Though I appreciate that the Psalms are, in essence, prayers to God, my prayers have never looked anything like the Psalms. In saying this, I am even disregarding the archaic language of the King James Version and the generally poetic structure. What I am referring to are the sentiments expressed, and the connection to God that is to be seen plainly in the Psalms.

Reflecting on his life, the Psalmist confesses in Psalm 116:

Return, O my soul, to your rest, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you. For you have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling.  I walk before the Lord in the land of the living. I kept my faith, even when I said, “I am greatly afflicted”.

This prayer incorporates insightful reflection on recent events in the pray-er’s life: near death, tears, stumbling, great affliction, temptation to lose faith. Because we live in a rationalistic, naturalistic culture, we have a strong tendency to read these verses thusly: that something happened wherein the Psalmist was almost killed; that he was crying, either due to pain or deep sadness; that his plans were thwarted (he stumbled) and he “fell” or failed at his endeavors; that people or events were afflicting him physically or, perhaps, emotionally.

The prayers of the modern-day Christian are consistent with this reading of the Psalm. When bad things happen to us, God will rescue us (the Lord has dealt bountifully with you). The “bounty” that we generally have in mind is the bounty of our own kingdom. This is the health-and-wealth gospel, that has no basis in reality or truth.

While a naturalistic reading of Psalm 116 may be valid, notwithstanding the egregious application by modern pray-ers, a different reading of this Psalm is more profitable. The Psalmist is describing a period of desolation, of the distance from God that all of us feel from time to time. Tears from discouragement, depression, and lack of hope; stumbling, signifying a relinquishing of our spiritual habits because they no longer have any meaning; a sense that we are dying on the inside; a struggle just to maintain our faith. These are feelings and responses to life that all of us experience now and again, some of us more frequently than others. Such feelings may last seconds, or minutes, or days, or even many months.

Significantly, the Psalmist engages an important spiritual practice: he tells himself to “return, O my soul, to your rest.” Amidst the tears and discouragement and meaninglessness, he tells, even demands, himself to return. Return to the One in whom you can rest interiorly, who can resolve the hopelessness and lack of faith. We also see a second spiritual practice: actively recall that “the Lord has dealt bountifully with you” previously, wherein he lifted you out of desolation, and so be assured that He will deal similarly with you again. So, return to Him.

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The spiritual disciplines about which the Psalmist writes in this passage have been practiced by Christians and Jews for millenia. If I am any example of the average Christian, I would have to say that such practices have been lost in our time. While writing about these practices is easy, my own experience demonstrates that doing them is extraordinarily difficult. To be clear about it, my skill level is rudimentary, at best.  I could no more mimic the Psalmist in his practice of prayer than I could compete in a sport at the Olympic level. I can dream about it, but dreaming and doing are far different things.

Were I to endeavor to become a bona fide Olympic athlete, I would hope, first of all, that you would talk me out of it. Even in my tomfoolery, I would recognize the need for a trainer, someone to guide my development as an athlete, who could provide advice based on experience, who would push me hard when I felt like giving up after the first day. The trainer would have me doing exercises that seemingly had nothing to do with my chosen event, but that he knew would make all the difference. The trainer would not do one ounce of work for me. He would scream, he would cajole, he would shame, he would encourage, he would advise, he would inspire, but he would not work. That would be up to me, entirely.

A trainer; a coach; a mentor. In the spiritual realm, that is what Ignatius has become to me.

“For as strolling, walking and running are bodily exercises, so every way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all the disordered tendencies, and, after it is rid, to seek and find the Divine Will as to the management of one’s life for the salvation of the soul, is called a Spiritual Exercise.”

Every way, he wrote. Whatever it takes. Consider what is at stake: my soul and the entire reason for my existence. What lies before me is far more than an Olympic sport and the reward is far greater than a gold medal. The reward is God, Himself.

• Lift up thine heart unto God with a meek stirring of love; and mean Himself, and none of His goods. And thereto, look the loath to think on aught but Himself. So that nought work in thy wit, nor in thy will, but only Himself.¹

• Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul. And the other things on the face of the earth are created for man and that they may help him in prosecuting the end for which he is created.²

• For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?³

• Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it. Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one.⁴

• I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.⁵

¹ Anonymous, The Cloud of Unknowing, 14^th century. (emphasis mine)

² St. Ignatius of Loyola, The Spiritual Exercises, 16^th century.

³ Matthew 16:26

⁴ I Corinthians 9:24, 25

⁵ Philippians 3:14

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Lectio divina. Eugene Peterson introduced me to this phrase in Eat This Book.² “Lectio divina is a way of reading the Scriptures that is congruent with the way the Scriptures serve the Christian community as a witness to God’s revelation of himself to us.” So begins chapter 6 of his book. I read it, but didn’t get it. I read the whole chapter and still didn’t get it. Lectio divina is a form of prayer, of praying the Scriptures. It is not Bible Study. That is a worthy task, but for another place and another time. Lectio divina. I knew the phrase, but that was about it. Starting the Exercises, I found myself at the very bottom of a learning curve that would prove to be many months long.

You may be wondering: What is your problem? Why do you find all this so difficult? I can answer that. I have spent nearly 40 years as a Christian couch potato, living my “Christian” life vicariously through preachers and pastors, teachers and authors. “I read a really good book last week,” I’d say. “That was a great sermon,” I’d say. Peterson quotes Ludwig Wittgenstein, “You can’t hear God speak to someone else, you can hear him only if you are being addressed.” My ears have undergone serious atrophy as a result of not having heard anything for 40 years. I have never, ever said, “God fed my soul last night.” Yes, I faced a long learning curve; but unless we begin, we will never arrive.

