7 invitations to grace

Image from americanvision.org

I have the book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, on my bookshelf. I have never read it. One of the reasons is because being highly effective is not one of my priorities. And that is because I don't think I can really control the effect I have in this world and on other people. Though I might do everything in my power to change a situation, in the end people choose whether or not they embrace change. Don't get me wrong, it appears that Covey has some very good advice which can help people develop good personal work habits and help them work better within a team setting, but like any self-help or self-improvement book, it probably focuses on what we must do to change ourselves and our environment. There is usually little room made for failure, for things we cannot change, for getting stuck. There tends to be little talk of receiving kindness and acknowledging that we are at the mercy of grace. Instead of another self-help book, I would like to offer another way: the way of grace.

I recently read an interview with Tullian Tchividjian (Billy Graham's grandson) in which he explains the subtle way in which we as Christians have twisted the gospel to be more about doing something for Jesus instead of what Jesus has done for us. I see myself in his critique. I want to be a better person so I focus on making better decisions, being a more loving person, being more grateful, being consistent and faithful in my commitments (with God's help, of course), and the road I end up on is self-improvement instead of self-surrender. Let me quote Tullian:

...it seems that the good news of God’s grace has been tragically hijacked by an oppressive religious moralism that is all about rules, rules, and more rules; doing more, trying harder, self-help, getting better, and fixing, fixing, fixing–—ourselves, our kids, our spouse, our friends, our enemies, our culture, our world. Christianity is perceived as being a vehicle for good behavior and clean living and the judgments that result from them rather than the only recourse for those who have failed over and over again. The fact is, that the solution to restraint-free immorality is not morality. The solution to immorality is the free grace of God. Only undeserved grace can truly melt and transform the heart. The route by which the New Testament exhorts sacrificial love and obedience is not by tempering grace but by driving it home. Charles Spurgeon nailed it when he said, “When I thought God was hard, I found it easy to sin; but when I found God so kind, so good, so overflowing with compassion, I beat my breast to think I could ever have rebelled against One who loved me so and sought my good.” 

The law, at least, assures us that we determine our own destiny—we get to maintain control, the outcome of our life remains in our hands. Give me three steps to a happy marriage and I can guarantee myself a happy marriage if I follow the three steps. If we can do certain things, meet certain standards (whether God’s, my own, my parents, my spouse’s, society’s, whatever) and become a certain way, we’ll make it. Law seems safe because it breeds a sense of manageability. It keeps life formulaic and predictable. It keeps earning-power in our camp. The logic of law makes sense. The logic of grace doesn’t. Grace is thickly counter-intuitive. It feels risky and unfair. It turns everything that makes sense to us upside-down. It’s not rational. It offends our deepest sense of justice and rightness. It wrestles control out of our hands and destroys our safe, conditional world.

While I hear myself cheering at Tullian's words, I find it very difficult to get myself to the place of grace (even those words "get myself" are rather telling in how counter-intuitive grace is). However, there are some entrance points, some doorways, some thin places where it seems easier to slip into the big easy-chair of grace, to put my weight into it and rest for a bit. These are not ways to regain control nor ways to ensure that things go right. No, these are just a few things that I have found helpful in positioning myself to receive grace instead of defaulting to self-improvement. These are invitations to receive grace and stop trying to do it all myself. These are not really habits at all, but ways to open our hands, our heads, our hearts, our lives to receive the gift of grace. Because grace is not a skill one can develop; it is a gift we must receive.

1. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of doing it wrong, of the future, of people, of what my past failures may have set in motion. Jesus (and numerous angels) was always telling people not to be afraid. Why? Because he was with them. Fear is basically mistrust. In contrast, being unafraid is putting myself in the vulnerable position of trusting someone. I believe that Jesus says "Don't be afraid" to me every day. Do I hear it? Do I choose to trust?
2. Say "yes" more than "no." I tend to see what is inadequate in people, in situations, in the work others do, in the work I do - you name it, I can tell you what's wrong with it. Having an automatic response of "no" means that grace is not in me. In order to give grace, I must be living in it, and living in it means saying "yes" to the embrace of God. God has already said "yes" to me, my failures and my successes, my ugliness and my beauty. The ability to say "yes" starts with knowing that God says "yes" to me, every day.
3. Let grace have a say in every horrible situation. In the middle of chaos or death or failure, stop and listen to grace. She has something important to say.
4. Let grace have a say in every incredible, wondrous situation. In the middle of great success, joyful celebration, outrageous good fortune, and jobs well done, stop and listen to grace. She has something important to say.
5. Look around you. See the people who stick with you through thick and thin. They are there, they are. Receive them into your life, even if you wish they were someone else or did things differently. Living in grace means not being so picky.
6. Create stations of grace in your house, your work, your neighbourhood, and your day. These are places or times or activities which make space for and trigger gratitude, peace, and contentment. Visit them several times a day. Let them be a place to feast on the unconditional acceptance of a loving and merciful God. It could be your dining room table (a good place for a feast), the bus ride to work, a walk in the park, your closet, sitting in front of a fire, reading a good book, having a cup of tea, or taking a hot bath. Give grace physical and temporal room in your life.

Sorry, there is no number 7. Can you have grace for my inconsistency? For not delivering what I promised in the title? For perhaps disappointing or frustrating you? I hope you say yes. Grace says yes.

tough subject

Image from studyinuk.universiablogs.net

The next milestone in my doctorate is looming on the horizon: the dreaded comprehensive exams. Basically, these exams test the student's general knowledge of their subject and two other related areas.  In my case the three areas of study are 20th century theology, ethics end encounter, and performance studies. I have spent the better part of six months plowing through a reading list of 69 titles in preparation for this exam which has two parts: a 3-hour test and a research paper. To be honest, this was the element of the degree that I most feared when I considered doctoral studies.  I have no problem doing research, writing papers, or even teaching, but being put on the spot with no idea what the questions might be and a very limited time to prove that I know what I am talking about: that's a scary thought. I am afraid I will draw a blank. It has happened before. I am one of those people who comes up with the perfect answer or comeback line the day after a conversation.  

 

Surprisingly, I am a lot less apprehensive about the upcoming exams than I thought I would be. For the most part, it is because I know a lot more about the subject matter than I did a few years ago. But also, I don't scare as easily and I am more accepting of the process I need to submit to in order to get where I want to go. Something I came across in my readings, an article by Anglican theologian Rowan Williams, resonated with my experience of studying theology and the learning journey in general.

Williams observes that difficult texts were highly prized in certain cultures, and he identifies three reasons for placing an elevated value on troublesome subject matter: 1) we do not value that which we discover rapidly or easily, 2) the unraveling of obscurity brings delight, and 3) learning (especially from Scripture) is a process - not a triumphant moment of penetration and mastery; it is an extended play of invitation and exploration. Williams concludes that studying the scriptures is a pilgrimage, a parable of our life.

In my experience as a teacher in both ecclesiastical and academic settings, the valuing of obscure texts and demanding subjects is in short supply. Many students want the easiest way through a class, trying to get maximum marks for minimum effort. Likewise, a good number of people in church settings are looking for simple answers to complex questions. These just don't exist, and Williams gives three good reasons why they shouldn't. I think part of the problem might be that we view understanding the scriptures as a task, an object to master, instead of a loving friendship to give oneself to. Another factor is that we lead such busy lives that many of us no longer have the patience for curiosity, wonder, and play. If you have ever watched a child with a new puzzle or game, you will observe the hours they spend focused on the challenge. If a simple game can garner such a devoted investment of energy, thought, and time, shouldn't the eternal sacred mysteries engage us to an even greater extent? In our fast-paced world, our values seem a bit skewed on this. Perhaps the most important factor here is the relationship between knowledge and love. The Swiss theologian, Balthasar, wrote that love precedes knowledge, and it is believed that Goethe said that one learns nothing except that which one loves. This has proven to be true in my situation. Love opens our hearts, our minds, and our lives. Love offers us a gift, and in return, it asks us to give ourselves. 

So bring on the comprehensive exams. I pray that I will be able to give my answers from a place of both love and knowledge. 

