There were a few odd stares, but they forged ahead adding some of the more familiar names to the list of the Twelve.  Again I said, “That’s really good.  Now, name the apostles.”

This time the silence was more pronounced and the stares were more intense.  But they racked their brains and came up with some additional names.  A third time I said, “You are doing very well. Now, name the apostles.”

Kiefer was in the group and he was one of those who was looking askance at me.  Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he said, “Preacher what do you want?  Do you want us to put our names on that list?

And I said, “Yes, Kiefer—that’s exactly what I want.  I want you to put your name on that list.”

He did, and in that moment he discovered the difference between membership and discipleship.  He continues to look back upon that night as a turning point in his life.  And he has given me permission to tell this story—which I have now done for nearly 40 years.

Jesus comes to us and asks us to name the apostles (e.g. Mark 3:16-19).  And after repeating the invitation several times, we still say, “Lord, what do you want us to do?  Do you want us to put our names on that list.”  And he replies simply, “Yes, that’s what I want you to do.”

Everything is different when we put our names on the list.

Today is Ash Wednesday, and I want to share a story I recently heard Diana Butler Bass tell.

The Episcopal Bishop of Chicago was discouraged by the declining church attendance in his diocese.  This included smaller attendance at Ash Wednesday services.

So, he decided to design what he called, “Ashes To Go.”

Along with others, he hit the busy streets of Chicago as people were leaving their offices for the day.  He wondered if anyone would stop and receive the imposition of ashes.  To his amazement, person after person did.  Many said in effect, “It’s been years since I’ve been inside a church, but I am so blessed that the church has come outside to me.”

A few people riding in taxi cabs even had the driver pull over so they could get out of the cab and receive the ashes.  Bass concluded the story by saying it’s this kind of thing that we must do to revive Christianity in the 21st century.

When I heard her story, I thought of a 5’2″ priest in the Church of England around 1750.  His name was John Wesley.  He too was discouraged by the declining participation in Christianity and attendance at church by people.  He decided to do something about it.

He began to show up around 5:00 a.m. at the entrance to the coal mines, and from there he declared “the unsearchable riches of Christ.”  The coal miners were astounded.  Many of them had not been inside a church for a long time, but they were responsive when the church came outside to them.  Much of Methodism came into being outside coal mines.

Before today is over, many of us will have gone into churches to receive the ashes, but many more will not.  Maybe it’s time for something like “ashes to go” where you live.

For the next few weeks, we’ll examine the importance of having good vision.  Today, we focus on our ability to see our public behavior for what it is.  So much of our time as clergy is spent out in the open, we need to be sure that the authenticity we spoke of last week has not devolved into an “image.”

The way to “see” the reality of our public behavior is to ask, “Why did I do this?”  That is, we need to check in with our motives.

I remember a day in my life as a pastor.  I was on the way to the hospital to visit a member of the congregation.  The light turned red, and I had to stop before continuing on my way.

While parked there, the Inner Voice asked, “If you were not this person’s pastor, would you be going to the hospital today?”

The question took me back, but I knew in my heart that it was a question to pay attention to.  It was a question inviting me to revisit my motivations for ministry.

We need times like this.  They may come from the Spirit of God or from a loving spouse willing to ask us to go beneath image and move into substance.

I confess that I responded to the Inner Voice with something like, “I am not sure.”  In that moment, I was given grace.  For the Voice (not a literal one) continued, “It’s okay for you to go because you are the person’s pastor.  That’s a legitimate reason.  But I just want to keep making sure that your ministry is not becoming all performance oriented and not flowing out of your personhood.”

Our public behavior will be seen by others in all sorts of ways.  We must make sure that we see it in relation to WHO we are, not exclusively by WHAT we do.  We must never stop to ask, “Why am I doing this?” (the motive question), not simply “What am I doing?”

I have decided to end this particular study by simply quoting the last paragraph of the book.  It is actually the end to one of the saying, but it is also a good summary of the whole volume.  It shows how a group of real men and women (that is, people who were not taken by their own egotism) summed up how they saw and received God……

Now therefore, Christians, since we know from the holy Scriptures and from divine revelation how great is the grace God gives to those who truly run to Him for refuge and blot out their former sins by repentance, and also how according to His promise He rewards them with good things and neither takes vengeance according to justice nor punishes them for their former sins, let us not despair.  For as He promised by the prophet Isaiah, He will cleanse those who have lived in sin and will make them bright and white like clean wool and snow, and glad with the blessings of heaven.  Moreover, God asserts by the prophet Ezekiel that He does not desire their destruction when He says, “I do not desire the death of a sinner but rather that he should turn from his evil ways and live” (Ezekiel 33:11).

Once she has asserted that we discover the will of God in relation to the great truths and demands of Christianity (p. 126), Underhill moves on to say that we tend to discover these things in relation to “the choice, cause, or action that is least tainted by self-interest, and which makes for the increase of happiness–health–beauty–peace–[the cause or action] that cleanses and harmonizes life” (p. 127)

That works most of the time, but breaks down when we come upon two apparent goods.  What then?  Underhill takes her cue from St. Vincent de Paul, who counseled people to wait in quietness for what will eventually be “a subtle yet insistent pressure in favor of the path which they should take” (p. 128)

But even then, we do not always get guidance we’re confident to act upon, and in such moments, we must turn to common sense and do what we believe to be the most loving thing.

All this must be done in relation to Scripture and tradition, and in the context of community.  And still, there will be times when we will not get it right.  That’s where confession and setting out of a new path come in.

Over time, Underhill believed, that if we exercise our souls in these ways, they will grow stronger.  Our ability to hear and respond to God will improve.  And we will live with a greater sense of congruence between God’s will and our actions.

Meditation:  “The Voice”

If you’ve been following this blog, you know I approach biblical texts and other literature trying to “find something new” for the edification of our faith.   But I also think there are times when it’s good to just let the traditional reading soak back into us with new influence.

That’s the way the story of the Transfiguration has worked itself out in me this time around.  This time, I am struck afresh (not anew) with the fact that the voice of God was heard by everyone.

Is there any greater lesson to be taken from this story than that?  What more do we seek than to hear God’s voice?  I have never done that in an audible way, but I have “sensed” it in ways that have significantly shaped and sometimes altered my life.  I have made major decisions based on the conviction that I have heard God’s voice.