I obtained some useful advice from John and Krisztina Stangle: “One way that helps some people [practice lectio divina]: I notice the people themselves keenly, lovingly. Then I listen to what they say. Then I watch how they are acting.”

Ok. Let’s have a shot at this. Here are my notes from day one: an hour’s worth of prayer. The Journal entry is my record of what happened. (I won’t be offended if you skip the Journal entry.) What is important about that record is described and interpreted under Observations, below.

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Journal entry; Preparation, week 1, day 1

John 4:1-14

The story refers to a specific place, grounding this story in history and reality. Jesus knew Jacob, the one who originally dug this well and the one to whom the woman refers.

Jesus was wearied. How human!

It would appear that Jesus came to the well before the woman did. Why was he sitting at the well? He clearly had no intention of drawing water from the well, since he had nothing to work with. Then, the Samaritan woman showed up.

Would the woman have felt ganged up on had all the disciples hung around the well? It was, therefore, fortuitous that the disciples went to town to buy food. Why, actually did not Jesus go with them? He had journey the rest of the way with them. Why did he not continue into town?

From a human perspective, this would seem to have been a chance encounter. Jesus did not see the woman and then say to himself, “Ah. I must stop and talk to her.” The well was unoccupied when he sat down. In fact, she came to him!

Jesus speaking to a Samaritan woman would be like me speaking to a gay person. Who are the other outcasts (lepers; Samaritans) in my society? in my work-a-day world?

Jesus put himself at the mercy of this woman. He asked her for a drink. She could have denied him, since he was a Jew. In the end, perhaps she did; we do not know.

If Jesus is the living water, then why did he ask for a drink of water. Because, although “It takes more than bread to live…”, it does take bread (and water) to live. Jesus was not a superman, and neither am I.

Jesus did not answer the woman’s question. Why?

If the woman had responded to Jesus’ request, she would have given him a cup of water. If the woman had asked Jesus for living water, what, exactly, would he have given her?

It is possible that, given the bad relations between Jews and Samaritans, had Jesus asked for a cup of water, the woman might have refused. But, God is so generous that, had the woman asked, Jesus would have given her living water, even though she was a “despised, underserving Samaritan woman.”

Why did Jesus speak so cryptically to this woman? Surely, she did not understand what he had to offer her! Did he mess up this prime opportunity for evangelism? Or does he not see things this way?

Wouldn’t it be nice to know people well enough to be able to speak directly to their deepest needs?

The water that Jesus offers is apparently self-regenerating, since it springs up from within.

Why do I not have a sense for this “artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life”? It would seem that if someone had this within, it would be pretty noticeable.

Jesus was offering life not faith.

What is this water that Jesus is offering? Is it faith? Is it eternal life? Is it the opportunity to go to heaven? Or is it God, Himself?

Jesus was at the well already when the woman showed up. She was just going about her normal everyday business. There was nothing special about her job of pulling water out of this well. But Jesus was waiting for her. He was part of her day. God was waiting at the well. Just like God was waiting in the bush for Moses. Every day God is waiting for me. I just have to notice the burning bush or the man sitting at the well as I go about my normal “non-spiritual” activities that I am sure God cares nothing about. Perhaps I need better eyes or maybe I simply need to take time to notice.

People find “solace” or comfort or meaning in all sorts of things: work, sex, hobbies, entertainment, drugs, alcohol, sports. What are people really looking for? Jesus said that if we partake of the living water that we would never thirst again. What do we thirst for? What do I thirst for?

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Observations (in retrospect)

1. The record above is not analytical (e.g., verse analysis Bible study); it is observational and interpretive: How do I understand the scene in John 4? What happened? How do I feel about what happened? Frankly, I do not record any amazing insights into the passage, but that is not the point, at all. I am keenly aware of the difference between Bible study and prayer as I pray through this passage. What I am not skilled at recording is my affective (emotional) response to the story in John 4. Nevertheless, be assured that items 4-8, below, are more than simple statements of fact. I feel them very deeply during this prayer tonight.

2. Lectio divina is not about the Scriptures, exactly. It is about understanding God and ourselves in the context of God. By “understanding,” I do not mean finding out more about God, but of knowing Him personally: What is He like? What can I expect of Him? What can He expect of me? There is far more to this than listing the attributes of God or His promises. It is about who He is. And who I am. I anticipate these questions as I go into my prayer time tonight. I have no idea if it will “work” or not.

3. Some observations about Jesus (e.g., “Jesus was wearied. How human!”) will become, over time, very important to me. For example, that Jesus and I are both entirely human suggests the potential for a relationship with him. The possibility of friendship with Christ will be fleshed out in the First Week, but I note that the groundwork is already being laid, even in this day-one prayer.

4. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know people well enough to be able to speak directly to their deepest needs?” This is an expression of weakness or deficiency on my part. It is crucial to recognize that this is not simply a “wish,” but a prayer to God. I must admit, though, that at this time I do not believe that God can fix this. The phrasing of this quote suggests (to me) that it is not a sincere request of God, anyway. There is also an implicit recognition (by me) that I am “in process,” meaning that He might fix this someday, but not today, which makes it easy to let this one go. Besides, I have a distinct sense that there are bigger, more important fish to fry.

5. “Who are the other outcasts (lepers) in my society? in my work-a-day world?” I do not answer this question. It is an important one, but I am not ready for this, either.

6. “my normal ‘non-spiritual’ activities that I am sure God cares nothing about…” On day one, I am sure that God cares nothing about my everyday life. As you might glean from my more recent blog postings, this view of my life is going to change dramatically.

