James 24:7

(Fourth in a series of reflections on a story of the Desert Fathers)

The question posed to Jesus by the Rich Young Ruler intrigues me.  "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

"What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

The question intrigues me because of the issues it raises around the relationship between "doing" and "inheriting."   The young man's question links doing with inheriting and suggests that he believes that one earns "what's coming to him." 

One does not typically inherit something on the basis of what one does.  One inherits on the basis of who one is.  Usually,  children inherit their parents' estates by virtue of the relationship they bear to the parents.

While there are cases, perhaps many cases, of parents cutting children out of their wills because of something they did or failed to do, you do not often hear of someone inheriting something because he or she did X number of things to earn the inheritance.

It is possible.  However, I would suggest that even in the rare case where someone is put into the position of having to earn his inheritance that he or she usually bears some relation to the one setting the contingencies. For example, one could easily imagine a parent making the earning of a college degree a condition of inheritance for her child. 

However, at some point, one must determine when an inheritance is an inheritance and when it has become something other than an inheritance.  In other words, how much work must one do, how many conditions must one meet before one's inheritance becomes something on the order of a paycheck?

The question put to Jesus by the young prince is an intriguing question.  Until I am able to finish law school and plumb the depths of estate law, I will assume that his question is based upon the assumption of earning. 

What must I do...how many projects must I complete...how productive must I become...what principles must I follow so that I may inherit ( or deserve?) eternal life?  

Or, to put it another way, how can I put God in my debt?

I am not sure that Abba Lot wanted to put God in his debt.  However, he did seem to think of the spiritual life as a to-do list of tasks.   He enumerated to Abba Joseph the ways in which he dabbled in various spiritual practices and he asked: "What else can I do?"

His question is every bit as intriguing as the one posed by the Rich Young Ruler.

"What else can I do?" 

I imagine Abba Lot getting up one morning feeling rested.  I see him getting out his Day Planner (come on, he is old school!) and checking out the week ahead.  He sees that he has penciled in meditation for 9 a.m. and prayer for 9:30 a.m.   He notes that he is due to fast on the upcoming Thursday but only from 8 a.m. to noon since he has a luncheon at noon.

He looks up from his Day Planner and looks out of his window. "Hmmm...I live in the desert. Not much doing out here.  I think I have time for more practices but am just not sure which ones to add to my current list.  I know! I'll check by with Abba Joseph.  He'll know what other practices I might try."  

I see Abba Lot, this good and righteous man, studying his schedule, noting his "open spots" and seeking to fill in the blanks with even more spiritual practices in which to dabble.

"What else can I do?"

The  ever-doing "I" is at the center of his question. The "I" is the protagonist of his story, the center from which he operates, the point around which his spiritual world spins. 

Abba Lot sits in the center of himself, peruses the catalog of spiritual practices, checks the ones he will undertake and the ones to which he may return. He schedules his time. He makes his appointments with God.  He fits his practice into his self-perscribed agenda. As noted before, he makes his plan to undertake the spiritual life on his own terms.

"What else can I do?" 

 Abba Lot sees the spiritual life as a series of tasks to be undertaken and completed.  He seems to think that there is merit in the doing-for-the-sake-of-doing.  He seems to favor a check-list faith.

I do not see how his desires could be motivated by anything other than a desire to earn or to at least achieve.   Perhaps he thinks he can achieve wholeness through practice as practice.  Perhaps he thinks he must work to earn God's favor.  Perhaps he thinks that he needs to do more to keep up with (or surpass?) the hermit next door. 

His desire to add more or to do more is linked to some goal, some desire, some vision that promises some reward for effort rendered.

I know it is unfair of me to judge Abba Lot from this great distance but it does seem to me that Abba Lot thinks he can practice his way to God on his own terms.  He seems to believe that he, in himself, can reach wholeness by selecting the correct recipe of practices.

He seems to think that dabbling in the spiritual life is sufficient.  A little of this, a bit of that, a dash of the other.

He seems to think that the spiritual life is a matter of reaching a critical mass of practices.  I do this, I do that, now...what do I need to do next?