Personally, I am glad that I don’t “hear” God’s voice every day—that is, I’m glad that I can receive guidance through Scripture and tradition, as interpreted and proclaimed by the Christian community.  This keeps me from becoming passive and waiting to say or do something until I “hear” from God.  Scripture and tradition gives me plenty of revelation to enact every day.

But….I am also glad that God has a “voice” and sees fit to use it occasionally.  I am glad that I can add to my sense of guidance a conviction that I have been personally addressed by the true and living God.

I’m sure there are those who look at us and think were pathological.  And there is an alleged “hearing from God” that comes from sickness rather than health.

But….what happened on the mountain long ago and what continues to happen today is not pathology, it’s communion—the Holy Spirit addressing the human spirit.  And in our overall formation we need to have “ears to hear” when God chooses to speak.

The abbot is charged with providing clothing for the monks, both inside the monastery and outside when they travel.  The operating principle is that the color and texture of the garments should fit “what is available in the vicinity and at reasonable cost.”

Monks should be clothed well, according to climate and purpose.  But no article of clothing should cause one monk to stand out above another.  When traveling, monks may temporarily check out garments from the general closet.  This is probably because they wore their usual garments as long as they could, and they might have outlived their adequacy for travel beyond the monastery.

Likewise, bedding is handed out to traveling monks.  That way, they will not be tempted to stay in places that might inflate their ego or superficially cater to their desires.  Also, by having their own bedding, they can stop when and where they like and still have what they need to spend the night.

I’ve gone into a little detail in this post, because I am fascinated by the interweaving of spirituality and possessions.  Even the simplest things can help or hinder our spiritual progress.  There is no note of mortification here; there is no inherent virtue in suffering.  But there is the note of simplicity—”enough is enough.”

And that’s the message.  We live in a world where people use their possessions as a way to define and differentiate.  “More is better” and “bigger is better.”  Almost every advertisement tempts us at this very point—life is about having the right stuff.

Not so, with the Rule of Benedict.  Clothes do not make the man.  It’s the man (or woman) who makes the clothes.  And above all, it is our devotion to Christ which is sufficient to tell us what we need to live.

The seminar was in connection with a larger emphasis upon preaching, and I chose it partly because of the increasing emphasis upon the missional church.

We explored two essential elements that enable us to move outside the walls: identity and incentive.  Today, we’ll look briefly at identity.

God is calling us to move from a membership mentality to a discipleship mentality.  This does not diminish membership in any way; it merely means we see becoming a membership of the church as a “launch” rather than as a “destination”—a beginning, not an ending.

Jesus worked with the Twelve in this way.  He formed them in relation to discipleship (i.e. following him and learning from him), not membership (e.g. being Jews).  Yet, he said that he had no intention of destroying the Law, but only fulfilling it.  Moving from membership to discipleship is akin to Jesus’ methodology.

Moreover, in gathering them as disciples, he named them apostles (Mark 3:14)—a word which literally means “to be sent.”  In other words, Jesus made it clear up front what he was intending to do.

By making entrance into the church appear to be exclusively a matter of membership means that trying to move later on to discipleship can feel like a spiritual “bait and switch.”  But if from the get-go we form people into the identity of disciples (apostles), we cannot be misperceived.

But what about people who are already members?  That’s most of the folks we have to deal with.  The same principle holds true, but it often means we have to do remedial work to introduce a new awareness into the people who are already attending.

But we must do this, and next week we will continue to explore the fact that this is not only necessary, but for some, it will actually be transformative.  The truth is, there are more people than we know who are already suspecting in their hearts that “joining the church” and “following Jesus” are not exactly the same thing.

A friend asked Hybels, “How can pastors stay spiritually vital?”

Hybels’s response was this: “I don’t worry about that.”

The friend was taken back (as was I) at his answer, but then Hybels explained, “There’s an issue even bigger than staying spiritually vital.  The important thing is to stay spiritually authentic.” (italics are Hybels’)

He’s right.  The spiritual life is not a never-ending ascent.  It has “downs” (desolations) as well as “ups” (consolations).  We make a great mistake when we fail to embrace this or teach it to others.

I think pastors are especially prone to forget this, because we either believe (or are expected to think) that we have to be “on” all the time—on duty, on the mark, on the go, etc.

Vitality necessarily fluctuates, so it can never be an adequate measure of our true spirituality.  But authenticity can be.

Authenticity is what the ancients essentially meant by the term “perfection” (which we have also messed up because we’ve equated it with performance).  To be “perfect” before God and others is to be whole, complete, genuine.  Authentic.

I can be having a “bad day” and still be a “good person.”  The ancient church emphasized this by using the word “intention.”  Even when my actions fail (either actually or as others think that they have), my intention (to be a devoted follower of Jesus) can remain firm.

And, in the end—that’s what counts.

Authenticity is an abiding genuineness, even when a particular moment falls short of its potential.  And perhaps even more importantly, by centering our spiritual formation in authenticity, we now have room to confess when we have sinned or failed.

Authenticity is the ultimate basis for trust—which is the foundation for all true relationships (including our relationship with God).  People will be disappointed with us, but they can still say, “Nevertheless, he/she is a person I can still believe in.”

Poemen spoke of the progression of evil in four stages: beginning in the heart, then in the face, then in words, and finally in deeds.  He told the brother who asked that the place to defeat evil was in the heart (i.e. purity of heart).  But if that was not possible to chase it through the other two stages (face and words) attempting to stop it before it reached the stage of deeds.

A victory anywhere along the way is still a victory, but once the deed is done, it cannot be undone.

Obviously, this is the problem of evil, which Underhill calls “the crucial problem for all realistic religion” (p. 123).

Turning to Baron von Hugel, Underhill confesses that Christian spirituality does not have an “explanation” for evil and suffering.  This is a mystery “beyond the reach of the human mind.”

And, it is clear that the world as we know it does not look like the kind of world a loving heavenly Father would make.   Something has obviously gone wrong.

But the question is, “Where has it gone wrong?”  And the Christian faith asserts that the failure has occurred on earth, not in heaven.  It is the result of humanity’s defection, not God’s.  This doesn’t solve all the problems or answer all the questions.  But Christianity does seek to locate the problem, even if we’re still left with it.