7. “What is this water that Jesus is offering?” Although it is not explicit, I am expressing sincere doubt about the platitudes that are offered up routinely about exactly what Jesus was offering the woman and, by extension, me. Since the offer is being made to me, I want to know what he is offering. I do not have the answer, but I have a sense that asking the question is step one. I will not discover for many months why God did not address this seemingly crucial question during my prayer tonight.

8. “Why do I not have a sense for this “artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life”?”  A confession of emptiness and lack of spiritual reality. It is more than a confession, though. It is a prayer, because I am praying to God (lectio divina is a form of prayer) at this time. In my own way, I am asking God for help. He and I both know that this is the reason that I have engaged the Exercises. I am disappointed about my current sad spiritual state, but hopeful, at the same time, because I am identifying a serious and central deficiency. I know that I am in the right place: the presence of God. I interpret my intense affective reaction to this question as an indication that God knows that this question is far more important at this time than the question in item #7. I trust His judgment. He must love me.

I am encouraged and want to come back tomorrow.

¹ Note the level of personalization being implied, here. Ignatius could not possibly know what I have faced in my life. Yet, he designed the Exercises so that my personal spiritual needs and deficits would come to the surface in the presence of God.

² Eugene Peterson. Eat This Book: A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual Reading, Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2006.

The book is targeted at spiritual directors, not at (mostly clueless) exercitants, like me. Instructions to the exercitants are scanty, evidently to be supplemented by the director. For example, the first week begins with this short statement provided to the exercitant:

When you go to pray: Remember first that you are in God’s holy presence. Then take the passage for the day and quietly read through it. Think about it for a while and if you find yourself moved to do so, address God our Lord with reverence. You can take each passage up in your prayer time, one for each day of this preparation week. Spend with each of them the period of time you have set for yourself.

Then, the exercitant is expected to pray over this passage on the first day… for an hour!

1. John 4:1-14 Whoever comes to Jesus Christ never thirsts.

This was my first “assignment.” Not a lot of detail, yes? That I have a non-trivial knowledge of the Bible and a clear sense of what I wanted out of the Exercises proved to be essential,² since otherwise I would have been entirely lost. At least, I can say that I have meditated on and studied Scripture in the past, so I bring some valuable skills to the project. I suppose that many others cannot say the same. Material designated for the spiritual director made sense to me and, because Tetlow provides an abundance of support for the director, his book helped greatly in figuring out what I was supposed to do.

And, so, I began in earnest. An hour a day. I had never prayed that long in my entire life, nor as regularly. That was the first life change.

It is important to note that the Spiritual Exercises, even as rewritten by Tetlow, are not scripted. They are not “fill in the blank” exercises. Neither Ignatius nor others who interpret him tell the exercitant what to think or what to pray. The Spiritual Exercises are thereby personalized. There is every expectation that the exercitant will learn to talk to and live with God and that God will talk to and live with the exercitant. Day after day, week after week, month after month, this is practiced. It is not theoretical. It is practical. It is life changing, although… Tetlow warns directors that some people will get stuck and cease to make progress. He advises that the spiritual director conduct periodic reassessments with the exercitant, especially early on, about continuing with the Exercises since, as we say nowadays, “your mileage may vary.” So far, I’m good to go.

Eventually, I discerned that I needed more support since I was “director-less,” and I set out to pick up additional materials.³ Those are just details, though. My intention for this blog is to write, for the most part, about what I have been doing since the beginning and what these Exercises have meant to me. For my part, I believe that reviewing the road I have traveled over the last several months will serve a useful purpose in my spiritual progress.

¹ This book is available from The Institute of Jesuit Sources for about $30.

² Joseph Tetlow advises directors to raise this question explicitly at the beginning of the First Week: “There are several things you need to know at this point. Is the person serious enough to go on with the Exercises? What purpose has this exercitant [in continuing with the Exercises]?”

³ I would have to guess that hundreds of books have been written about the Spiritual Exercises. Some authors analyze and expound on Ignatian theology and psychology. Others provide support for exercitants or spiritual directors or both. I have found four books, related to the latter, useful, but readily admit that others might be better. My best advice is NOT to read any of these books unless you are going to take up the Spiritual Exercises, otherwise you will simply bloat your brain rather than satisfy your soul.

John and Krisztina Stangle, Finding our Way Together – Spiritual Exercises for Companions, Lulu.com, 2006. This book is designed for couples, particularly but not necessarily, married couples, but I am going through it singly. It is excellent in terms of providing a lot of background material and explaining in detail some methodologies Joseph Tetlow tends to skip over or assumes the director understands. The book suffers a bit in places from not having been copy-edited better, but it is still very readable and understandable. What is most useful about this book is that the Stangles follow the Spiritual Exercises very faithfully in terms of order and spirit. I can easily figure out where I am in the original Exercises, which is useful because I want to be sure to follow Ignatius as faithfully as I can.

Margaret Silf, Inner Compass: An Invitation to Ignatian Spirituality, Loyola Press, Chicago, 1999. Ms. Silf is amazingly insightful when it comes to the workings of the inner life. She is not a religious; she is a computer programmer and, even more interesting, she is Protestant, not Catholic! She lives and works in the real world and, so, her insights and practical exercises are all the more credible (to me). Inner Compass fleshes out the deep spiritual implications of the Spiritual Exercises in a way that I have found helpful. (“Helpful,” as in: Oh, that’s what is happening to me when I pray!) The book has been an ancillary resource since, unlike Stangle’s book, Inner Compass does not pretend to follow the Spiritual Exercises, but expounds on important themes within them.