I may well be reading my character into his.  

But then...maybe that's the point of the story.

(Third in a series of reflections upon a story of the Desert Fathers)

Someone told me once about overhearing a woman complain to her friend about the reckless behavior of her unwed daughter: "If my daughter doesn't stop messin' around with that boyfriend of hers bad things are going to happen.  Why she almost got pregnant one time before!"

Even a statement that is an objective impossibility can display a certain truth.   We understand, even through our laughter, that the words point to a truth:  If that woman's daughter doesn't stop doing what she is doing she could get pregnant. 

The scripture contains many stories of the impossible almost:

I think of the Rich Young Ruler who came to Jesus only to end up "one last thing" short of discipleship.  (Matthew 19:16-26)

I remember King Agrippa whose admittedly ambiguous response to Paul's preaching suggested that he was "almost persuaded." (Acts 26:28)

I recall the church in Laodicea who was not quite cold and not quite hot but who was so far from "just right." (Revelation 3: 14 ff.)  

I ponder the meaning of Jesus' reply to the scribe who agreed with him concerning the greatest commandment: "you are not far from the kingdom of God." (Mark 12:34)

I  hear the words of Jesus about those who piled up words upon words as they prayed believing that they would be heard "for their much speaking." (Matthew 6:7)

I ruminate upon Paul's words that the day would come when there would be those who practice a form of godliness while denying the power of it.  (I Timothy 3:5)

I reach back to the prophets who castigated Israel for having fallen into the practice of offering sacrices of animals while neglecting works of justice and mercy. (Isaiah 1)

Abba Lot strikes me as a practitioner of the impossible almost.  While he did many good things, many right things, many appropriate things, his manner of doing them exemplified the impossible almost.   He embraced forms of godliness while missing the power behind them, above them, beneath them and within them.

This is evidenced by his words "I say my little office..." and "I fast a little..."  That propensity toward dabbling could be read into every practice he undertook.

I meditate a little...

I pray a little...

I can relate...a lot.

Maybe you can too.

Why might we play around the edges of faith like that?

I'll suggest some possibilities:

1. We might fear real transformative change.  What would happen if God did, as Annie Dillard put it, wake up and actually transform us?  How might that rattle our sense of identity?  How might it alter our plans, our schedules, our relationships?
2. We might be so committed to our ways of life that we are content to fit God in where we can.   We create these hectic lives of ours, one choice and one commitment at a time, and then find that we have so little room for God.  "Hmmm...Lord, I think I can pencil you in on Thursday...how does 3 p.m. sound?"
3. We might think that to genuinely encounter God and be transformed by the intimacy of that friendship is more than is necessary.  After all, some of us signed up as a quick and easy way to get our souls saved, gain some respectability and get the ticket for the glory train. 
4. We might think it all to be too much of a bother.  After all, why be "more religious" than is necessary?  Leave that for the monks and fanatics.
5. We might just lack the discipline.  After all, we may see we are not very disciplined about anything that doesn't just come naturally.  Chances are if we are not disciplined about diet and exercise and keeping a tidy space, we are probably not all that disciplined in matters of the Spirit.
6. We might just be bent that way.  Why is it that our resolutions do not work?  Why do we always fall back into our old ways of being?  Could it be that our falling back is an evidence of our fallenness?

So we dabble at it.  

A little prayer..

A bit of a devotional thought...

A little TV fast....

Abba Lot did not seem bothered by his dabbling.  He did not come to Abba Joseph perplexed over his dabbling.  No, he came to Abba Joseph to learn if there was anything else with which he could dabble.

The behaviorists remind us that we persist in that which pays.  If dabbling pays, we'll dabble.  A little prayer, a little devotional, a little meditation makes us feel that we are at least doing something, that we are at least trying, that we aren't all that bad and may be even a little better than most.  And, who knows, God is probably very pleased with us.

How interesting that we think God might be impressed by our impossible almosts when the scripture we love so much suggests otherwise.

I started preaching 34 years ago just down the road from where I currently preach.   However, between the time I started and now, Gwinnett County, Georgia has changed.... Wait that should be  chaaaaannnnggged.