The answer to the question, “What’s going on?” comes in relation to the person and work of God to redeem and restore the fallen world.  God is at work to provide (by grace) such things as purity, holiness, self-sacrifice, and love (p. 125).

So, when we attempt to deal with injustice and evil, we have to also account for the ongoing quest for mercy and goodness.  To use contemporary computer language, the “default button” is set to restore the positive things, not to maintain the negative ones. We believe that the One who sets that button is God, and that God does so in relation to His own nature and intention for the world.

So….what’s going on?  God is going on—despite the fact that we humans declared early on our belief that we could get along without Him.  God is going on—to work for peace where there is war, healing where there is illness, and redemption where there is sin.

Underhill ends her response by saying that the world’s “Creator is the one supreme Source and Object of love that will triumph in the end” (p. 126).

Meditation:  “No Doubt About It”

There are passages in the Bible which set the record straight.  This is one of them.  It takes what we often think and compares it with what Jesus always thinks.

The leper came to Jesus saying, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”  We come to Jesus sometimes wondering whether he is willing to help us, or not.

We have failed so many times in a particular area, we wonder if Jesus is not pretty much “done” with us on that score—a sort of “You’ve made your bed; now lie in it” attitude.  Or perhaps our problem is so deep and disturbing (a kind of leprosy) that we envision Jesus saying, “Get away from me.”

And so, we can develop a perspective on life and on Jesus that says, “If you choose….,” which really means, we don’t think that he does.

But instead of basing his response on the leper’s wondering, Jesus based his ministry on his compassion.  He responded without hesitation or condition, “I do choose.  Be made clean!”

I shared this a few days ago, but it comes to mind again right now: Henri Nouwen’s reminder that “there are no ifs in God’s love.”

The if of the leper is overcome by the I do of Jesus.  No doubt about it.

At first glance, it appears rather “cold” of the abbot to refuse to let a monk accept letters or gifts.  But a second reading of this Chapter unveils a deeper problem.

Simply put—our possessions can end up possessing us.  They can become “food” for our egos, especially when we use what we have to compare ourselves with others.

This would probably never happen out loud in a monastery or convent, but in the heart a monk or nun might begin to think, “I receive more letters than you do”—or—”I have more gifts than you do.”

This is “death by comparison,” and Benedict was intent on not allowing it to occur in the community.  By contrast, much of our culture is based on an assessment of our value based on what we have in comparison to others.  One of the subtle, underlying tones of almost all advertisement is that the purchase, use, and display of certain products makes us “a cut above” others.

There’s another thing in Chapter 54—it’s the reminder that for genuine disciples, the failures and falls most often come through “the little things.”  It’s ironic that sometimes the giants fall before the ants do.  So again, Benedict didn’t want even a “small gift of any kind” (54:1) to be a cause of stumbling.

By having all things in common, we are set free to live free—emancipated to be able to say about anything we possess, “What’s mine is yours; let’s share it!”

Our working definition of meditative prayer has been, “Inclining our heart to the Lord, with the intention of enacting what we have discovered, for the purpose of initiating friendship with Jesus.”

The last segment completes what the first two segments begin.  Meditative prayer is the means of grace by which we abide in Christ (John 15).  As we deepen our communion with Christ, we enter more fully into his mind, heart, and work.

In any given prayer experience, one of those three (mind, heart, work) may be the place where the Risen Christ leads us, teaches us, empowers, and sends us.

Like any friendship, there are times when we simply “hang out” with Jesus.  We do not have anything particularly significant to share with him, and he does not seem to have a “big word” for us either.  The saints of history are great examples of meaningful prayer that is actually very ordinary and routine. We need to accept “practicing the presence of God” (e.g. Brother Lawrence) as very good prayer.

But as we do this, we will also find that our meditation leads us to further discoveries into Christ’s mind, heart, and work.  Often, our reception of those insights is all that Christ asks of us immediately.  But like seeds sown into good soil, Jesus knows that those insights will bear fruit in related actions sooner or later.  In fact, if they do not, meditative prayer will be like one of the unproductive soils, and the good seed will never fulfill the purpose for which it was sown in the first place.

Friendship with Jesus—an amazing invitation.  An invitation to communion, companionship, and (ultimately) commissioning.  Meditative prayer is the consecration of our lives to Christ that opens the door into experiences with Jesus that are holy, whether they are ordinary or transformative.

A pastor and his wife came up to the podium, and he engaged me in a semi-humorous way saying, “I haven’t taken a vacation in thirteen years, and I don’t think it’s hurt me.”

His wife, standing directly behind him, heard his remark and instantly said, “Maybe not.  But it’s almost killed me.”

I’m telling you, the pastor looked like he had been hit from behind with a baseball bat.  And I was totally surprised that his wife would say such a thing to me, a stranger.  But she did, and as they walked out for the break time, I imagined that they were about to have a “very interesting’ conversation.

One of the dangers in ministry is that we do not consider the ripple effect that our decisions have on those around us.  I know that I have failed to consider this with respect to Jeannie, my children, and others over the years.  Most of the time, they have quietly absorbed the ramifications.  And that’s why more preachers’ families will be in heaven than preachers!

But seriously, we need to realize that we never make a “personal” decision.  It always impacts someone else some way.  We may naively say, “I haven’t _________in thirteen years, and I don’t think it’s hurt me.”  But there may be someone standing beside us or behind us who would say, “Maybe not.  But it’s almost killed me.”

I am no expert in early monastic Christianity, but I’m guessing that the main reason the book ends with this topic is because visions were what got many of the monks into the desert in the first place, and (as the chapter shows) they were what often kept them there.

At the same time, this final chapter takes no naive or superficial view of visions.  The sayings show that visions require discernment, and that most often in community.

The sayings in this final chapter are long and difficult to summarize in a blog post. But we’ll spend a few weeks pointing out the messages this final chapter gives us.

In Saying 2, Arsenius told a fellow monk about his vision of two people who were prevented from going into the temple.  The first was carrying a load of wood, the second contaminated water.  Arsenius showed that his vision taught that a lack of humility would keep us out of God’s house.

The wood represented sins that were allowed to pile up and become too wide to get into the door of the temple.  The water represented a life that had taken the pure water (good works) and mingled it with other things.  Both men lacked humility.  The wood carrier lacked a spirit of repentance, and the water carrier was trying to have his cake and eat it too.

Thus, Arsenius’ vision revealed that only a spirit of repentance and a pure heart can enter into God’s temple.

