Struggle

A few years ago I read a story about a man who wanted to help a butterfly that was struggling to become free of its cocoon.  "I'll ease it's journey into the world," he said to himself, as he found some scissors and carefully cut the butterfly free.  To his disappointment, instead of flying away free, the butterfly weakened and eventually died.  It seems that the struggle to emerge from its lair is key to the butterfly becoming strong enough to survive.

I've been thinking about struggle lately.  (I hope you'll forgive this random topic.)  Sometimes, in our efforts to help others, we can actually separate those we wish to help from the sort of struggle they need in order to become more whole.  A mother who continues to tie her son's shoes because it eases his struggle may actually slow the child's learning curve.  The child needs to struggle in order to learn. A concerned son who continually finishes his aging father's sentences every time dad struggles to find a word may actually contribute to the slowing of dad's mental capacities.   Dad needs to struggle in order to keep his mind fit.  A teacher who always gives the answers to the students may actually be hindering their education.  Students need to struggle with the material in order to learn it.

If I'm honest, I have to admit that too often I am impatient with the struggle of others because of my own anxieties.  It's hard for me to see someone I care about struggling, so I jump in with an answer or a solution or a bit of advice.  When this happens, it's not love that compels my behavior, but my anxiety about their struggle. 

The ministry of Jesus is astonishing in this regard.  He seems to have had a very high tolerance for the struggle of those he cared about.  Those of us who want a teacher who spells everything out in black and white and either/or answers will be very disappointed with the teaching of Jesus.  His words are often dense, so dense that they require struggle in order to hear.  "Blessed are the poor in spirit."  Huh?   "Blessed are the meek."  Come again?  "The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed..."  How so?  "Go sell all that you have and give to the poor."  Really?

We invent the four spiritual laws.  Jesus teaches in parables.  We give three point teachings.  Jesus gives the beatitudes.  I have nothing against the four spiritual laws or three point teachings.  I simply wish to say that Jesus lived and taught in such a way that those closest to him had to struggle in order to hear his message.  They had to 'lean forward,' as I like to say.  It required something of them. 

Where I'm going with this: 1) Sometimes I think we all undervalue the importance of struggle.  If, as the title of this blog suggests, life can be a sacred adventure, we can be sure that it will involve struggle.  Every adventure does.  Instead of avoiding struggle, perhaps we can embrace it as a necessary component of growth.  2) It takes discernment to know when love requires us to offer a helping hand to another, as it sometimes certainly does, and when it requires us to be silent or ask a hard question or stand back and allow another to struggle through toward their own growth.  How do we know when to offer a hand and when to allow the struggle to occur?  Good question.  Sometimes I really struggle with that.



 

Love One Another Deeply...

I was moved by the following words from First Peter in the Scripture reading in our worship service last Sunday: ""Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart."  I was reminded of something that Elton Trueblood, the great Quaker writer and thinker, once suggested (and I paraphrase badly now):  What the world desperately needs today is small groups of men and women who are dedicated to the experiment of love for one another.  Such groups, he suggested, can and must infect the world.  There is no greater choice for this challenge, Trueblood concluded, than the church.

Most church goers are well aware of the command of Jesus.  It comes to us from the Gospel of John with crystal clarity.  "Love one another," our Lord commands.  "Even as I have loved you, so you must love one another."  My question to you is, how do we do this today?  In our busy lives, where we carry on so many commitments, where churches themselves are often living at what Thomas Kelly described as a "frenzied pace of frantic feverishness."   How does the busy church and its busy members make room for love to one another--and so fulfill the call of Christ?

Satisfaction

While out on a run recently, I became aware that the old song "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones was running through my mind.  You remember the one:  "Well I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried, but I can't get no satisfaction..."  It didn't take much reflection to realize why that song was with me.  It had been a very disappointing day.  The sky of intentions with which the day had begun had crashed against the ground of its reality.  Several of my expectations for the day had been frustrated.  While out for the run, the old song had apparently darted into my mind to give expression to my feelings at the moment: it was a very dissatisfying day.

