sunday morning

freedom and commitment

"The wind blows where it will" is a pretty good description of the way Jesus lived, but if we try to follow his example we'll soon be confronted with a serious question. The question of commitment. If we try to live a life characterized by the freedom of the Spirit, unbounded and unattached to things or organizations, people begin wondering (often out loud) if we are "free spirits," if we are unable to settle down, or afraid to commit. I remember an experience on the road several years ago:

When I was almost to town, a van pulled up, an older couple who had passed me more than once over the last few days. We talked a little, then it came out that they were Mormons. They went into full proselytizing mode, so I couldn't say much except a general objection against institutional religion and denominationalism. Then [because I wouldn't limit myself to one denomination] he says, "Well, when you decide to get serious..."

I burst out laughing. More serious?!

At the time, I couldn't imagine being more committed and serious about the spiritual life than I was then. But people have different perceptions of commitment. And these become even more important when the possibility of marriage arises, or involvement with groups that expect long-term commitments. These are the situations I'm facing right now.

I can't help but think, though, that there is no actual conflict between commitment and Jesus' freedom of spirit—at least commitment in the best sense. Real love involves the strongest commitment to another person, a commitment that never ends, that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." And Jesus lived a real love for everyone he encountered. Yet at the same time his life was as unpredictable and un-nail-down-able as the wind.

(And they certainly tried to nail him down.)

I can see that some commitments do necessarily limit our freedom to move with the Spirit, and there are biblical warnings about commitments that can restrict our ability to follow Jesus completely. But these commitments can't be the commitment of love. Because following Jesus with complete abandon is what love really means, and this is the deepest commitment—and fullest freedom—we can ever know.

john 3.8

"The wind blows where it will, and you hear the sound of it,
but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes;
so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit."

Great imagery. And the Greek word used here, pneuma, has multiple meanings, including both wind and spirit...

"a spy, or whatever you prefer to call it"

I recently watched The Bourne Identity and really liked it. I remember starting to read the book and not being very impressed, but the movie was much better. The relationship between the lead characters, a man and woman thrown together trying to survive and escape their pursuers, was especially appealing.

I've always found spy stories strangely attractive. A few years ago, during one of my long walks, I wrote this in my journal:

Reading another John LeCarre novel (The Honorable Schoolboy)—I really like his books: intelligent, realistic spy stories. This passage caught my eye:

Some people are agents from birth, he told them, appointed to the work by the period of history, the place, and their own natural dispositions. In their cases, it was simply a question of who got to them first: “Whether it’s us, whether it’s the opposition, or whether it’s the bloody missionaries.”

Kierkegaard also compared the Christian life to being a spy or God’s agent in the world [in Training in Christianity]:

[The God-relationship] must be for every individual man the absolute, and it is precisely this God-relationship of the individual which must put every established order in suspense, so that God, at any instant He will, by pressure upon the individual has immediately in his God-relationship a witness, a reporter, a spy, or whatever you prefer to call it, one who in unconditional obedience, or by unconditional obedience, by persecution, suffering, and death, puts the established order in suspense.

I think that imagery is accurate. Much more so than the “Upstanding Christian Citizen.”

I’m also feeling again the appeal of being on the road. Things are rapidly put back into perspective. The “God’s agent” feeling is more pronounced. And I’m seeing more and more how this plays into other relationships and service to people (when I’m not walking).

Often people ask if I will “settle down.” I’m having a hard time seeing much value in that. Settle down? Jesus didn’t. Neither did Paul. Maybe part of what I like about the spy stories are people who have higher priorities in life than the security of a home and a fixed income.

Now I ask myself if I've changed, if I'm trying to settle down after all. I think I have been trying to at times during this past year, but have been prevented from doing so.

Maybe that's a mercy. Maybe God won't let me settle down too much, and maybe I should remember that that's a part of following Jesus. And embrace it.

unusual commitments

Erin was here this past weekend and mentioned the unusual membership "commitments" at Plow Creek church (at the farm I've been visiting and hope to move to). They aren't very unusual commitments for Christians—I'd say I'm already committed to these things—but I don't think I've ever seen church membership vows that look like these. And I've been to a lot of churches.

