Friday after Ash Wednesday -- March 11, 2011
Matthew 9:14 – 15
Then John’s disciples came and asked him, “How is it that we and the Pharisees fast often, but your disciples do not fast?”
Jesus answered, “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast."
A couple of decades ago I read Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline and got interested in a more intentional spiritual practice. As I look back on that time, I can give thanks for the impetus to move more deliberately into practices that could nourish my soul, but I see how skewed my motives and understandings were. I won’t go into all of those misunderstandings here.
There was one step that may not seem like a big deal. It reflected the religious tradition in which I was raised; however, it set me up for huge disappointment, shame and guilt. In short, it was the assumption that I could commit something in my life to God one time and that one time would do forever. Like I said, that understanding reflected something of the tradition in which I had come to faith.
There were several ways that understanding played out in my life. Related to spiritual disciplines, I believed that once I made a commitment to engage in a particular spiritual practice, that commitment was for life. So in short, for almost a decade I accumulated various types of prayer, disciplines and practices in an effort to be “holy.” The underlying assumption, of course, was that the more I did for the God, the holier I would be.
Every time I was exposed to a new spiritual practice, I’d say to myself, “Yeah, I want to do that, too!” And then I held onto it, as if forever.
While on retreat, after a decade of that kind of accumulation, I made a list of all the spiritual practices in my arsenal. I listed almost 40 things! But as a part of the exercise, I also asked myself how regularly I was actually practicing each of them, how faithful I was to the practice. I uncovered huge pockets of shame and guilt . . . I had a huge storehouse of practices, but only practiced two or three of them faithfully. I realized that I felt overwhelmed, besides feeling shame (“I’m bad because I can’t do all these things”) and guilt (“God must think it’s a sin that I can’t do all these things”). In some of the most difficult inner work I’ve ever done, I spent the rest of that retreat paring down my list, eliminating spiritual practices that were no longer appropriate for me at that time of my life.
At that moment, I began to be aware that there is a season for everything. All the practices on my list were good. They weren’t God, but they were intended to help me be more attentive to God. Since my life ebbed and flowed, through various seasons of my soul, I determined to think of practices that were appropriate to that particular season of my life.
It’s good to have a lot of tools in your tool-belt, but you can only use one or two at the time. What practices are appropriate to this season of my life? Which ones will help me attend to God most fully right now? And which ones will support my desire to love others with the love of Christ?
I'm not making life-long commitments that I probably cannot keep. I'm biting off a piece of my life, the right now, the bit I can chew.
I’m encouraging folks this Lent to consider a Lenten practice or a spiritual discipline that will carry them through this season. Then when Easter comes, evaluate the practice. You can continue it. Or you could lay it aside and take up something else.
There is no merit or reward for carrying around a grab-bag of spiritual practices you don’t actually practice. It’s a recipe for disaster (read: guilt, shame, being overwhelmed). Do what you feel God draws you to do, and do it for a season.
Then John’s disciples came and asked him, “How is it that we and the Pharisees fast often, but your disciples do not fast?”
Jesus answered, “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast."
A couple of decades ago I read Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline and got interested in a more intentional spiritual practice. As I look back on that time, I can give thanks for the impetus to move more deliberately into practices that could nourish my soul, but I see how skewed my motives and understandings were. I won’t go into all of those misunderstandings here.
There was one step that may not seem like a big deal. It reflected the religious tradition in which I was raised; however, it set me up for huge disappointment, shame and guilt. In short, it was the assumption that I could commit something in my life to God one time and that one time would do forever. Like I said, that understanding reflected something of the tradition in which I had come to faith.
There were several ways that understanding played out in my life. Related to spiritual disciplines, I believed that once I made a commitment to engage in a particular spiritual practice, that commitment was for life. So in short, for almost a decade I accumulated various types of prayer, disciplines and practices in an effort to be “holy.” The underlying assumption, of course, was that the more I did for the God, the holier I would be.
Every time I was exposed to a new spiritual practice, I’d say to myself, “Yeah, I want to do that, too!” And then I held onto it, as if forever.
While on retreat, after a decade of that kind of accumulation, I made a list of all the spiritual practices in my arsenal. I listed almost 40 things! But as a part of the exercise, I also asked myself how regularly I was actually practicing each of them, how faithful I was to the practice. I uncovered huge pockets of shame and guilt . . . I had a huge storehouse of practices, but only practiced two or three of them faithfully. I realized that I felt overwhelmed, besides feeling shame (“I’m bad because I can’t do all these things”) and guilt (“God must think it’s a sin that I can’t do all these things”). In some of the most difficult inner work I’ve ever done, I spent the rest of that retreat paring down my list, eliminating spiritual practices that were no longer appropriate for me at that time of my life.
At that moment, I began to be aware that there is a season for everything. All the practices on my list were good. They weren’t God, but they were intended to help me be more attentive to God. Since my life ebbed and flowed, through various seasons of my soul, I determined to think of practices that were appropriate to that particular season of my life.
It’s good to have a lot of tools in your tool-belt, but you can only use one or two at the time. What practices are appropriate to this season of my life? Which ones will help me attend to God most fully right now? And which ones will support my desire to love others with the love of Christ?
I'm not making life-long commitments that I probably cannot keep. I'm biting off a piece of my life, the right now, the bit I can chew.
I’m encouraging folks this Lent to consider a Lenten practice or a spiritual discipline that will carry them through this season. Then when Easter comes, evaluate the practice. You can continue it. Or you could lay it aside and take up something else.
There is no merit or reward for carrying around a grab-bag of spiritual practices you don’t actually practice. It’s a recipe for disaster (read: guilt, shame, being overwhelmed). Do what you feel God draws you to do, and do it for a season.
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