I know that I'm supposed to critique that song.  I'm supposed to say that Mick Jagger and Keith Richard can't get no satisfaction because they are not (by all appearances) men of faith.  If they were, they'd be much happier and much more satisfied with life.  They'd find delight in the simple things and discover the source of true joy. That's the party line that I'm supposed to repeat.  I'll come back to that in a moment, but I actually find the honesty of the chorus to be somewhat refreshing.  If we're candid, most of us are disappointed, perhaps more frequently than those of us who are Christians care to admit. We have expectations that aren't met.  In fact, I often hear from people who have high expectations of ________ (fill in the blank: their faith, marriage, job, church, lifestyle, possessions etc.) which aren't being met.  Very often it seems as though they are grieving the distance between life as they planned it and how it is actually turning out.  It is as though they have heard that they could live "happily ever after" and, at some level they believed it.  (It probably doesn't help that a multi-billion dollar advertising industry constantly props images before their senses that promise  satisfaction.)   

I'm thinking these thoughts just a little over a week after Easter Sunday.  We celebrated the resurrection of Jesus, and here we are, and everything isn't suddenly better.  Relationships still require work--and sometimes, even with work, they fail.  Things break down way too quickly.  Tornadoes still leave their pernicious paths of destruction.  This leads me to say: I think it's very important to remember what Easter is not, as well as what it is.  Resurrection is not a promise that life suddenly gets better, all of our expectations will be met, we will live with joy and perfect purpose from this day forward.  In fact, it's interesting to note that one of the letters of the New Testament that appeals most forcefully to the resurrection of Jesus, so much so that you could even say that resurrection is just dripping from its pages, is 1 Peter.  Read 1 Peter carefully and you'll notice that this witness to resurrection is written to a church in the midst of persecution and suffering.   You wouldn't have to tell Peter's readers twice that the resurrection doesn't suddenly make all things right.  We live in a fallen world.  We ourselves are fallen.  We can expect disappointment to be part of the picture.

Easter is not the promise that our lives will be suddenly better.  It is, however, the sign that God has overcome the powers of evil that resist God's influence.  It is the promise, which faith welcomes, that the suffering love of God that we see in Jesus is the greatest power at work in the world.  Its power is restorative, renewing and healing.  Resurrection signals that this love of God which suffers with and for us will one day restore the world to God's intentions.  It is the sign and promise that we ourselves who entrust ourselves to this transforming love, will be made new and whole.

In the meantime, even while the disappointments of a not-yet whole world are ever about us, our encounters with joy, love, and beauty are hints and promises of what shall be.  Understanding them this way, we don't need to try to squeeze the living daylights out of those experiences (have you ever noticed how that never works?), or become discouraged when they are not present to the degree that we want them.  Rather, we welcome them, give thanks for them, and embrace them as gifts and promises of what shall be.  I find this perspective to be rather satisfying.

Stories of Prayer and Fasting

I want you to tell your stories!  In the coming days and weeks, I encourage you to share on this blog your experiences of how prayer and fasting are impacting you.

As many of you know, during the season of Lent our congregation, along with hundreds of others, is encouraging one another to renew our commitment to live prayerfully and we are also encouraging one another to practice a fast one day each week leading up to Easter.  (Please follow this link if you'd like to read more about prayer and fasting and how our congregation is embracing these ancient spiritual disciplines: http://almacog.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/prayer-and-fasting.pdf.)   I'm writing today to ask you to share your stories.  Today and in the weeks to come, I invite you to share your experiences, good and bad, success and failure, on this blog.  I'm planning to leave this blog entry standing, rather than write a new entry each week, as I typically do.  I'm hopeful that many of you will share your stories, struggles and testimony in this space. (If you wish to remain anonymous that will, of course, be respected.)