Here are the membership commitments at Plow Creek church (from their website):

1. Do you commit your life to Jesus as Lord?
2. Do you commit yourself to speaking the truth in love following Matthew 18:15-17 to address sin and reconcile interpersonal conflicts?
3. Do you commit yourself to fidelity in marriage and chastity outside of marriage?
4. Do you commit yourself to forsake war and violence and love enemies?
5. Do you commit yourself to turn from wealth and seek justice for the poor?
6. Do you commit yourself to using diverse gifts, abilities and tithes to build up the body of Christ at Plow Creek and beyond?
7. Do you commit yourself to spreading the good news of Jesus Christ?
8. Do you commit yourself to entering with trust and openness into church decision-making?
9. Do you commit yourself to seek counsel and advice in decision-making?

I've written about church membership before; I usually don't like how it's done. But I'm impressed by they way they do it at Plow Creek, because it really seems to be more about being a Christian than about institutional membership, and it even emphasizes some of the most challenging aspects of being a Christian. The only thing I personally might want to have said differently (if I'm going to answer these in church) is "Are you committed to..." To emphasize that I am already a church member, a part of the body of Christ, and that this is just a public declaration and acknowledgment of that among brothers and sisters in this particular place.

An encouraging discovery...

for his people?

In church this morning it was emphasized that the promises of God are given to his people, not to individuals. It might seem like a strange thing to emphasize, but I've heard this before, usually promoting community involvement as the way to experience the kingdom of God. It's also offered as an explanation of why there are so many individual cases when it doesn't seem like God is fulfilling his promises. The idea is that God gives enough to his people, but when some of his people take too much or ignore their brother's needs, then resources aren't spread fairly and needs go unmet and it seems like God failed. So God is always faithful—to his people as a whole—but if his people do not love each other well, then some promises of God will remain unfulfilled for some individuals.

Thank God this isn't true.

If it was, God's promises wouldn't be worth much. Then God's promises would only be as reliable as we are—which isn't very reliable. I'd hate to think my experience of the kingdom of God (here and now, as Jesus offered) was dependent on the good will of others, even my fellow Christians. I wouldn't risk much based on that. And I wouldn't want God's promises being dependent on me, either.

Just think, if God's promises to Jesus had been dependent on the people of God, then he would have ended exactly where the people of God left him. Dead. In a tomb.

I should say here that I do think that many of God's promises are fulfilled through the good will of his people. I've experienced this myself again and again. And I'm very grateful for it. But if this was all, I would have been left out in the cold (literally) more times than I'd like to think about. God often works through his people—and God also often works despite his people. Taking our ill will (or indifferent will, or fearful will) and working his good will anyway, fulfilling his promises anyway.

When Jesus offered the promises of God, he never added the caveat "for his people as a whole (individual results may vary)."

Thank God.

Saw this in the paper this morning...

far from certain

One good thing about spending this fall in the Chicago area is that I've been able to connect with a couple Jesuits at Loyola University who are doing retreat work with the homeless. It used to be a side project of Bill Creed, but now has expanded into the Ignatian Spirituality Project. Last month I was able to have lunch with one of the Jesuits working with Fr. Creed. And I'm hoping to be involved with a few of their activities in the next few months. I think they'll be a great resource for the future, especially if we get to do retreat work with the poor at the farm, inviting people from the Chicago area.

For many reasons I'd really like to get a chance to live and work at Plow Creek farm. But I know it's far from certain. I've even had intuitions recently that maybe we won't get to start there right away when Heather gets back from Africa. We're invited to go and talk with the folks there in early February, but a lot will ride on their response and it's a big unknown. And there's no plan B—not even a place to live.

That gives me twinges of fear when I think of it. But then I think of the usual alternative. The safe suburban life.

And it's only when our lives are really in jeapordy that we can experience what dependence on God means. The sublime dependence on God.

the unnamed feeling

I'm frantic in your soothing arms
I cannot sleep in this down-filled world
I've found safety in this loneliness
But I cannot stand it anymore

Yesterday on my drive to the farm, I noticed these lines in Metallica's "The Unnamed Feeling." They reminded me of my comments about the "suburban" quest for comfort and security, a quest that leads to isolation and a life so insulated against threat and challenge that it becomes meaningless.

In my last entry I wrote: "The worst part is that most people have a pretty good intuition that such a life is all vanity." Which leads back to the lyrics I just quoted. Because sensing, even vaguely, that our life has become empty and meaningless inevitably results in a feeling of deep anxiety (as it should, since such a life is spiritually perilous). We may try to escape this feeling through activity or entertainment or medication, but this just intensifies the frivolity of our lives, and the unnamed feeling remains underneath. Waiting for us.