My agent, Irv, sent me this article.   I love the last line...

"America is changing...get used to it!"

This ain't your grandma's church.

Not long ago I wrote a bit about what a "praying church" might look like.  I received several thought-provoking emails and comments.  You can scroll down and read some of those in other blog posts.

One comment in particular set me to thinking about whether it is more important for a church to have a reputation as a "praying church" or whether it is more important for a church to have a reputation for a quality of life and ministry that could only be accounted for by the fact that they pray. 

An analogy that came to my mind as I thought about the question is the analogy of a great hitter in baseball.  Such a hitter is known not for the hours and hours of practice he puts in but for how he performs at the plate.  His performance at the plate is the evidence of the hours of practice.  If he somehow practiced and practiced but failed at the plate he would not become known as a great hitter even though he put in hours of practice.

I guess the point is that it is conceivable that a church could put in hours of prayer but fail to bear fruit, especially if the hours of prayer somehow became a competitive event.  (One commentator spoke of visiting a church that is known as a "praying church" and found the prayer meeting to be something of a competitive sport.  Who could pray the most passionately?  Who could pray the most breathlessly?  Who could pray the longest or the most eloquently?   When we allow ourselves to get into that, we would do well to remember Jesus' words concerning doing things for show versus doing things in secret and remember under what conditions it is that we "receive our reward." )

Prayer is part of the fabric of our relationship with God.  Prayer is not a competitive sport or a self-aggrandizing performance.  Just as verbal and non-verbal communication is part of the fabric of a friendship or a marriage, so prayer is part of the fabric of our friendship with God.

In such prayer we may express our praise, our wonder or our thanksgiving.  However, in the context of that friendship we may also make requests, offer petitions and intercede.  In any case, prayer is a God-appointed practice that builds and expresses friendship with God. 

If you want to learn a lot then preach and teach. I can't vouch for those who hear me as to how much they learn but I know I can be in the middle of a sermon or teaching and think: "Man, I can't believe how much I learn from me." 

No..I don't really think that but there is something to be said for learning by teaching. 

We dedicated children yesterday at North River and right in the middle of hearing myself teach I thought: "Wow!  I get this.  I really get this!"

I was talking about those instances in the gospels when Jesus uses a child to teach the adults a thing or two about kingdom life.  In one instance he teaches his disciples not to prevent children from coming to him and points to the child as the model of what adults must become if they would enter the kingdom of God.

In the other instance, he sets a child in their midst after hearing the disciples arguing about who would be the greatest in the kingdom.

Although the text doesn't say as much, I suspect the disciples were thinking about the kingdom of God in terms of kingdoms of this world and the kinds of skills and virtues one would need to rise to greatness in that kingdom. 

I imagine that one claimed to be decisive and that because of that he would be the greatest.  Another probably claimed to be courageous and because of that he would be the greatest.  Still another claimed to be wise and because of that he would be the greatest in the coming reign of God.

That's when Jesus took a kid and placed him before his disciples and said in effect, "Hey, you want to know what greatness in the kingdom looks like, then look at this kid.  You've got to change and become like him if you expect to become great in the kingdom."

Now over the years I've heard a lot of sentimental pap about this kid and what Jesus was saying.  Often people interpret Jesus' actions as speaking to the "innocence of children." 

Harumph!

Most of the people who say that don't have children.  It takes a long time for a kid to grow out of his or her self-centeredness.  (I asked the folks yesterday how long it takes for a kid to grow up and someone yelled, "40 years!")

Jesus was not pointing to innocence when he pointed to that child.  He was pointing to the child's powerlessness, his vulnerability, his dependence.

After all, he pulls this kid out of the crowd as the disciples are discussing the question of "greatness." 

The disciples were thinking in terms of "power enhancement." 

Jesus was thinking in terms of "powerlessness enhancement."

If we want to be great in the kingdom, we have to become as vulnerable, dependent and powerless as children in terms of our relationship to God.

This is just all over the teachings of Jesus:

To whom does Jesus promise the kingdom? The poor in spirit.