Timothy Gallagher, The Examen Prayer, Crossroad Publ. Co., New York, 2006. Like Joseph Tetlow, Mr. Gallagher has been leading Ignatian retreats for many years and his experience shows in his books, both this one and the next in this footnote. I found implementation of the Examen prayer to be difficult initially, but sensed that it was well worth whatever effort was required to figure it out. Ignatius advised people that if they continued with nothing from his Exercises, they should make sure to keep doing the Examen. I figured that this prayer was so important that I took 3 weeks off from the Exercises in November 2011, to work on understanding and practicing the Examen. Gallagher’s text was indispensable and I now practice the Examen with confidence, although I have to admit that I have much to learn.

Timothy Gallagher, The Discernment of Spirits, Crossroad Publ. Co., New York, 2005. Mr. Gallagher is a Jesuit, not a Pentecostal fundamentalist, as the title might suggest. Ignatius was intent on helping people understand what goes on inside of them, and to learn how to notice and reject the bad influences (spirits) and encourage the good ones. This is a major theme in the Spiritual Exercises and, like the Examen, I found that just reading Ignatius was not all that helpful. Mr. Gallagher solved that problem.

The Spiritual Exercises are sectioned into four phases, or what Ignatius referred to as “weeks.” A person could go through the whole set of exercises in one month, if he or she were able to devote themselves full time to the endeavor. This schedule would seem to rule out all but clergy and the financially independent, but in Annotation 19, Ignatius welcomes everyone:

A person of education or ability who is taken up with public affairs or suitable business, may take an hour and a half daily to exercise himself.

He goes on to explain that, by committing to a hour and a half a day, those who were very busy with real jobs could still do the exercises; it would simply take longer. Rather than setting aside a whole month, which would be impossible for most people, including me, the  Spiritual Exercises, done a little bit each day, would take nine months. In truth, there is no real schedule, even though the Exercises are divided into four “weeks.” Ignatius constantly advises his exercitants (those doing the exercises) to linger where there is profit, and move on otherwise: “It is not to be understood that each Week has, of necessity, seven or eight days. For, as it happens that in the First Week some are slower to find what they seek.” I expect that I will be with the Exercises for a year, maybe a year and a half.

To my mind, it is significant that Annotation 19, where Ignatius welcomes busy people to do the exercises, precedes Annotation 20, where he appeals to those who have sufficient free time to devote an entire month. This contributed to my sense that Ignatius was interested in something other than recruiting people to what we might call “full time Christian work.” In fact, in Annotation 18, Ignatius insists that the Exercises “be adapted to the dispositions of the persons who wish to receive them, that is, to their age, education, or ability, in order not to give to one who is uneducated or of little intelligence things he cannot easily bear and profit by.” He believed that anyone could benefit from the Exercises. This view seems strikingly consistent with the invitation of the New Testament: “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden…”

Unlike most other books I had been reading at the time, particularly those written by Ignatius’ contemporaries, I was reading a book where the author saw lay people as a specific audience. Case in point: Although it has broad application, St. Teresa’s Interior Castles was written explicitly to her sisters in the convent. Second, Ignatius understood, and took into account, the realities of life in the real world. Included are realities of family and business life, but also realities of the inner life. He knew quite well that, as a general rule and despite outward appearances, all is not well on the inside of most of us. Ignatius saw his Exercises as a “way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all the disordered tendencies” that are at the root of the spiritual chaos or “disorder” that many of us live with day in and day out, and which cloud our ability to find God, determine His will, and manage our own lives.

By this time, I was stoked. Enough reading; I wanted to get going. The Annotations are simply a preamble, a discussion of the general rules and what to expect. I wanted the meat. So I kept reading.

PARTICULAR AND DAILY EXAMEN – It contains in it three times, and two to examine oneself. The first time is in the morning, immediately on rising, when one ought to propose to guard himself with diligence against that particular sin or defect which he wants to correct and amend.

Ah, like, what? What am I supposed to do? It became quickly obvious that I was going to need some significant help, so I started where else?, but at the Cornell University library. That bastion of liberal intellectualism (or is it intellectual liberalism? I can’t ever remember) would cough up a key piece that would allow progress.

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St. Ignatius was, and is, an interesting character. He is simultaneously loved and hated, revered and despised. Even in his own time, he was a controversial player on the religious scene. Not only did he, a Knight and soldier by training, found the Jesuits (The Society of Jesus), but he was instrumental in the counter-reformation. Despite this background, millions upon millions of people have found great benefit from Ignatius’ writings, especially his Spiritual Exercises. That these exercises have survived and prospered for over 500 years constitutes evidence of the value that many, many people have derived from them. Since 1522, when they were composed, the Spiritual Exercises has been reprinted more than 400 times. I first stumbled upon the Spiritual Exercises at CCEL. The book is available from many sites, but CCEL reports that almost a million people have download Spiritual Exercises from their site alone. That Calvin’s Institutes has been downloaded about the same number of times from CCEL attests to the relative popularity of the Spiritual Exercises.

Consistent with my experience with other works from the same period, I anticipated finding in the Spiritual Exercises a book that would take a lot of time and effort to wade through and, ultimately, I was not disappointed. All I could hope, as I started reading, is that I would not regret all the time invested in slogging my way through the book. When I read the very first 2 sentences of the book, though, I knew immediately that I had found something very special:

“The first Annotation is that by this name of Spiritual Exercises is meant every way of examining one’s conscience, of meditating, of contemplating, of praying vocally and mentally, and of performing other spiritual actions, as will be said later. For as strolling, walking and running are bodily exercises, so every way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all the disordered tendencies, and, after it is rid, to seek and find the Divine Will as to the management of one’s life for the salvation of the soul, is called a Spiritual Exercise.”