Now, to the point.  As the United States presidential-election process has moved along (for what seems longer than ever), something very disturbing to me is occurring.  Because it affects how some people view spirituality in general and Christianity in particular, I want to briefly describe my concern.

It is simply the tendency (among the popular media and some others in both the church and academy) to identify “true Christianity” with only one part of the political spectrum.  I could be more specific, but I’m going to guess you have seen at least one version of this tendency. It happens on the religious “left” as well as the “right.”

The truth is, Christianity (as it was intended to be) will die if it becomes a synonym for a single political and/or social perspective.  An example of this is the article written by Dan Cady last year entitled, “Why Evangelicals Hate Jesus.”  Unfortunately, professor Cady painted with too broad a brush in his use of the term “evangelical,”—-but—-he did capture what the rank-and-file general public tend to think about people who use that term to describe themselves.  And even more unfortunate is the fact that a lot of what he said about some evangelicals is true.

And that’s the problem—things rise and fall more by the perceptions attached to them than the facts, which can only surface when people take the time to become part of a community and expose themselves to actual beliefs taught by people who have not caricatured the thing itself.

Jesus warned his disciples to beware the leaven of both Sadducees and Pharisees, and he was careful to keep separated what was “of God” and what was “of Caesar.”  We lose his way when we try to create another way that equates Christianity with politics, no matter what piece of it.

I’ve now voted in eleven presidential elections, and those elections have produced presidents from both major parties.  None of them (or their party) has solved the problems plaguing this nation.  Christians make a fundamental and serious mistake by identifying the faith with any person or party.

Christianity dies when this happens because it “humanizes” and “idolizes” what only God can do.  That’s why Jesus would not reduce what he was trying to do to partisanship of any kind.  Our way asks humans to be gods.  Christ’s way asks us to let God be God.

This does not eliminate the need for all people to vote as their minds, hearts, and consciences lead them to vote.  It does not mean that government is not used by God to improve life.   But it must mean that we don’t think the winner will now “bring in the Kingdom.”  Politicians come close enough to making us believe this will happen if they are elected.  At least, let’s remember Jesus didn’t tell us it would happen that way.

Can Christians properly use the word Reality and other terms of an impersonal and philosophic sort as synonyms for God?

Underhill believes that we can, and that we should—first to spark our meditation about God through unfamiliar terms.  Familiar terms, she asserts, can often become so well known that we read right over them; they don’t evoke the same kind of pondering that they once did.  So, a new term about God is one way to ignite a renewed consideration of God.

When it comes to words like “Reality” and “Being,” Underhill reminded her readers that these terms were used by the likes of St. Augustine and others who have held to orthodox faith while exploring new territories in theology and spirituality.

Finally, Underhill points out that the philosophical terms may, in fact, be the points of connection between Christianity and people in the world, who know the philosophical words better than the theological ones.  They can become “bridges” between us and others, creating conversations that God can use to invite people into Christian faith.

Meditation:  “Extend Your Hand”

In his Tractate on Mark’s Gospel 2, Jerome noted that Peter’s mother-in-law had to offer her hand to Jesus in order for him to take it.  Jesus did not force himself on her, and he never does.

I can imagine that when he returned to the house and saw her lying in her bed, he walked over to where she was and reached out his hand.  But for the rest of the story to unfold, she had to extend her hand to him.

Jerome went on to note that there are times “in our fever” when we withdraw and cling to our sins rather than offering them to Christ.  As I read his meditation, I thought about many nights when our sick children did the same as we tried to get medicine into them.

It will forever remain a mystery of physical illness, as well as spiritual illness, that we often refuse the very things that would cure us.

But…when we extend our hand to Jesus…he always takes it, and lifts us up.  And like Peter’s mother-in-law, the “fever” leaves us.

God’s hand is always extended to us through Christ.  It is amazing and wonderful to know that all we have to do is extend our hand to him, and he will always care for us.

A while back, I told you about my new friendship with Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, who is one of the leaders of The New Monasticism and also part of the related Rutba House in Durham, North Carolina.

Jonathan recently interviewed me, and he posted it on his blog, The Everyday Awakening.  You can Google the blog, and when you get there go to “February  Archives .”  You’ll find it dated February 1st.  Enjoy!

Hospitality is nothing other than receiving anyone as if that person were Jesus.  All we have to do when we meet another person is ask ourselves, “How would I welcome Christ?” and then go and do it.

Included in the Rule are the ideas of hospitality as prayer, peacefulness, humility, companionship, the reading of scripture, foot washing, good food, and a comfortable bed. These qualities are increased when the one received is either poor or a pilgrim—for in such persons Christ is particularly received.

Guests do not “mix and mingle” with the monks, and this is for the welfare of both the visitors and the monastics.  Guests are to be given sacred space (literally and figuratively) to meet God while in the monastery.  The overarching principle is stated thus:  “The house of God should be in the care of wise men who will manage it wisely.”

Having ministered for nearly fifty years, I have been shown all sorts of hospitality—some of it has been stifling and some has been liberating.  I know there are different forms of reception.  Perhaps that’s why this Chapter in the Rule spoke to my heart.

But more than that, I think it provides and ongoing example of hospitality that renews and strengthens those to whom it is shown.  And as far as Benedict was concerned, there was no greater privilege than to be able to show this kind of hospitality to all.

I came late to this phrase: sapiential theology.  Ellen Charry in her book, By the Renewing of Our Minds, introduced it to me.  I did not realize that it had been a term to describe a view of Christianity that goes all the way back into the Bible, and had a special application in the early church.

It’s a phrase that means precisely what our definition says:  intending to enact what we hear.

Charry points out that in early Christianity, there were two questions posed to every would-be disciple:  (1) What do you believe?”—and—(2) What do you practice?”

She shows how the second question dropped out with the advent of the Enlightenment, but until then it was central in the catechetical process.  It was inconceivable that there could be true faith without enacted faith—precisely what St. James said in his letter: “faith without works is dead” (2;26).

This is what John Wesley meant by “living faith” and what people like Eugene Peterson mean by “lived theology.”

When we apply this to meditative prayer, it means that prior to any act which enables us to lift up our hearts, we have already established the disposition not only to receive inspiration, but also to incarnate it.

