Not “therefore” but “thus”—

A new command I give you: Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another.  By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another.

–John 13:34-35

I’ve always assumed that Jesus was making an “if–then” statement in the above verse.  In other words, “Since I love you, therefore you should love one another, too.”

But what if  “As…so” means:  “In the same way I love you, thus you must love one another.”

And in WHAT way did Jesus love them?  How would He answer that?

• I loved you by humbling myself to serve you.
• I loved you meekly, not overwhelming you with displays of power to intimidate you.
• I always wanted what my Father God wanted for you.  I challenged your thinking gently but persistently.
• I met your physical needs.
• I sacrificed My life for you.
• I showed you the Father.

Lord Jesus, help me to love others the way you love, today, tomorrow and every day.

An Open Letter to My Son in Jail

My very dear son:

Well, you find yourself in a familiar place, confined once again. I can’t say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you,” but it hurts in a different way.  I am pained by the choices that led you to that place you had vowed never to enter again.  I am angry at your foolish action; disappointed in your lack of self-control, judgment and respect for authority; saddened that you will probably spend your 18th birthday locked up. But I have hope, because I truly believe that God is especially fond of you.  He’s applying His law of sowing and reaping in real time for you, so that you can see the consequences of your actions more clearly than many others do.  I believe that the justice you feel is also mercy.

You’ve told me that you think the God of the Bible was invented to make people feel badly about themselves.  And yet you do believe in some kind of Creator, which shows some good sense on your part.  The Bible makes you angry, and God has disappointed you by not revealing Himself to you when you asked Him.

I can’t answer all your questions, Adam.  But I can tell you that if the Bible makes you feel badly about yourself, then you have only heard half of its message.  The bad news of God’s truth is that we are sinful, prideful, prone to make the wrong choices. ( And I know that you’ll argue that God shouldn’t have set things up that way in the first place.  You don’t see the point of free will, but I don’t think you’d like the alternative either.)  My point is that the Bible paints a vivid picture of our sinfulness, in all its ugly detail.  From Genesis to Revelation, stories of people who stray from God are right up front.

But at the same moment, Scripture tells us the Good News, which is that God gets involved to make another way for us, a way to break free of our bent toward sin.  He wants to redeem the whole world–the price is a perfect life, laid down willingly. Jesus’ death paid the penalty, and His life is the perfect pattern for us to follow.  He wants to straighten us out so that we can participate in the great work of reconciliation.

The Kingdom of God is so much bigger  than just “heaven when you die,” Adam… I’m just beginning to see a glimpse of all that our lives can be–abundant and joy-filled now and always.  It’s not about what you can get away with, or how much personal pleasure you can experience.  It’s about wanting what God wants for you, and finding a pleasure which you could never have imagined when you were living for yourself.

I know that you haven’t seen this in action, at least not that you could recognize.  I’m praying that God will begin to help you make sense of His plans for your life, and for all life.  I’m praying for myself that I understand what God wants of me–not just as your mom, but as an apprentice working for His Kingdom right now.  I get hints of it–scattered notes carried on the wind, a glimpse of something just over the horizon, a whiff of strange perfume on the air.   I hope that I’ll understand more soon.  Meanwhile, I love you dearly.  I’ll see you soon.

In Hope–

Your mom

Troubled

…You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over…

–Psalm 23:5, Revised English Bible, c. 1976, Oxford University Press.

Anything trouble you about this translation?  It certainly brought me up short when I read it last night in The Divine Hours, pocket edition (Phyllis Tickle, editor).  After looking at all 18 available English translations on Bible Gateway (along with both French translations), I’m even more puzzled as to how “enemies” or “foes” or “adversaries” could have become “those who trouble me”.

Lots of people trouble me, often without intention or even awareness on their part.  My sons trouble me, a lot.  Some politicians trouble me, big time.  Rude sales clerks irk me.  But are they the adversaries in the presence of whom God has spread a banquet for me? I am going to assume that “those who trouble me” must imply that they intentionally want to cause me trouble.