As I wrote, above, I had been primed and made ready. I immediately got a sense that Ignatius would address specific, fundamental, and heretofore insoluble, problems in my life.¹ Sacred… meet secular. Superficial  religion… meet the Spirit moving over the “formless and void” chaos of my life. Theoretical (doctrinal) understanding of redemption, atonement, and propitiation… meet the practical reality of how to draw near to God. As if this Annotation did not comprise sufficient rationale for continuing to read the Spiritual Exercises, the Second Annotation, following immediately on the heels of the First, states, “For it is not knowing much, but realising and relishing things interiorly, that contents and satisfies the soul.”

When I read that sentence, I thought, “Ignatius gets me!” I was hooked.

¹ Intriguingly, Ignatius was not a priest at the time that he wrote the Exercises. In fact, he wrote his initial drafts while living in a cave near Manresa, Spain. Even without clerical credentials, he had a large impact on many people. The take-home message is that Ignatius wrote the exercises with “lay people” in mind. This perspective is explicit in Annotation 19, and contributes to my sense that “Ignatius gets me,” someone who is a working stiff, not a clergyman. Annotation 19, among many other statements in the Exercises, allayed my fears that Ignatius’ aim was to make a clergyman out of me. Quite to the contrary, Ignatius believed that anyone, regardless of station in life, in reflecting on their own lives and the life of Christ, could “draw some spiritual profit,” a phrase Ignatius invoked repeatedly. The “some” does not refer to the belief that a clergyman would derive more profit than a layman, but that some people (whatever their business) would profit according to the gifts (grace) of God.

First, I was not about to render a stock answer, such as “I want to worship and serve God,” or “I want to be an effective Christian witness.”  My modus operandi at the time was all about rejection of pat answers. I needed something solid, something that related to real life. Religious platitudes would not do.

Second, early in the process, my thinking was dominated with reactions (reactions, not responses) to my experiences with church and, particularly, with the Board. Was it leadership I was after? changing the church? engaging a new Christian movement? All of this uncertainty distracted me from being able to truly understand what I wanted.

Third, I am a bottom-line kind of thinker. I look for patterns and principles; the forest, not the trees; the system at a high level, not the low level details. I was looking for an overarching something, a theory of everything. I could name lots of particulars and argue many positions, but struggled to see the big picture.

Fourth, I did not know myself well enough to answer the question. I had been following the herd for so long, listening to the messages emanating from the institution, that I could not discern the deepest longings in my soul. In retrospect, this was the most important impediment to moving forward.

If all of this sounds vague to you, then you can bet that it was even more shadowy for the one who lived through it! I was in a liminal¹ place, an uncomfortable place. For one who had just recently been in a position of leadership of a mid-sized congregation, I was in an inexplicable place, a surprising place.

Two years of liminality passed before I wrote this:

I want the kingdom of God to extend its range to include my soul in a way that is real. Simply put, I want to meet God, before I die.

I will  leave it to the reader to contemplate what it means that it took two years for a 50-something who had been an active Christian for almost forty years to come up with this. A very good friend told me, upon reading the quote, above, “You will surely meet God, or die trying.” At the time, I would have been gratified with either outcome. But I continued walking the path I was on, because I had a sense that, though I was getting closer, I had not arrived at a satisfying answer to the question of what I wanted.

I have documented elsewhere the fact that I read many books while serving on the Elder Board: books on leadership and eldership, church building and team building. Endeavoring to tap in to the collective wisdom of others seemed a rational approach. I read and read and read, because I wanted to understand what I was doing on the Board. When I left that august body, I continued to read, but my focus shifted significantly.

In the main, I now read dead people, an interest that I share with Skye Jethani, Senior Editor for Christianity Today, who wrote about this same practice on his publication’s blog. My reasoning is similar to that of Mr. Jethani: if an author’s work has persisted for hundreds of years, then that person likely has something important to say. My reading has spanned nearly two millenia and several religious traditions.² I read Augustine’s Confessions and St. Teresa’s Interior Castle and Malcolm Muggeridge’s A Third Testament. The list goes on; I have lost count of the number of books that I have read in the last couple of years. While there has been no chronological or thematic order, my reading has not been without direction. Each work has its own intrinsic value, but I have observed a very simple thread that ties them all together, a thread that very likely explains my interest in reading these authors in the first place:

They lived out their everyday lives in vital contact with God.

All of these people interacted in a deep, authentic, meaningful, one-on-one way with God. This interaction was not constrained by strict religious boundaries or dictated by religious authority. God held a central place in their interior and public lives, whether in the chapel or the kitchen, the academy or the monastery, Mass or marketplace. They settled for nothing less than a real relationship with a real God who interacted with them in a real way.

Ever so slowly, what I wanted began to crystallize out of the millions of words that I had read… to find God in a way that made sense out of my whole life.

I kept reading. Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich and The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis and The Wisdom of the Sadhu by Sadhu Singh. Each of these held out a promise that what I wanted and deeply yearned for was within my grasp, doable and attainable. In fact, it was becoming clear that my desire to find God was greatly exceeded by His passion to be found. He wanted me far more than I wanted Him.³

I kept reading and thinking and writing and praying. And then… I stumbled across a very short book written in the early 1500s that was destined to change my life more than any other.

¹ Liminal: at a threshold or transitional stage.