Reference: Rowan Williams, "Language, Reality, and Desire in Augustine's de Doctrina," Journal of Literature and Theology 3.2 (July 1989), 138-150.

black and white

3D chalk drawing by Julian Beever

Some people (and I can be one of them) tend to see the world in black and white, in terms of either good or bad, right or wrong, hot or cold, left or right. It makes life easier in many ways because when there are only two choices it is simple to tell the difference between them. Compartmentalizing life in this way (either/or) means that when we find ourselves on the "good" side of things (and we place ourselves there most of the time, admit it), we can relax. No gray areas to worry about, no nuances to unravel, no complex ethical quandaries to wrestle through. Just do the right thing and we're good, no questions asked. But not asking questions is a bit of a problem. People who don't ask questions, who don't look at situations from different angles...well, we call them extremists, blind followers, and even radical fundamentalists. We know them as people who don't bother to engage in the complexities of human experience. We recognize them as people who find change and transformation difficult to embrace. And perhaps worst of all, we cringe at their tendency to judge too quickly, very often squeezing everyone into one of two boxes: either we are in the "good" box with them or we are excluded, relegated to the "bad" box.

So as comforting as it may seem to think of life in terms of black and white, it is pitifully inadequate. Life is not black and white or even different shades of gray. Life is a full spectrum of colour.  Life is so much more than two dimensions such as left or right, liberal or conservative. Our world is three-dimensional which means we cannot catch the different angles of it from only one perspective. In fact, illusions are based on the observer being limited to only one perspective, many times looking through only one eye. Optical illusions are fun, but making life decisions based on a limited perspective, an illusion, is a bad idea.

The drawing from another angle

One thing I have learned about this world and the people in it is that there is always more to it than I first thought. There is always more information to be gleaned, there are always different ways to engage with people, there is always more wisdom to be gained. Life is not static; the nature of living beings is that they grow and change and move. There are some things which are bigger than our lives, things like love, joy, peace, faithfulness, goodness, and justice, and though these are solid and unfailing, they are difficult to grasp. Simply acting good does not make someone good (Jesus' interactions with the religious rulers of his day illustrates that point). These virtues have to come from a much deeper place, a place which operates on a spectrum much broader and more colourful than black and white.

One of the best examples of full colour living is God. Hey wait, you may be saying, doesn't he view the world as either for me or against me? As righteous or unrighteous?  Either good or evil? In some ways, yes, there is indeed a definite distinction between that which belongs to God and that which does not, but for me to assume that I can always tell the two apart, easy peasey, would be a severe overestimation of my level of discernment. Only God truly knows if someone is coming towards him or walking away from him. Let's take a look at the scriptures which say that God changed his mind. This is always an uncomfortable concept to grapple with, especially if we view life as either black or white. But a closer look at these stories reveals that God "changed" because the relationship changed. God's actions are based in relationship, not in abstract ideals, because God is love and love is always relational, not a rigid structure or system.

Take the story of Jonah's trip to Nineveh. Jonah changed his mind, the people of Nineveh changed their minds, and as a result, God also changed his mind. (I realize that we are dealing with anthropomorphism here, but it is the only way we can talk about God, in terms of our experience. As Dorothy Sayers says, we have no other measuring stick.) God's love is unchanging, yes, and God's justice is reliable, but how exactly God enacts these in relation to humanity is a beautiful story which unfolds with a certain amount of unpredictability. I am not suggesting that God's character is unpredictable, but that because of his all-encompassing perspective, his interactions with his world take on a wonderfully spontaneous and dynamic character from our limited perspective. Where we try to whittle God's goodness down to a set of rules, God reveals the expanding nature of his generosity. Where we would limit righteousness to moral rectitude, God extends mercy farther than we think it can stretch. Where we would call down judgment on the evil in this world, God patiently goes about transforming death into life.  These overabundant, more than enough, multi-dimensional, colour-saturated perspectives are difficult for me to see, but every so often I catch a glimpse of a world where nothing is separated from God's love and my black and white view is flooded with colours that defy description.

public vs. private

Photo by Jeff Gynane (www.123rf.com)

This fall I am facilitating a spiritual formation course based on the book "The Good and Beautiful Life" by James Bryan Smith. Each week there are what the author calls "soul training" exercises: simple tasks to explore and practice the week's topic. This past week we read a chapter titled "Learning to Live Without Vainglory." The task was to perform five secret acts of service. That sounds pretty easy, right? Do five things to help other people? Well, it proved to be a bit more challenging than I thought. The first thing I did was to make special preparations in my home for some guests; really, I went way beyond what I normally do.  When Dean came home, I pointed it out to him: "Hey, do you see all the extra decorations?" And while I was speaking, I realized what I was doing. Service: yes. Secret: no. Fail.