I’m fascinated by how much that simple change of phrase has personalized this verse for me…a verse I never could relate to, since I don’t consider myself to have any enemies per se.   I’m fascinated–but troubled, because the immediate mental picture which sprang to mind was of our younger son.  I’d just had yet another long conversation with him about how he sees no evidence of God’s goodness or truth in his life, and no value in the Bible.  (To his credit, he is really wrestling with these issues, talking frankly with us and not letting go of his anger.  We find this much more encouraging than his apathy would be.)

Of course one’s own family being adversaries is not an unbiblical notion either.

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn
” ‘a man against his father,
a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—
a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.’

“Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

–Matthew 10:34-39, NIV, emphasis mine.

At this point, the aggressor in our home is hoping (at least this is his overt goal) to make us admit that our faith is unsubstantiated, bogus.  He troubles us with hostile, inflammatory language.  Sometimes I refuse to engage. Once I answered his question in writing, and may choose to do so again.   My hope is that somewhere in the midst of this battle–much of which is being waged with his own spirit–the Holy Spirit will be able to pierce the shell of willful unbelief with truth.  The bonds of self-deception are thick and tangled, and I know there is only One who can set him free.

This said, I return to the psalm and I wonder:  What is the purpose of spreading a table in front of one’s foes?  Is it a picture of being vindicated publicly?  Divinely favored, in the face of those who have questioned, “Where is your God?”  Did any of King David’s enemies turn to the Lord when they saw that God was with him? I’m betting they did. All of which brings me back to that verse I mentioned in a post last week:

But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect…

–I Peter 3:15

As I bear witness to the ways that God encourages me–and I’d better be paying attention to those daily ways!–with gentleness and respect, might not the one who now troubles me begin to develop a hunger for the feast that I enjoy?  Indeed, I think he’s already getting hunger pangs.  He just can’t admit it yet.

Answered Prayer…I think

I woke up yesterday morning from an interesting dream. I lay still, following the thread and pondering what seemed like significant thoughts.  Since then, through journalling first and then trying to articulate the dream to a friend, I’ve come to the conclusion that the dream itself wasn’t terribly important, but the thought process it triggered was very important.

The phrase that came about because of the dream was, “A voice for the voiceless.”  The more I think about this phrase, the more excited I get.  It sounds like a mission statement to me, and it fits with my passion for communication.  I’ve always taken my passion statement (“Communicating the message with clarity and excellence”) as a mission of sorts…but I tend to assume that I will either be communicating my own message, or helping another communicator to polish theirs.

Now I have to consider what should have been obvious:  what about those who have a necessary message, but are not able to communicate?  What of those who physically have no voice because of illness, injury or handicap?  What of those hampered by language barriers?  Those whose lack of education puts them at a disadvantage?  Those who, for whatever reason, are marginalized by society and not “heard”?   Who will be their voice, in court, in school, in medical or legal or financial matters?

I don’t think I have any kind of mandate yet, but I seem to see a clue…in the old sense of the word, ‘clew’–a thread used to retrace one’s steps through a maze.  I’ve been asking God to let me know what more I should be doing.  I think He’s giving me a clue, and so I’ll grab the line and follow.  I wonder what’s around the next corner?

Another “new” idea that proves to be old…

I commented to a book-loving friend that I felt as if I’d read the same book over and over again throughout 2008.  The theme of why the Christian Church (in general, but the American church in particular) has such limited impact on society, and the importance of getting back to obedient discipleship (or apprenticeship) and spreading the message of the Kingdom, are treated over and over, a modern theme and variations.  Rob Bell, Shane Claiborne, Brian McLaren and Dallas Willard–among others–are all preaching this message in compelling ways to Christians, seekers and many who are disenchanted with organized religion.