Not long ago, I watched a video shot on the streets of Cincinnati, in which the interviewer asked a number of people, “Why don’t you go to church?”  One of the top responses cited was, “I don’t see Christians living what they say they believe.”

Excuse or not, it’s a sobering and clarion call for sapiential theology—theology that not only asks us what we believe, but also what we practice—theology that is born in meditative prayer, where we come to God with the intention of enacting what we hear.

It also means the introduction of “Ministry Musings” each Thursday, affording me an opportunity to both keep in touch with folks I am meeting at various ministry events and also to share with the rest of you some of the things which are happening at those events.  I hope this down-to-earth, “on the road” weekly posting will be beneficial to you.

We will soon come to the end of Evelyn Underhill’s book and also The Desert Fathers.  I plan to continue with the Monday post, “Listenings,” by selecting another text and using it to further our learnings about the spiritual life.  “Listenings” is the anchor posting for Oboedire, so I will keep it going.

I will probably not immediately add something on Tuesday when The Desert Fathers is over.  I’m still trying to honor the spirit of simplification which re-arose in me during the Christmas holidays.  And besides that, I believe fresh discernment will come through a kind of “sabbath rest” on Tuesdays for a while.

One new feature on the main Oboedire page is the posting of my ministry schedule.  If you are near one of the posted events, or have friends who are, consider yourself invited to attend.  And please use the schedule as a way to pray for me and for the various ministries I am involved in this year.

As far as I can read and interpret statistics, it seems that the Oboedire blog has established a kind of regular readership, and that it continues to grow “little by little.”  My prayer for you remains the same—that no matter when or how often you turn to Oboedire, you will find it to be a means of grace and a tool for your spiritual formation.

Before our next “First Day” posting, we will enter Lent.  I will have an “In-Sight” post for you on Ash Wednesday.

Thanks for being on the journey with me!  Continue to tell others about Oboedire.

Blessings!    Steve

This is nothing new.  George MacDonald saw it in his day and wrote, “Nothing is so deadening to the divine as an habitual dealing with the outside of holy things.”

Those of us who are clergy are around holy things all day long—and many evenings as well.  As Dr. Timothy George put it, “We regularly traffic in matters of the eternal,” and it becomes easy (he also said) to “cultivate a professional persona without being grasped by the awesome realities we are called to mediate.”

If the wonder of ministry is to return when it is lost, it must do so through the doorway of humanity, not professionalism.  We must find our way back into singing, “You ask me how I know he lives; he lives within my heart.”

I tell my students not to call me “Doctor” Harper.  At the core of my being I am not doctor Harper, professor Harper, reverend Harper, or brother Harper.  I am Steve Harper.  I want to be known by others as I am.

Wonder arises in relation to the “I am” parts of life, not the “I do” parts.  I do not mean to diminish any of the holiness of our ministries, but only to emphasize that in the long run this holiness rests on the foundation of a deep Spirit to spirit relationship.

Jesus said, “I call my sheep by name.”  He calls his shepherds by name too.

Well….I’m an “old buck” now.  I am one of the mistake makers the younger generation is drinking coffee and talking about.  A while back, it came to me that the least I can do is look at the past 40 years and see what mistakes I both own and confess.  Here the ones that stand out for me and the generation of Christian leadership I represent….

(1) We made Christianity appear to be a set of beliefs more than a way of life.

(2) We made the Church appear to be bureaucracy more than the Body of Christ.

(3) We promoted a hermeneutic of suspicion more than a hermeneutic of trust.

(4) We adopted a “come to” mentality more than a “go to” passion.

(5) We gave the impression that the “label” is more important than the “product.”

(6) We embodied the values of the culture more than the values of the Gospel.

(7) We “clericalized” the Church, while still espousing a belief in the priesthood of all believers.

(8) We emphasized membership more than discipleship.

(9) We diminished the liturgy (the church’s theology) and the sacraments (the church’s means of grace).

(10) We caricatured orthodoxy and equated it with notions of judgmentalism, legalism, and narrowness.

(11) We made Christianity more a subset of politics than a transformer of politics.

I’m sure my generation has done much more to weaken the witness of Christianity.  But this is enough to make the point, and enough to say, “Lord, have mercy; Christ have mercy!”  And it’s enough to turn around and say to the new generation of young bucks, “We’re praying for you!”

One of the great deceptions for individuals and institutions is to believe that tomorrow will be like today.  But that is not the case.  When love goes, and other things form the basis for faith and for relationships, grace diminishes—not because God “reduces” the amount of grace, but because our containers are shrinking.

Rain may continue to fall as it always has, but a thimble will not hold the same amount of water that a tub does.  Love is the container into which God pours grace.

She brings her book to a close with these words…

There we see the spiritual life as humanity is called to live it; based on the deep conviction that the Good, the Holy, is the Real, and the only thing that matters, fed and supported by the steadfast contemplation of the Holy and the Real—which is also the Beautiful and the Sane—and expressed in deliberate movements toward it, a sturdy faithful refusal to look at that which distracts us from it.  Always looking the same way, and always moving the same way: in spite of obstacles, discouragements, mockery, and fatigue.  “Thou hast made us for thyself, and our hearts find no rest save in thee.”  But we must be willing to undertake the journey, whatever it may cost.

Meditation:  “Seeing Is Not Always Believing”

There was a time in my life when I thought that if I could just “present Jesus” well enough, something would click in the audience, and people would flock to him.  I assumed that what seemed so right to me would seem so to anyone else who had a good chance to consider “the facts.”

But now, years later, I know this is not true.  The cliché “seeing is believing” is not always true.  Today’s Gospel lesson speaks to this.

The evil spirit in the man recognized who Jesus was: “the Holy One of God” (v. 24).  But that knowledge did not cause the demon to become a believer in or follower of Christ.

In the second century Irenaeus commented on this same idea, reminding the early Christians that recognition of who Jesus is and submission to him are two different things.

We still have a “Gallop Poll God” in North America, but we also are seeing a marked rise in those who claim to have “no religion.”

For anyone, including ourselves, the defining factor is not acknowledgment; it is alignment.

The Oratory was to be a place where monks could pray in undisturbed silence anytime during the day.  It was a space wholly dedicated to worship—public and private.

I don’t want to be an “old fogey” in this blog, but as I read this chapter, I wondered if we have lost something as our sanctuaries are often “noisy” before and after worship services.  I am all for people having the opportunity to visit, catch up on things, etc.  But perhaps we have chosen the wrong place for doing it.