The next day I decided to get a special treat for my love. I found something I thought he would really like and I brought it home and put it where he was sure to find it. When he called me from work that afternoon, I mentioned that there was a surprise waiting for him at home.  And once again, as I said the words, I realized that I had failed. In trying to build anticipation and heighten the surprise, I had taken away any aspect of secrecy. Man, this was proving to be harder than I thought.  And it also made me think about why I feel the need to share things with Dean or a friend or the world of facebook or even this blog. Yes, I get excited about helping others and that's good, but part of me also wants to be noticed, to have someone affirm that I am indeed a good person, that my actions are pointing my life in the right direction. Because I often doubt myself and the decisions I make, and the encouragement of others goes a long way.

This wee exercise showed me a few things, some good and some not so good. First, the good. I realised that I do have a heart to serve others and am not quite as self-centred as I sometimes accuse myself of being. Second, I am very blessed to be part of a community that values kindness, goodness, and loving service for others. This community is very encouraging to me, and I have learned much from them, especially how to love better. On the not so good end, I seem to have an internal narrative that believes my actions need to acknowledged in order to be valid or effective. Part of the reason is because I don't always trust my judgment in matters dealing with interpersonal relationships or large-scale vision. I have made errors in both areas and there is definitely a time and place for others to give helpful feedback and input. However, there is also a time and place when it is just between me and God.

I want to cultivate a profound and rich spiritual life which does not need constant outside validation. In my experience, this inner life flourishes when I plunge my face into the fountain of Life and drink deeply, not by constantly asking others if I am close enough to the water. In any intimate relationship, certain matters are not for public consumption. The more significant the friendship, the more exclusive are the conversations, the experiences, and the communication.  The little intimacies of lovers demonstrate vulnerability, trust, and a certain amount of sacrifice. In order to protect the integrity of an intimate relationship, these precious moments must not be flaunted in front of the world, must not be the subject of boasting or coarse jesting, must not be used as a measuring stick of comparison, must not end up as an illustration or anecdote, and must not be made to serve as a stepping stone for a greater purpose.  Because this depth of spirit, this intimacy, is the greater purpose. And it needs no advertising or applause to validate it. What it does need is gentle tending and diligent protection against becoming a means to a self-serving end.

Take care! Don't do your good deeds publicly, to be admired, for then you will lose the reward from your Father in heaven. When you give a gift to a beggar, don't shout about it as the hypocrites do - blowing trumpets in the synagogues and streets to call attention to their acts of charity! I tell you in all earnestness, they have received all the reward they will ever get. But when you do a kindness to someone, do it secretly - don't tell your left hand what your right hand is doing. And your Father, who knows all secrets, will reward you. And now about prayer. When you pray, don't be like the hypocrites who pretend piety by praying publicly on street corners and in the synagogues where everyone can see them. Truly, that is all the reward they will ever get. But when you pray, go away by yourself, all alone, and shut the door behind you and pray to your Father secretly, and your Father, who knows your secrets, will reward you. - Matthew 6, The Living Bible

legendary

Image from break.com

What type of story captures our attention?  Is it the tale of a hero, a person who does extraordinary things in the face of great obstacles? Is it an adventure, a grand story that takes us to exotic lands? Is it a love story which makes our hearts pound with passion? What type of people impress us? Those who are well-spoken and intelligent? Those who are charismatic and funny? Or perhaps we are attracted to the beautiful and graceful ones.

This week has been a hodge-podge of reading for me: everything from biblical texts to anthropology, philology, play-writing, fiction, and memoirs. Some of the stories and characters have gripped me; others have left me unimpressed. It makes me wonder: what's the difference?  What am I looking for? What do I want to immerse myself in?