² “Wow, he must have a sizable budget for book purchases!” Hardly. There are several advantages to reading dead people, the most relevant being that their works are no longer copyrighted, and are generally available for free. While I get my books from many sources, the most common source is the Christian Classics Ethereal Library at Calvin College in Grand Rapids.

³ This is what Jesus meant when He said, “For God so loved the world that He sent His only Son.” And was it not God Himself, not us, who cleared the pathway to His throne? “For the law made nothing perfect; there is, on the other hand, the introduction of a better hope, through which we approach God.” (Heb 7:19, my emphasis) To say that Jesus died for our sins is true, but this is not a helpful notion; it is purely transactional, not relational. In the bigger picture, Jesus died to take us to God. Considering how much this access costs, we should be convinced that He is dead serious about our coming to Him and that approaching God is the most important thing a human being can do.

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In 2007, I left the Elder Board of my local church. In my letter of resignation, I told the congregation that I was on a journey. That statement has proven to be more true than I knew at the time. Some might use the term “process” rather than “journey.” Regardless, I can see clearly that, over the last 5 years, I have indeed gone through a process of significant change as I have walked a road less traveled.

Subsequent to my departure from the Board, I developed a degree of cynicism about much of what we know as Christianity (some use the pejorative term churchianity).¹ More importantly in terms of my progress, I became cynical about my own experience of Christianity. Skeptical, even.² In saying this, by no means am I implying that I lost my faith. Those close to me can attest to this truth. However, those same people easily discerned that, while I was questioning and even rejecting a number of my beliefs and Christian practices, I was searching for something. Dealing with a person who seems to be perpetually deconstructing a religious system, but offering little in the way of constructive alternatives, naturally leads to the question:

What are you looking for? What do you want?

Frustratingly, I could not articulate what I really wanted. Whatever I was looking for, it was clear that I was not going to find it within the context of the church. Forty years of experience had led me to this surprising conclusion. I expect that most of the readers of this blog, to one extent or another, have questioned their own practice of Christianity and are on a journey toward… something. My question to you (and please answer by way of a Comment) is this:

What are you looking for, as you engage in your various religious practices?

¹ Every generation of Christians has their cynics or, at least, people who routinely take the status quo to task. Try this one: “One hundred religious persons knit into a unity by careful organization do not constitute a church any more than eleven dead men make a football team. The first requisite is life, always.” (A. W. Tozer)

² Rob McAlpine wrote extensively about this process a few years ago, ultimately compiling his ideas into a formal pdf. No doubt, everyone experiences such a process uniquely, but many who have left the church can identify with multiple components of Mr. McAlpine’s analysis. Blogs written by those who have left the church have multiplied in recent years. I have observed that the authors of these blogs initially write about their angst with the church, but gradually move toward a focus on their own spirituality, which invariably grows and deepens. Cynicism is replaced by hope.

Imagine sitting down for a one-on-one with Jesus who tells you, “If you want to come after Me, you must deny yourself, and take up your cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will save it.” We may have one of two responses. Søren Kierkegaard would say that the theologians manipulate Christ’s words until we can live with them comfortably.¹ But, the honest listener responds, “Well, that’s all fine and well, but I can’t really sell out to the gospel without throwing my whole life away. I really don’t think my wife would stand for that. And, my boss? Well, he’ll tell me to take a hike. Then, what good will I be to anyone? If I lose my life for the sake of the gospel, I have a legitimate concern that I will end up with nothing.” Perhaps you have had such a conversation with yourself, only more articulately.

The problem is insoluble without invoking an entirely different approach to life, also known as a paradigm shift, a completely different way of seeing and living life.

Thomas Kuhn, in the 1960s, wrote a book titled “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions,” a book about how paradigm shifts in science occur.² Kuhn was a physicist-turned-science historian, Harvard-trained, and professor at Univ. of California, Berkeley. This book is required reading for many graduates students in the sciences and it is fascinating reading in its own right. Kuhn cites many examples from history to support his hypothesis. One of them is useful for our purposes here.

Newtonian mechanics served the scientific world very well for hundreds of years. But, by the early 1900s, some physicists, Albert Einstein not the least of them, were bothered by the fact that Newton’s view of physics left too many phenomena unexplained and too many questions unanswered (unanswerable!). In his book, Kuhn argues that scientific revolutions, such as the move from Newtonian mechanics to quantum mechanics, do not occur in linear fashion. If this were the case, then all physicists of the early 1900s would have been persuaded by the evidence that Newtonian mechanics was not a viable explanation for observed phenomena in our universe.  Physicists steeped in Newtonian mechanics would have slowly come around to the idea that quantum mechanics is a much better solution to the problem of the fundamental nature of our universe. The shift over time would have been more like evolution than revolution.

But this is not what happens in science, according to Kuhn. He argues that scientific revolutions come about as a result of paradigm shifts, which only reach maturity as the “old guard” literally dies off. What’s interesting is the dynamic that is present during the period when the new paradigm is fighting to replace the old one.

One can imagine going to a conference for physicists in the early 1900s. Scientists representing both paradigms (Newton and Einstein) would be present. Of course, most of the presentations at the conference would relate to quantum mechanics, because that would have been the “cutting edge” at the time. As an (old) devotee of Newtonian mechanics, I would sit in the audience and listen to young Einstein explain his newfangled ideas. Every time Einstein invoked concepts of momentum and acceleration, mass and energy, I would hear and interpret those concepts in light of my paradigm and I would ultimately draw conclusions that would support my view of Newtonian mechanics. I simply could not see that Einstein saw the universe in an entirely different way. In fact, I would conclude that he was simply trying to dress up Newtonian mechanics to make it look new. Because I was unable to see the shift in paradigms, in the end, I would have to conclude, “This is not different from that!” I would go on my way, self-satisfied that Newtonian mechanics was safe and secure. These young guys were just blowing hot air and they would ultimately “get it.”