I've seen the evidence of this in people, especially as they near the end of life, when they have a harder time distracting themselves. The blessing of old age, I think. It takes everything else away so we're forced to face ourselves.

The only solution I see is to offer our lives to God, who can make our lives meaningful. But this means abandoning the quest for comfort and security, a radical change in the way we live. Look at Jesus' life. Not exactly the suburban ideal...

the burbs

A recent visit reminded me of this passage from my journal over five years ago. And my thoughts on this subject have only been confirmed in the time since then (though I might not use terms like "jackals" now...)

I mentioned some 'costs' of holding onto domestic pleasures [mortgage, insurance, taxes, homeowners association], but the more I surveyed the suburban scene, the more I realized that I had only scratched the surface. The biggest costs are not economic or political. The sirens of suburbia—Comfort and Security—present a greater danger to us psychologically and spiritually. Not that these only appear in suburbia; they just have established themselves so strongly here. There's the capitalistic individualism, which is so utterly isolating (even small acts of kindness have to be "paid back"). Almost nothing is shared, so everyone has to crowd their whole world into their tiny, fenced yards (backyards touch each other, but are also not shared). And all perceived threats have been eliminated, "for the sake of the children." Unfortunately, that leaves the parents with no more challenging decisions than which fertilizer to use on the lawn, and who will drive the kids to their extracurricular activities. The worst part is that most people have a pretty good intuition that such a life is all vanity. Real life is something much more. But people press on, bored and lonely, "for the sake of the kids," until the kids get so sick of the oppressive, empty "safety" that they rebel and destroy the tranquillity. That pain is usually a blessing. A slap in the face to wake people from their suburban slumber. God finds some way to send us a wake-up call.

The suburban worship of Comfort and Security doesn't just sap the life from suburbanites, however. It drains the rest of society as well. There's the huge flow of resources required to keep all these bored, lonely people sedated with "interesting" food and "interesting" diversions (this occurs at the international level too; our whole country could be labeled "The United Suburbs of America"). And then there's the social pressure of so many people "playing the game." Each additional 'player' makes it that much harder for individuals (especially children) to live differently. To live with meaning. To live. But, again, God always gives people a chance to wake up, to open their eyes to life. It's usually quite painful, but so worth it.

...the reading this morning seemed appropriate:

"Fear not, little flock, for it is the Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms; provide yourselves with purses that do not grow old; with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Lk 12.32-34)

...I remember talking to [my friends] about whether you could live in suburbia without being "suburban." (The question could just as well have been about being part of the military without being militarized, or part of the institution without being institutionalized—or being wealthy without being "the rich," in the biblical sense.) I said I thought you could. I should have added, "But not for long."

And I don't just mean those environments are dangerous. They are, temptations abound, but temptations may be resisted. I mean that if we gain wealth and power, even if we avoid the internal temptations, we will not be able to avoid the jackals. We might be able to enjoy the pleasures of suburbia (or the institution, etc.) for awhile, but if we want to keep those pleasures, we'll have to fight off the jackals. Fight them off or pay them off. Either way, we've become part of "the game"; we're one of them now, we're suburban, militarized, institutionalized, the rich, whatever you want to call it. We've agreed to pay the cost. And that full cost—financial, psychological, spiritual—will be slowly bled from us, as long as we hold on to the pleasures. If we stop paying, on the other hand, the pleasure will be snatched from us and given to someone who will pay. The jackals keep a sharp eye out.

That's why it's good for me to go. I have to remind myself. Because as soon as I hit the road, my body starts urgently asking, "What's wrong with a roof, again? Or a bed, shower, refrigerator..." The answer is: "Nothing, except..." There's nothing wrong with enjoying all those things. But to hold onto those things, to keep those things, to keep anything that other people value means fighting them off or paying them off. And they demand much more than money. The pay-off is obedience (What is a job but obedience for money?). Even fighting is obedience, because fighting is a "way of the world" that identifies its obedient sons. Jesus' followers, on the other hand, turn the other cheek and give to those who would steal from them and obey God alone. They enjoy all that God sets before them, then let it go. They hold onto nothing, so nothing holds onto them. They owe no one anything. Except love.