To whom does Jesus ascribe greatness? The one who serves everybody else.

To whom does Jesus give the first place? To the one who takes his place at the end of the line.

This is how Jesus even thought of himself.  Take a look at John 5: 19 ff.  Jesus points to his own dependence upon God.  He does nothing and says nothing that he doesn't get from the Father.   It seems to me that if Jesus says this about himself then we ought to chime right in: "Me too".

"I am the vine and you are the branches.  Apart from me you can do nothing."  Remember that?

Oh...let me add one other thought here.  How can we know that we are being childlike?  (Not childish..that's easy enough to discern!)

Well..I think one surefire way we figure that out is to look at our prayer life.  I suspect if we aren't continually seeking God's presence, care and guidance that we are probably pretty much calling our own shots- don't you?

lV

Reading and praying the Psalms puts us in the company of all the saints who have preceded us.

I read this morning that Etta Baker has died at the age of 90.   Etta Baker was a Piedmont Blues guitar player who influenced every finger-style guitar player there is- whether he or she knows it or not.  Any picker who plays a Merle Travis lick or even a Chet Atkins riff can thank Etta Baker for inspiring those guys to pass along the pickin'.   

Few people outside the fingerstyle or blues community have ever heard of Etta Baker. (She spent most of her working years laboring in the Buster Brown factory in North Carolina)   However, her finger plucks, picks, and pulls reverbrate through  generations of players. 

Of course, each of those players adds their own twists and turns.  Every so often one of them, usually some kid still wet behind the thumbpick, brings along an innovation and leaves us older guys scratching our heads wondering "why we never thought of that"- if we can even make out what the kid is doing.

However, true innovation is rare.  I suppose you could say true innovation- that is, bringing something new to the world- happens...oh...once in a not-ever. 

Most pickers are part of a tradition and are damn proud of it.  To be told that you played something as well as Chet or with as much life as Merle Travis or in the style of Doc Watson is be truly complimented.  To be told that you are an innovator is good too...but only if the innovation pays homage to the Ettas, Chets, Merles and Docs who have gone before you.

Playing with the pickers of the past is a fine way to spend an lazy evening or a lifetime.

To read and pray the Psalms is to pray with all of the saints who have gone before you.  You may be praying with your grandma, or your great, great grandpa.  You will certainly be praying with Martin Luther and Thomas Aquinas.  You will also be praying with the Apostle Paul and Peter, James and John.  You will utter the words that helped shape Jesus' prayers.  You will weep and praise with all those Hebrew saints who worshipped God in the Temple, the synagogues and  out on the hillside.  

Think about it: It is quite something to utter the words of David, the King- the man after God's own heart.

When we read the Psalms...better...when we pray the Psalms we enter the company of the beloved saints of God.  Their voices become our voices; their habits become our habits.

I firmly believe that many of us have shot ourselves in the foot by falling so deeply into the "contemporary."  Contemporary music.  Contemporary worship.  Contemporary ministry.  Contemporary..."with the times."  We have especially shot ourselves in the foot if we are so arrogant to think that what we have brought upon the earth is anything truly innovative.

Recently I've rekindled my interest in poetry.  I dug around and found a book by the American poet, Mary Oliver.  Here is what she says about the "contemporary" as it applies to young poets and their poetry:

"...since you want to be a contemporary poet, you do not want to be too much under the influence of what is old, attaching to the terms the idea that old is old hat-out of date.  You imagine you should surround yourself with modern only.  It is an error.  The truly contemporary creative force is something that is built out of the past, but with a difference.

Most of what calls itself contemporary is built, whether it knows it or not, out of a desire to be liked. It is created in imitation of what already exists and is already admired.  There is, in other words, nothing new about it.  To be contemporary is to rise through the stack of the past, like the fire through the mountain.  Only a heat so deeply and intelligently born can carry a new idea into the air." (A Poetry Handbook, p. 11-12)

When we read and pray the Psalms we enter into a tradition and we praise and cry and rage with that great cloud of saints who cheer us on and wait for us to join them.