I decided to begin a new year by trying (again) to read a classic text which has been gathering dust on my shelf while I read all these newcomers:  The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  After just a few pages I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  Sixty years ago, in the midst of a world war, in a different country, in a different language, and there’s the theme yet again.   Is it the most important message anyone can deliver, or am I personally being hounded by heaven?  And if the latter, what am I to do about it?

Bonhoeffer makes an intriguing case for the paradox that both the following statements are equally true at the same time:

Only he who believes is obedient.

Only he who is obedient believes.

In other words, obedience is impossible for an unbeliever…and it is nonnegotiable for a believer.  Bonhoeffer seems to see obedience rather than faith as the “first” step.  Jesus calls, we obey the call which leads to belief which compels us to further obedience and deeper faith.

And so this got me to thinking:  I know two young men who once professed belief.  Now they deny any spiritual convictions whatsoever.  They want to do their own thing.  I certainly don’t expect them to “obey” like believers when they don’t believe.  But I wonder:  is it a measure of integrity that they have jettisoned belief because they see the necessary connection between faith and action?  Or are they simply trading one sin (disobedience) for another (dishonesty)–talking themselves out of legitimate faith in order to avoid the guilt of disobedience?  Or does it even matter?  If they are not obedient, then in Bonhoeffer’s view, they are not believers, period.

And what will make them want to believe? Surely it will be a call from Christ, though who knows how or when it will come.  Meanwhile, do they see any Christians being obedient to their faith?  That seems to be the recurring question: what has God ever done for you? How is your life different/better because you believe?

And I am chagrined to find that I stumble over the answer to that.  One of my resolutions this week is to take seriously Peter’s charge:  Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. (I Peter 3:15) I’m pretty sure that’s a charge to which I need to be obedient.

It keeps coming up…

Have you ever noticed that when you learn something new, suddenly you hear about it everywhere?  Or you get a different car, and now it seems that every other car on the road is the same make?  It’s not as if the word ‘acedia’ is coming up in conversations all over the place, but the concept certainly is.

In Sunday School our teacher was talking about “settling” for less in life, and why we don’t pursue spiritual things more aggressively.  Some people mentioned fear of failure or fear of rejection. Others said they don’t have time.  Some admitted that we do other things instead, because we’re seeking to fulfill an immediate need.  I suggested that actually we’re not fulfilling any real need, but trying to numb ourselves against our own dissatisfaction.

We live in a world of media, and I wonder how much of our time connected to a computer, an IPod, a DVD screen or a video game is meant to distract us from a whole list of “shoulds” or “what ifs” or “if onlys”?   Acedia is the demon of “I’ll think about that later”…”I’m too tired now”…”it doesn’t really matter anyway”…  A generation of procrastinating students don’t do any homework at all because “when am I ever going to use this information in the real world?”  They plug into ear-damaging music, send each other messages filled with wild fantasy, play endless rounds of Guitar Hero and Grand Theft Auto.  And of course this is so much more useful in the “real world”…

I’m not trying to sound like a last-generation fogey.  My generation turns on the TV, picks up the phone, eats another cookie, reads a magazine or a novel, checks e-mail again.  We’re all professional-level procrastinators, and I think it’s the spirit of the age.  Acedia isn’t just a personal demon any more.  It’s a prime tool of the prince of the power of the air(waves) which makes us feel mildly productive when we’re only getting better at avoiding what’s important.  Our instant access to world news increases our helpless despair…what can I do about war in Israel, or another shooting in a shopping mall, or the plummeting stock market?

What we don’t ask is, “What is my next-door neighbor’s greatest need?”  Heck, often we don’t even know her name.  What we don’t ask is, “What could I do for two hours this week to better my community?”  I’m preaching to myself here, folks, so if this doesn’t apply to you I’m envious.  It definitely applies to me.   And I really hope that these thoughts and ideas and images don’t go away any time soon. I hope they keep coming up.  Maybe then I’ll do something about them.

For one idea of a social issue to pursue, you could read Jon’s post for today, where he talks about his friend, Dian.

