primary Scripture reference was Luke 3:1-15, which tells of the work of John the Baptist. After John tells the people they need to change their ways, three different groups of people ask him, “What then should we do?” To the first group, the crowds, John says, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” The second group is the tax collectors, to whom John says, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” Soldiers are the third group, and John tells them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

Tommy pointed out that when people asked John how to “bear fruits worthy of repentance” John’s responses consistently addressed possessions. As I looked at the three responses John gave, I also noticed that they also focused on sufficiency of possessions. People were not to hold onto more than they needed.

St. Basil the Great takes John’s words and makes them even more pointed:

“The bread which you do not use is the bread of the hungry;
the garment hanging in your wardrobe is the garment of him who is naked;
the shoes that you do not wear are the shoes of the one who is barefoot;
the money that you keep locked away is the money of the poor;
the acts of charity that you do not perform are so many injustices that you commit.”

For me, the way God provided manna to the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness for forty years is the best example of how we should handle our possessions. When God provided the manna, he told the people to collect what they needed for that day, not any more, unless it was the day before the Sabbath, when they were to collect enough for the current day and the Sabbath. Of course, people didn’t follow instructions, and some collected more than they could eat in the one day. The following day, when they awoke, the amount they had laid aside for the future had spoiled and was full of maggots. God did not honor their planning for the future, which really was hoarding.

I wonder if our possessions putrefy our souls in the same way the manna did. When we possess more than we need, when we go from living with an attitude of sufficiency and contentment to purchasing more than we need and holding onto assets for the future, our priorities shift from God to our “manna.” We have to store it, maintain it and invest it and in the process, we put our faith in it instead of God.  We pray “give us this day our daily bread” but we live as if we do not trust God to provide bread for today, tomorrow or the next day.

What is the manna I hoard? What is the excess I cling to while others have nothing? How can I live faithfully with possessions in the state with the third highest poverty rate (Georgia)? These are questions I am asking myself. I am not sure I will be comfortable with the answers, but faithful living means I cannot avoid them.