There may be folks who would like to come early and pray quietly—or stay late and pray silently.  But because the rest of us use the space to “chat,” they probably won’t do it.  Because they are nice folks, they’ll probably never tell us that our conversation is distracting.  So, we’ll never realize we were interrupting something that might have made their time at church all the more reverent.

Without making a big deal out of it, the monastic community simply said, keep the Oratory as quiet place.  It wouldn’t be that hard to return the sanctuary to a similarly quiet space.  And who knows what might happen if we did?

Today, I return to the idea of “inclining our heart unto the Lord.”  In the liturgy we speak of it often when the priest says, “Life up your hearts” and the  people respond, “We lift them up to the Lord.”

But what does this mean?  What are we doing?

Essentially, we are declaring our intention to engage in deliberate acts of solitude.  What we say in worship is representative of how we live the rest of the week.  We can do this both privately and collectively.  That’s why we can say these words in worship, for we are gathering to pay attention to God and to receive God’s revelation.

But more than the stated times of worship, we practice additional solitude as a way of “inclining our hearts to the Lord.”

A month or so ago, I was thinking about this, and these words came to my mind:  “Silence is the voice through which God speaks to us; solitude is the ear through which we hear what God is saying.”  Without trying to take any credit for this, let me simply say that I am not quoting someone else here, but rather sharing with you the phrase that arose in my mind.

So, when we “incline our hearts to the Lord,” we are simply declaring our intention to step away from the rat race, noise, and clamor of life and enter into willful times of reflection.  That’s why liturgical prayer calls us to prayer (at least) Morning, Noon, Evening, and at Bedtime (Compline).  It’s why other traditions commend a daily “quiet time.”

Whatever we call it, meditative prayer is based upon the conviction that there is One who desires to speak to us.  As we “incline our heart to the Lord,” we are simply putting ourselves into a position to hear the Voice.

I receive several e-letters from non-religious organizations, and these sometimes lead me to check out others as well.  After months of tracking their messages, it is clear that these “secular” (if we want to call them that) leaders are more concerned about the frenetic pace of life today than many of us in the Christian community seem to be.  They are not only warning their colleagues about it, they are actually taking steps to curb the madness.

Taking the bulk of their messages and summarizing them, here’s what I have learned from people who make no overt comments about the Christian faith…

(1) Sometimes, even “the least” is too much.

(2) Our value is not in how much we do, even though some people may treat us as if it were.

(3) Our whole being thrives when we slow down and simplify.

(4) We have nothing to “prove,” we have only to live.

(5) Misunderstanding is inevitable when we choose to leave the rat race.

(6) We are usually our own “worst enemy” when we decide to live from a being-orientation rather than a doing-orientation.

(7) Busyness is addictive, and therefore, destructive.

(8) Wonder and creativity emerge when we take the time to stop, look, and listen.

(9) Fatigue can only be overcome by resting.

(10) “Ending” things is as necessary as “beginning” them; sometimes more so.

I continue to read these messages from leaders in what we so often refer to as “the fallen world.”  By contrast, I watch and participate in an alleged Christian culture that runs on a performance-orientation—what some have called “the never-ending round of unceasing activity.”  I long for the time when our faith and our feet will be in sync.

But the recovery of wonder is the ability to see God at work, regardless of “how many” are involved.  One of my favorite reminders of this comes from the writing of the late Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsey, in his little book, The Christian Priest Today..

The glory of Christianity is its claim that small things really matter and that the small company, the very few, the one man, the one woman, the one child are of infinite worth to God.  Let that be your inspiration.  Consider the Lord himself.  Amidst a vast world with its vast empires and vast events and tragedies, the Lord devoted himself to a small country, to small things, and to individual men and women, often giving hours of time to the very few….The infinite worth of the one is the key to the Christian understanding of the many. It is to a ministry like that of our Lord himself that you are called.  The Gospel you preach affects the salvation of the world, and you may help your people to influence the world’s problems.  But you will never be nearer to Christ than in caring for the one man, the one woman, the one child.  His authority will be given to you as you do this, and his joy will be yours as well.

Amen and Amen!

“There is no greater love than that you should lay down your life for your neighbor.  When you hear a complaint against you and you struggle with yourself, and do not begin to complain in return, when you bear an injury with patience, and do not look for revenge, that is when you lay down your life for your neighbor.

The early Christians knew it was commendable to die for our faith as martyrs before those whom we would soon never see again.  But they also understood that it is equally important to be willing to die for our faith before those whom we will continue to see day after day.

Underhill defines “strength” in a way different from the idea of power.  The “strength” that a serving heart exhibits is the sure confidence that what is going on is part of a greater mystery (p. 105).  It is the strength to leave things in God’s hands, rather than trying to take them into our hands.

It is a strength which can only occur when we have first lived into the characteristics of tranquility and gentleness.  The first two evidences create the means for the third.

Summing up, Underhill writes, The action of those whose lives are given to the Spirit has in it something of the leisure of Eternity; and because of this, they achieve far more than those whose lives are enslaved by the rush and hurry, the unceasing tick-tick of the world.  In the spiritual life, it is very important to get our timing right.  Otherwise, we tend to forget that God, Who is greater than our heart, is greater than our job too  (p. 108).

Meditation: “Repent”

I wonder why we tend to go to the extremes when we are exploring biblical concepts.  Take repentance, for example.  Our minds can quickly go to “white-knuckle resistance” as the revival choir sings the closing hymn.  Or, we can easily remember people we’ve seen come to Jesus with “sobs and shouts.”

While these things surely happen, I think Jesus had in mind a simpler and gentler definition of repentance—and other concepts and experiences, for that matter.

When Jesus called the first people to “repent,” and when he continues to do so today, he is only saying, “Change your minds about God, about the way life is supposed to be, about who you are, and about who I am.”  Just change your thinking.

About God—not “somewhere, out there,” but near and lovingly involved in all of life, including mine and yours.

About the way life is supposed to be—not a never-ending randomness and hopelessness, but a life by God, to God, with God, in God, for God, and unto God.

About who I am—not “the master of my fate and the captain of my soul,” but a beloved child of a true Heavenly Father.

About who Jesus is—not merely “a great moral teacher,” but the Son of the living God.