A Study in Contrasts

A study in contrasts:  I enjoyed a cup of coffee Monday morning before a beatific vision.  I looked out through the back window of our family's home, where the morning sun dominated the sky, geese moved about lazily in the open waters behind my neighbor’s house, two of whom had wandered into our back yard where they were plucking the grass surrounding the raised garden beds.  A swan couple peered about majestically from the broader waters of the Pine River.  It was simply an extraordinary, exquisite morning.  I went to bed Monday night after watching a horrific vision of destruction on the television screen.  I watched amateur footage of the tsunami's initial strike in Japan, followed by aerial shots of the aftermath.  I also watched footage of a nuclear power plant and heard the commentator speak in serious tones about what a 'meltdown' would mean for Japan and the world. 

Two visions, one of unspeakable beauty, one of unutterable tragedy, competing for space in my mind.  How to make sense of them?  Beauty and tragedy.  

For what it's worth, I do not believe the destruction of life and beauty in Japan is God's doing.  I beg to differ from any who may be inclined to see the events in Japan as God's judgment. I am persuaded that God loves this creation and wills to renew it, and because God loves this creation and all who are in it, God suffers with and for all who are effected by this tragedy.  I trust that we might somehow live close to the heart of God, to carry within ourselves, at one and the same time, a deep and profound appreciation for beauty and a suffering love for the scars created by tragedy.

Prayer and ... Now What's That Word Again?

On the lighter side...

Those of you who are part of our congregation (First Church of God in Alma) may be aware that we will soon be kicking off a forty day emphasis on prayer and fasting.  This weekend I wrote a paper called "Made for More: Reflections on Forty Days of Prayer and Fasting," to explain the purpose and goals of this emphasis.  I wrote the first draft of the paper in my very sloppy longhand, which became sloppier and sloppier the longer I wrote.  As I finished my first draft, I looked back over the pages and realized that (have I mentioned that my handwriting is sloppy?) most of my small "s's" look more like an "r" than an "s" because I hadn't closed them at the bottom.  The upshot is that most of the references to "fast" or "fasting" look more like "fart" or "farting."  My handwritten notes appear to include some of the following gems:

"Why are we encouraging the practice of prayer and farting?"
"We embrace farting as an avenue of freedom."
"Farting is costly."
"... a shared day helps us to emphasize the corporate nature of this fart."
And I think my personal favorite is:
"If you are new to farting, or if you haven't done it for a considerable time, I suggest that you begin with a 24 hour fart."

Beehive and Bunhead would surely be proud.

Willfulness and Willingness

I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure is a way of willingness rather than willfulness.  Willfulness is that mindset that says, "I will get this done, I will accomplish these goals, if I fall short I will try harder and harder and harder..."  Willfulness is an independent attitude.  It is the self, by sheer act of will, setting out to accomplish its purposes.  To be sure, some persons accomplish much by extraordinary efforts of will. Picture the athlete holding the gold medal and proclaiming, "I've accomplished this with sheer, unadulterated, hard work." Applied to religion, willfulness tries harder and harder to do the right and justify oneself.  And again, it should be noted that such persons might very well accomplish a great deal.  Some of the most religious people you've ever know might very well be willful people.

That said, I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure, the way blazed by Jesus Christ, is the way of willingness.  Where willfulness is independent and ever committed to trying harder and harder, willingness is surrendered to a source of life and love greater than oneself.  A willing person is convinced that something great and beautiful is already taking place, even before she makes it her business.  He believes there is a power operative in the world that is bringing about the good, and his business is to consent to that power and cooperate with it.  A willing person is surrendered to the source of life.  I use the word 'surrendered' in the hope that we can discard its negative connotations.  I have in mind here the kind of surrender the sail experiences in relation to the breeze. 

Willingness is not passive.  Some of the most active people we've ever heard of--people like Francis of Assisi, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King--were, I believe, willing persons, surrendered to the source of life.  I should note, too, that not all willing persons are known primarily for their religious lives.  I think of artists and musicians whose lives and work have expressed something of this surrender. 

The  Apostle Paul invited us to be willing rather than willful when he repeatedly counseled us to walk not in the flesh, but in the power of the Holy Spirit.  The move from willfulness to willingness is a life-long journey, an ongoing process of conversion.  It is, I believe, the heart and goal of the Christian journey.