Replace the two groups representing Newtonian and quantum mechanics with the Pharisees and Jesus. When Jesus told the Pharisees, “You worship God in vain,” it is not surprising that the Pharisees thought that Jesus was blowing hot air, dangerous hot air. Jesus introduced a paradigm shift and the Pharisees, being the “old guard” could not see what he was talking about.³

In this regard, the Pharisees are still with us in the sense that the Pharisees were embedded in a paradigm that militated against their seeing Jesus’ statements as truth. Those of us stuck in the sacred/secular dichotomy are similarly committed to a paradigm that potentially obstructs our understanding of Christ’s vision for humanity.

Jesus said, many times I expect, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Dallas Willard translates this in a very useful way: “Rethink your life in light of the fact that the kingdom of heaven is now open to all.”⁴ When Jesus commanded his listeners to repent, he was not encouraging them to think about their lives for a few minutes only to move on as if no changes were in order. He did not expect that people would listen to his brilliant speeches and clear life-examples, and then make a few cosmetic changes around the edges. He did not anticipate that people would ponder the possibilities of life lived differently and well, only to conclude that such a life is really meant for someone else or a select few. And, he did not hope that his followers would rethink what they believed about God, but continue to live like everyone else, just as they had been doing for decades. His message was clear: you guys need to completely rethink your lives. You need… a paradigm shift. As Kuhn shows, a paradigm shift does not simply take the old paradigm and paint over it, or give it new words, or reinterpret it so that it seems more useful. A new paradigm completely re-frames, re-describes, and re-envisions the world in a new and entirely different way.

New paradigms are more congruent with the real world. New paradigms allow us to see things that we would never have seen in the old paradigm. New paradigms dispense with previously impossible-to-answer questions because the questions do not apply in the new paradigm. New paradigms are presumably closer to the truth. In Jesus’ case, the paradigm that he represented was the truth.

In the next post, I will explain how I am rethinking my life in terms of Jesus’ new paradigm, the one in which he is “the way, the truth, and the life.” Consistent with one of the most interesting aspects of new paradigms, in which some questions simply vaporize, I will show how the question, “How do I follow Christ and yet live responsibly?” ceases to be a question, at all.

¹ “Herein lies the real place of Christian scholarship. Christian scholarship is the Church’s prodigious invention to defend itself against the Bible, to ensure that we can continue to be good Christians without the Bible coming too close.” (Charles E. Moore, editor, Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard. Plough Publishing House, Farmington, PA, 2007.)

² Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 3^rd ed. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1996.

³ In important respects, Jesus did not introduce a paradigm shift. The truth that he told about the world, the paradigm that he described, had been around since God first spoke to Adam in the Garden, indeed, from before the foundations of the world. If there was a new paradigm, it was one that was introduced by the Pharisees! Rather than a true paradigm shift, it is closer to the truth to consider the view of the “two ways,” which I described in the setup and the hook, and which are two paradigms that coexist and vie for our attention. Rather than adopting a new paradigm to replace the old, my choice is really about which “way” I will follow, where one paradigm is not newer than the other, but where both paradigms are as “old as man himself.” Nevertheless, I have found the concept of paradigms, and Kuhn’s insightful observations about them, useful, because it helps me to appreciate that i) as Kuhn observed, change is neither a trivial feat nor automatic, ii) change involves an entirely new way of thinking, not just a few cosmetic adjustments, as Jesus intimated in Matt 4:17, and iii) change carries with it the promise of an entirely new way of seeing my life, one that offers to answer questions that previously had no answers.

⁴ Matt 4:17, as paraphrased by Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy, HarperOne, 1997, p 274.

It is tempting to postulate that what we need is more religion more of the time. That hypothesis has been tested and found to be false. The Pharisees were arguably amongst the most sincere and the most zealous religious people on the planet in Jesus’ time. No one could doubt their sincerity, their commitment, or the amount of hard work they exercised in following their convictions. Unlike many in their society, the Pharisees were dead serious about God.

Jesus and the Pharisees shared an intense devotion to God and, if Jesus were seeking to recruit people who could jumpstart his kingdom, the Pharisees might seem to have fit the bill. Instead, Jesus chose a bunch of fishermen. What was he thinking? That Jesus did not jump on the Pharisee-bandwagon ought to make us straighten up in our chairs immediately. Despite our expectations, not only did Jesus not pursue the Pharisees, he was unreservedly hard on the them. Instead of siding with them as potential allies, Jesus introduced a paradigm shift that served to leave the Pharisees in the dark. Jesus’ message was so different from the prevailing religion of his day that it got him killed. People hated the Son of God and his newfangled message with a passion so great that they ultimately crucified him.

The problem was that Jesus sought to dismantle the religion of his day. By his own words, he was not intent on eliminating the Law,¹ but he was intent on re-envisioning the means and the ends of peoples’ lives.² Jesus’ message invoked negative responses from people because he addressed issues related to the deepest questions of which human beings are capable of asking, questions that mean a great deal to all of us: What is life all about? How do I live a meaningful life? How do I please God? What is the right way to live? and, in the words of the commenter on the post… How do I walk with God and yet lead a responsible life? As adults, most of us have given at least some thought to these questions. But, who wants to consider the possibility that the entire chosen direction of their life may be wrong, that we might well have been living a lie? We should not be surprised, then, that the Pharisees took Jesus’ attacks rather personally.