Acedia as the sin against myself–“How is it that we choose to sin and wither?”

The quote above is Dante again, to which Kathleen Norris responds: “The question presumes the freedom to choose; if I am truthful with myself, I recognize that in midlife, there are many days in which I indeed choose to sin and wither. Even if I can think of ways in which I might rouse myself from lethargy, I resist acting on them.” (Acedia & Me, page 201)

The picture of sinning as withering makes it clear that the choice of passivity, non-caring, is a self-destructive one. Isn’t it ironic that we sometimes get to this place of lead-limbed inaction through a misguided sense of ‘taking care of myself for a change’?

Perhaps I become weary with doing good—and as Ruth pointed out in a comment recently, it may be that I was doing too much, or taking on burdens not rightly mine. In any event, I am not seeking God’s face and asking for my proper work (Ephesians 2:10). It may begin to feel as if God is requiring too much of me. So I deaden myself to agape and replace it with a languid narcissism, acedia. I reject discipline as being tedious or repetitive. I embrace the new, the sensational.

But though I may think I’m seeking an exciting life, I’m really only looking for new ways to be passively entertained. My senses become dulled to what is productive, life-affirming and God-honoring. In any “activity” I should ask: who am I serving with this? If the answer is too often “me” then acedia rules our hearts.

Now listen: we’re not talking about the healthy care for one’s physical, mental and emotional health. And an occasional self-indulgence as a “treat” is a vastly different thing from wallowing in amusement—a word which literally means to not think. But like the naughty boys in Pinocchio who are enslaved because of a surfeit of sweets, sin “so easily entangles” us…once we awaken to truth, it can seem like a hole too deep to climb out of.

I wonder if perhaps acedia is sometimes a defense mechanism we use when we think we’re too far gone. We choose to deceive ourselves into thinking that “it doesn’t matter” what we do or don’t do. The demon’s lies seem plausible at times when we feel that either God doesn’t care what we do, or we can never live a life that pleases Him enough, so why try? As Norris says, “When we are convinced that we are beyond the reach of grace, acedia has done its work.”

More thoughts on Anger and Acedia

I think my previous post may have been unclear.  I was following my own train of thought about anger and acedia, based on just a few sentences in Norris’ book.  She takes a passage from Dante’s inferno, describing the fourth circle of hell, where “the angry are denied the mercy of forgetting” and stand naked in the mire striking at one another. Nearby, sunk in the bog and barely visible are the slothful who ignored beauty while they were alive.  “Inside us, we bore acedia’s dismal smoke…”

The juxtaposition of anger and acedia strikes Norris as meaningful, and so she explores it. “When unexpressed anger builds up inside, people perform even legitimate duties carelessly and resentfully, often focusing on others as the source of their troubles.”  Notice that Norris doesn’t specify that the anger is caused by someone else, or that one’s resentment is expressed necessarily against the person with whom you are angry.  I imagine this could as easily be a case of “kicking the dog”–taking out one’s frustration on an innocent third party.  The passage isn’t definitively about one or the other…her point is only that acedia is sometimes linked to anger.

It seems to me that the morose mood of acedia is more likely to be the cause of unjust anger than vice versa.  Perhaps it is a vicious cycle, where the numbness of uncaring provokes an irrational anger which results in more careless action or inaction…And this passage in her book is by no means implying that ALL anger is caring too much about the wrong things.  I think I may have made Dante seem to say that, and I apologize for the confusion.

On the other hand, “be angry and don’t sin” is a useful commandment here…even righteous anger can lead to careless words and acts, or a stewing silence in which the offense grows like cancer until it’s unrecognizable. When I choose to let the sun set on my unresolved anger, am I not choosing to embrace acedia?

Anger and Acedia

“Dante ties anger, which entails caring too much about the wrong things, to acedia, which is caring too little about the right ones.” Acedia and Me, page 202

This sentence from Kathleen Norris’ book made me pause and reflect: Does anger really mean that I care overmuch for unimportant things? Is my interrupted quiet time more important than my son’s need to talk? Is that broken cup worth spewing out words that I can’t take back? The questions may be rhetorical, but they can still sting.