Repent—change your mind—think differently.  With or without emotion.

Years ago, Philip Yancey helped me as he wrote in one of his books that a significant turning point came to him when he learned not merely to “doubt his faith” (as skeptics had urged him to do), but rather to “doubt his doubts”—to think differently, to repent.

It’s where Jesus began.  It’s also where Peter began on the day of Pentecost (see Acts 2:38). Chances are, it’s still “square one” for us today.

If not, I want you to get to know him and his ministries.  The simplest way is to Google “Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove.”  From there you can quickly go to his personal site and also to other valuable sites.  On his personal site, you can subscribe to a free e-letter that he sends out.

In all cases, monks are to observe the stated hours of prayer.  Sometimes they may only be able to kneel briefly, but they are to worship God no matter where they are.  Monks take the monastery with them.  Having committed the prayers to memory, they do not need to take a lot of materials with them.  Observing the hours while traveling also gives the monks an opportunity to have others join them for prayer.

On shorter trips, monks should do their work and return to the monastery.  Going outside is for ministry, not for protracted time away.

These two chapters may seem antiquated in a time when travel is so much more commonplace and frequent than in Benedict’s day.  And it is true that today’s monks travel much more than they did when the Rule was written.

But even given the shifts in time and circumstance, these two chapters remind us that we are to continue our prayers, no matter where we are.  And, we are not to be gone longer than necessary.  Unnecessary time away from our family and formative community is to be shunned.

In the coming weeks, I’ll use this ministry event as a basis for sharing a weekly blog posting with you.  Some who attended the retreat will be reading and (hopefully) responding, but all of you in the Oboedire family are invited to join the journey.  I hope that these new weekly postings that connect my writing to actual ministry events I am having will be a means of grace for you.

As we gathered on Monday, we found that the term “meditation” still carries a lot of baggage with it—0r, if not that—a lot of uncertainty.  It is something we are simultaneously drawn to and at the same time not sure what exactly we are getting ourselves into.  There are a lot of caricatures and stereotypes about it.

In this post, I want to “muse” on the need to maintain Mystery even while entering into the experience of meditative prayer.  Foster’s book, I believe, strikes a good balance.  If you have not read it, you may want to do so as part of your participation in these weekly postings.

Two things I like about Richard Foster are his honesty and simplicity.  He personifies Wesley’s commitment to “plain words for plain people.”  He does not eliminate the Mystery of meditation (which no one can do), but he has a way of sharing experiences and telling stories which left us at the retreat with the feeling, “I can do that.”

We divided the day into the main parts of the book—exploring first what meditation is.  This is what Foster writes about in the first three chapters of his book.

We developed a working definition that “Meditation is inclining our hearts to the Lord, with the intention of enacting what we hear, so that we may deepen our friendship with Jesus.”  Those of you who’ve been part of the Oboedire journey for a while will see immediate similarities and connections! 

But with this vision, we realize that  meditation is far from being an exercise to practice or a moment to capture.  It is not becoming so heavenly minded that we’re no earthly good.  It is a relationship to cultivate.  We base that cultivation in Scripture, but we actively participate in the experience as we “lift up our hearts” to God and engage our wills to become incarnations of the “god-words” that come to us in our times of meditative prayer.

I encourage you to pray meditatively as you read daily in the Bible.  When something strikes you, stop right there (as Thomas Merton recommends), and “take that word” as a divine appointment to hear from God and respond to God.  Allow that written Word to become a “living word” in and through you.  And as Merton goes on to say, when that happens, your meditation has begun.

Now, I want to go back and add some brush strokes to this larger canvas, beginning with what some have called “ordinary holiness.”

Apart from our ongoing relationship with Jesus, nothing renews our heart for ministry more than finding fulfillment and joy in the “little things” of our daily service.  It is what Henri Nouwen referred to in his writings as a spirituality of “here” and “now.”

I’ve been thinking about this the past few days because of conversations I have had with clergy in the past week—conversations in which all of them related the temptation to lose sight of present realities and become consumed by desires for future opportunities.

I am increasingly suspecting that one of satan’s biggest tricks is to keep us diverted.  Sometimes it happens as we compare ourselves with others.  At other times it happens when we think that our tasks are so routine as to be meaningless.

I can only remind you that it takes seconds to make minutes, minutes to make hours, hours to make days, and days to make years.  Every “larger” thing is created by the combination of “little” things.

As Jean-Pierre de Caussade said, “Holiness is doing the next thing you have to do, and doing it for God.”  A very big thing is realized through faithfulness to many little things.

There are no “small” churches or “insignificant” activities.  Every moment is a God moment.  I have found that my calling revives and my meaning returns when I can find my joy in something as simple as someone writing, phoning, or asking, “Steve, do you have a moment?”

I’ve come to believe this is one of God’s most-earnest questions too, “Steve, do you have a moment?”

[Antony] also said, “Our life and our death are with our neighbor.  If we do good to our neighbor, we do good to God; if we cause our neighbor to stumble, we sin against God” (17:2)

No greater damage has been done to the Christian faith than separating it into either/or (dualistic) thinking—in this case, separating the two great commandments.  It is striking to see how our predecessors in the faith kept love of God and love of neighbor together, weaving them into a seamless garment, where an action (or lack thereof) to one has an immediate impact on the other.

As I have said before on this blog, the word salvation means “wholeness,” and one of the ways we move into that wholeness is by rejoining elements that some would prefer to keep separate.  The essence of Christian thinking is non-dualistic thinking.

Sometimes it challenges us to consider the “child” born of both/and intercourse.  But sometimes there can be no “child” produced when either/or rules the moment.

The monks simply did not allow God and neighbor to be separated, and neither must we.

Again, Underhill notes that when we work with “fuss” and “intensity,” it is a sign that something in us is driving the process and experience.  We are acting as if we know exactly how and when things need to happen.  But this is only illusion, and we only properly align ourselves with the Spirit when we relax and “let” things happen rather than trying to “make” things happen.

Meditation:  “Discovery through Experience”

When Nathaniel asked Philip, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”, he was approaching religion the way many still do—namely, attempting to get answers before making a commitment.

But the door into the spiritual life does not turn on answers, because every question we can ask about God is answered in more than one way by religious people and even more ways by people who don’t even believe in God.  If we begin with answers or demand them, we will end up with a plate full of options that can only confuse us, most likely leading us to do nothing.