In general, people do their level best to answer these questions in a satisfying way, but sincerity is not linked necessarily to truth. The Pharisees were a group who had answered all of these questions so effectively that it was difficult to argue with them. They could point to chapter and verse for everything they lived and taught. Nevertheless, Jesus stung the Pharisees with a nearly incomprehensible charge:

“In vain do they worship me.” (Matt 15:9)

In vain. In vain! Imagine how the Pharisees felt after Jesus told them that their finest efforts were utterly worthless; that everything they taught, the very basis of their lives, was nothing but smoke and mirrors; that what they thought was worship was not worship, at all. It is crucial to notice that the Pharisees worshiped God: they sang hymns, read the Scriptures, delivered a sermon. They worshiped, but all in vain. There is little wonder that the Jews sought to murder Jesus. In the midst of a highly religious society, Jesus struck at the core of its beliefs about how God expects human beings to live. Considering that Jesus’ words are timeless, we ought to reflect on the possibility that we, too, might worship God in vain, despite all appearances to the contrary. Unless we take Jesus’ words very seriously, we may find ourselves in the position of holding the Pharisees’ cloaks as they nail Christ to the cross.

The only way to make sense of Jesus’ attitude toward the Pharisees is to note that he came to give us, not more religion, but a different kind of religion, or more accurately, a different kind of life. The life that Jesus came to tell us about, that he modeled and sacrificed himself for, is not divided between the sacred and the secular.

¹ “Do not think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or stroke shall pass from the Law until all is accomplished.” (Matt 5:17-18)

² “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.” (John 4:23)

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An advanced degree in theoretical astrophysics is not required to notice the presence of the sacred/secular dichotomy in most of our lives. Whatever the precise origin, Frost and Hirsch,¹ among others, invoke Marshall McCluhan’s famous phrase “the medium is the message” to argue that the church system, by way of its very structure, contributes to the maintenance of this approach to life. Regardless, there is little question that the sacred/secular dichotomy affects nearly all Christians. In the West, which is predominantly Christian, the sacred/secular dichotomy fosters a society where religion is a “Sunday thing,” promoting the belief that parts of our lives are religious and parts of them are secular. God relates to some things in my life, but not others. God can be ignored reasonably during major chunks of my week, because He has no real interest in those periods of activity. The church building, itself, promotes dichotomous thinking: religion, particularly prayer and worship, takes place in a building dedicated for that purpose. The workplace is simply not a venue for worship. For some Christians, but by no means all, the home is middle-ground. One might think that the Christian home is, well, Christian, and not secular. A number of years ago, the pastor of an evangelical church we attended asked of his 250-member congregation how many conducted family devotions. Two men raised their hands. The expectation is that churches, not families, carry out the religious training of our children. We are already seeing the consequences of this system and, no doubt, the consequences have yet to mature.

We give expression to our religion on Sunday and then live, more or less, however we want the rest of the week. The connection between what we do on Sunday morning and what happens at work on Monday morning is tenuous, at best. Does Christ have anything to do with washing laundry, pumping gas, writing a report, taking out the garbage? God may be found in the hymns on Sunday, but where is He in the cacophony that is Monday morning? A church sanctuary seems a perfect place for prayer, but prayer while seated in front of an office computer seems quite out of place, useless even. One might venture to suggest that, in the least, our Sunday religion impacts our behavior on Monday, but the sad truth is that, in so many cases, this is hardly true. The avalanche of contrarian data begins by examining the rate of pornography use amongst Christians.² George Barna, in Growing True Disciples, provides more than sufficient supplementary data to make the case. There is something seriously wrong when those who are “called out ones” are still “in” with everyone else.

The fact of the matter is that many of us like a system where we can have our religion on Sunday, while keeping the rest of the week to ourselves. This arrangement seems to work out well, particularly since there does not seem to be much need for God during the week, except in emergencies. Some of us “say grace” at meals, and that is certainly appropriate. Fewer still have “quiet times,” but how many of these people actually connect with God? We don’t really know, but there is an even more germane question: how does a person relate what happens in a morning “quiet time” to the events that will occur during the rest of the day? The sacred/secular dichotomy has us by the throat and if the way of escape is accessible, it is not obvious.

Not everyone likes the circumstances in which we find ourselves. For those whom I quoted in why can’t we get the central thing right?, a dualistic approach to life is generating a seemingly unquenchable hunger. They know God, but only when He is dressed up in His Sunday best. During the rest of the week, He is invisible, and not available to meet their deepest needs.

Thus, I perceive that we have two rather formidable problems. First, we experience a powerful proclivity to sin, seven days a week. Second, we live inside a system that effectively keeps us from God for at least six days out of seven or alternatively, we choose to keep religion sequestered on Sunday. In an interesting, but frustrating, dynamic, the two play off each other. Sin blinds us to the fact that we need God during the six “non-religious” days of the week. And because we live without significant interaction with God Himself for those six days, our sin goes largely unaddressed. And around we go. That is where many, many Christians live and those who wish their lives were different do not know what to do.

¹ Michael Frost and Alan Hirsch. The Shaping of Things to Come, Hendrickson, Peabody, MA. 2003.

² In a post by Christine Gardner at Christianity Today, slightly more than 1/2 of pastors who read their magazine had struggled with pornography within the previous year. 34% of female readers of Today’s Christian Woman‘s online newsletter admitted to intentionally accessing Internet porn in a recent poll. Focus on the Family reported that 47% of Christian families struggle with pornography. We might have one of two responses to these data: (1) Thank God these numbers are not much higher, or (2) Shouldn’t these numbers really be zero?