Norris suggests that when we are angry–especially when the anger isn’t verbalized–it comes out in action: a duty is done with resentment, carelessly. And so acedia, non-care, rears its head.

When I sweep away my concern for the right things, the best things, and cease to focus my heart, mind and actions on them, that vacuum is easily filled with more trivial desires. My thwarted will, in the midst of an otherwise empty room, seems hugely important. Any real or imagined slight by my family festers there; perhaps the laundry piles up or a requested item on the grocery list is ‘forgotten’…

Jonah couldn’t bring himself to care about the Ninevites, even after he had preached repentance to them. His resentment of God’s mercy emerged when he became unreasonably angry over the withered gourd whose shade he had enjoyed. His energies were turned inward to his own gratification, and he resented what spoiled his comfort.

What Jonah needed to realize was that God was NOT asking him to minister out of his own superior strength and holiness. Norris points out in an earlier chapter that “we engender compassion not through our strengths but through our common weaknesses.” Jonah was supposed to offer the same mercy that he and all Israel had received.

Prayer (no surprise) is the antidote here. My devotional last week gave me a good quotation to round out this relating of anger and acedia:

“I can no longer condemn or hate a brother for whom I pray, no matter how much trouble he causes me…There is no dislike, no personal tension, no estrangement that cannot be overcome by intercession as far as our side of it is concerned…To make intercession means to grant our brother the same right that we have received, namely, to stand before Christ and share in His mercy”  (from Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer).

Word for the Week: “Acedia”

I would love to know whether anyone who reads this has heard of this word before…especially if you have not read the book by Kathleen Norris which includes acedia in the title.  Having read all her previous prose works, I happened upon Acedia & Me:  A marriage, monks and a writer’s life on the new book shelf of our branch library and took it home on the strength of the author’s name.  I didn’t really ask myself what the title was (or how to pronounce it) until a week or two later when I picked it up to begin reading.

Norris’ books are all at least partially memoir, and this one is no different, focusing on her marriage to poet David Dwyer, who died in 2003. The author has been for many years an oblate of the Benedictine order, although she claims Presbyterian as her official denomination. The seeming contradiction in that will require the curious to read The Cloister Walk, an earlier book, because it would be too cumbersome to explain here.

Her reading of the early Church fathers led, many years ago now, to a desert monk named Evagrius (4th C.), whose writings introduced her to the concept of acedia…a slippery word which she spends the entire book defining.   Here’s a first stab at it from page 3:

At its Greek root, the word acedia means the absence of care.  The person afflicted refuses to care or is incapable of doing so.  When life becomes too challenging and engagement with others too demanding, acedia offers a kind of spiritual morphine:  you know the pain is there, yet can’t rouse yourself to give a damn.

Norris is very careful to distinguish the spiritual problem of acedia from the physiological and/or psychological one of depression.  A paraphrase of Thomas Aquinas from page 24 says:

For despair, participation in the divine nature through grace is perceived as appealing, but impossible; for acedia, the prospect is possible, but unappealing.

In case you’re still with me, and still curious, acedia is pronounced uh-SEE-dee-uh, and it is variously defined by sloth, apathy and indifference, especially to spiritual things.  Before there were seven deadly sins, the early writers identified “eight bad thoughts”–the motivating cause behind the sinful effect, I suppose.  What does this have to do with us, you ask?  Well…

The torpor of acedia can be felt every time you sit down to read your Bible but remember something else that you “need” to do first…

Every time you question whether there’s any point in praying for so-and-so any longer…

Every time you wonder if God is really interested in having a relationship with you and instead of asking Him you turn on the TV or pick up a magazine (because perhaps the answer would be painful or require action).

And if you can’t relate to any of those scenarios, brother or sister in Christ, then you have much indeed for which to be thankful.