We enter into Christ by responding to the invitation, “Come and see.”  This does not make us participants in a vague quest, but rather pilgrims with those who are living into Christ.

Nathaniel goes with Philip—with one who had previously seen Jesus.  Christian experience is always generated by following those who are already following.  In other words, the Christian life begins in community with faithful guides.

Experience is necessary because it challenges us to go somewhere and follow someone.  It challenges us to make some choices and take some risks.  Nazareth is not the only town where alleged gurus live, but it is the city where Christ is from.  “Come and see.”

The first thing we notice is that the season is a reflection of a disposition.  As Benedict wrote, “The Life of a monk ought to be a continuous Lent.”  This is a reminder that specific observances always flow from and contribute to an ongoing disposition of the heart.  Otherwise, practices become ends in themselves, and become divorced from their originating purpose.

We also note that the observance of Lent is an offering that is to be given to God “with the joy of the Holy Spirit” (49:5-6).  Thus, the tone of our Lenten practices have more to do with what we are making room for than what we are actually giving up.  Our Lenten offering is not this thing or that thing, but rather our very selves—so that God may refill us with things that befit the life of discipleship.

Finally, we see that our Lenten intentions are to be approved by the Abbot.  This is just another way to live in submission, rather than “going it alone.”  It is also a way to keep the spiritual life from becoming overly “privatized” and secret.

All these historic aspects can aid us in a good observance of Lent when it rolls around in a few weeks.

Roy Oswald at the Alban Institute has said that the majority of clergy have been sent to their places of ministry with minimal training in spiritual formation.  As a result, they lose the heart for ministry because they never were sufficiently in touch with their heart to begin with.

A reformation of our spirit is essential when we have led with careerism instead of calling, image instead of integrity, and doing instead of being.

We reform the spirit by some strategic decisions and actions, none more important than coming to see spirituality as more a life to be lived than a time to be observed.  As our predecessors have said, “Every moment is a God moment.”  We begin to renew our spirit when we move beyond “religion” to “reality” and let all ground be holy.  The spiritual life is broad as well as deep.

But within that larger perspective, we renew our spirit by making and keeping a Rule of Life, by connecting with the great cloud of witnesses, by practicing the means of grace, by cultivating our “soul print” (e.g. gender, personality,culture, age/stage, and faith tradition), and by doing things that are just plain “fun” (e.g. hobby or leisure activity).

Having a companion (spiritual guide, mentor, good friend) to walk the journey with us is also valuable.

Our spirit responds to all these things, and more.  We cannot deny or diminish the spirit and still expect our lives and our ministry to be spiritual.

Poemen said, “Whatever hardship comes upon you, it can be overcome by silence”  (The Desert Fathers, Book 16, Saying 9).

This is not the silence of passivity or complacency; it is the silence of which recognizes that the last word has not been spoken—the last aspect has not been played out.  To speak might be to interrupt a process and short-circuit the outcome God had in mind.

Patient silence also leads us to listen to God rather than to the situation.  This kind of listening yields insight and perspective.

The “overcoming” which Poemen speaks of can be discovering that the circumstance has worked itself out without our interference, and/or embracing a strength to endure what we could not have changed by our words.

Silence is not always “golden,” and there are times when we are called to speak.  But those times are not as often as our ego would lead us to think.  A holy silence is often what the Spirit is asking of us, if we will but listen.

Underhill turns to ask, “How can we know that we are serving in a way that honors and glorifies God?”  She uses a statement from St. John of the Cross to frame her answer.

John said that the Holy Spirit’s work is always accompanied by three characteristic: tranquility, gentleness, and strength.  We’ll spend the next three weeks looking at each or these.

Today…tranquility.  Underhill rightly notes that when we seek to express one of the fruit of the Spirit, but do it with a “feverishness” and “hurry,” it is really a sign that we are acting selfishly (p. 103).  Peace is a sign that we are willing to let things unfold on God’s timetable, not our own.

Meditation:  “Many Baptisms”

We often hear that baptism is a “one time event,” and I understand theologically what that view means and represents.

But today’s passage, coupled with a sermon from Gregory of Nazianzus (Oration 39), expands on the fundamental theme by reminding us that there are multiple ways in which we experience a baptism.

From the text, we are introduced to the baptism with water for the remission of sin, and the baptism with the Holy Spirit, which I take to mean the infilling of our lives once they have been emptied of the prior sinfulness.  This twin perspective was later expanded through the notions of dying/rising and putting off/putting on.

Gregory adds to the picture with three other ideas.  First, he goes back to Moses and sees a figurative baptism as the people of Israel passed through the parted waters of the Red Sea, thus adding the idea of deliverance to the picture.

He then adds martyrdom as a fourth dimension—one shared by Christ on the Cross—and one that he says, ” is far more venerable than the others, in as much as it is not soiled by repeated contagion.”

Finally, he calls our attention to a fifth dimension of baptism—one expressed by David through the tears he shed in bed at night (Psalm 6:6).

What binds all these ideas together is simply this: sin does not have the last word.  Our sacramental baptism, alongside these other expressions, reminds us of the powerful triumph of grace—even over death itself.

As we begin the new year, it’s good to remember that God has the primacy over our lives.  There is no sin God will not forgive, no emptiness God will not fill, no captivity God will not deliver us from, no death God will not turn into resurrection, and no grief that God will not heal.

Blessed are those who have had many baptisms.

The reason this is so lies precisely in the fact that “attentiveness” is the friend of the soul.  This is a classic understanding in spiritual formation.  In fact, Henri Nouwen once described the spiritual life as “paying attention,” and when he did so, he was connecting with the substance and spirit of Benedict’s Rule.

I do not know for sure where the source of this conviction lies, but I imagine it comes from Jesus’ parable of the house cleansed of demons, but left empty (Matthew 12:43-45) and/or the warning at the beginning of Hebrews against the possibility of drifting astray (2:1)

The point is simply that we Christians do not regress in the spiritual life by making radical decisions against our faith; we lose ground “inch by inch” as we diminish our attentiveness and slip into “neutral” in our soul.

Vacuums are the doorways through which Satan enters to take possession of our thoughts, words, and deeds.  Consequently, idleness must be eliminated either by prayer or manual labor.  Without attentiveness, our souls really are on “dead center.”