Erich Auerbach (he's a philologist, a person who studies language in ancient literature) observes the difference between two types of epic story: the legend and the historical account. His examples are Homer's Odyssey and the biblical story of Abraham. While the Odyssey is full of generous explanations, includes lengthy excurses here and there to give background to an event, and makes the reader privy to the inner thoughts of characters, the biblical account is stark in comparison.  So much is hidden. The God we encounter is mysterious, only select scenes of a person's life are included, many details which would seem important to the story are left out. And yet, says Auerbach, the biblical characters are so much more complex and developed and real than those in Homer's legend. Why? Because they are not fully set forth once and for all; they always invite further contemplation, further investigation, further interpretation.

He goes on to observe that the collection of biblical stories seems to lack cohesion. The details often collide and large gaps are evident; and yet, it smacks of historical importance because of these very things.  A simple and straightforward tale with all the loose ends tucked carefully inside is a legend.  A messy, confused story which runs variously here and there: that's history.

The legend creates its own world, it is a separate phenomenon where everything is brought to fullness. The legend invites us to escape reality for a few hours and enjoy this enchanted, unified place. In contrast, the biblical stories have no other unity than a rather obscure God. God is the only factor that ties the disjointed accounts together.  Nothing is included that does not relate to him in some way. Unlike a legend, the Old Testament does not offer an escape to another world. Auerbach writes:  "Far from seeking, like Homer, merely to make us forget our own reality for a few hours, it seeks to overcome our reality; we are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history." (Auerbach, Mimesis, 15). This makes reading the Bible an uncomfortable undertaking many times. It insists that it is relevant and that its story is our story. We all too often prefer a neater version of life, in other words, a legend.

People who write memoirs or stories of their lives have to resist the temptation to make things neat and tidy. They have to be vigilant against the tendency to spin tales that make them out to be more heroic than they actually are or the urge to heighten certain events to make them more fantastic than they actually were. We can all tell when a tale is too good to be true because intrinsically we know that life is not legendary stuff. Even writers of fiction who have to construct unified stories if they are going to draw us in, know how to make their stories messy enough that the reader will be able to identify with the gaps, the mystery, the unfinished nature that we all recognize as part of life.

The problem is that we can be drawn to stories and characters who appear to have the things we lack. We would love the ability to overcome tremendous obstacles without breaking a sweat, to rise from obscurity to fame, to find the perfect mate who is both rich and good-looking, to live an adventurous life without messy attachments or responsibilities, to solve a grand mystery, to have a superpower, etc. Legends are great entertainment, to be sure, but they are safe stories. They require nothing of us. In fact, they can render us somewhat delusional because they offer a reality that is anything but real. History (real life) is messy. We have to live with constant mystery. We will never know the reasons behind many things. We also inherit a messy history which means that if we want to move on, we have to repent for past misdeeds and forgive those who have wronged us. We have to deal with people who are unkind and dishonest, and if we want any sort of meaningful relationships, we have to learn to love those who are not beautiful nor always lovable. And even if we do the best we can, things won't always work out the way we want them to.

And that's a good thing because it makes us look beyond our story. Unlike a legend which is a closed world, the story of God is a living story which invites us in. It invites us to make our story part of something larger, and it offers us the chance to experience a more unified life by becoming united with the great unifier. We may still be surrounded by obscurity and mystery, but we can be at peace with it because we are not trying to be legendary; we are just keeping it real.

"The sublime influence of God ... reaches so deeply into the everyday that the two realms of sublime and the everyday are not only actually unseparated but inseparable." (Auerbach, Mimesis, 22-23).

failure

K2. Image from  imgur.com

It's not as easy to fail as one might think.  Oh really?  Yes, because a lot of the time what we take to be failure is not. In fact, one could say that many of our ideas about failure (not achieving a desired outcome) are more myth than truth. And I don't mean myth in the sense of a traditional story concerning the early history of a people, a folk tale, but that it is a widely held but false idea. Often our concept of failure is too simple, and we jump to the "F" word quicker than a cat off a hot stove. The equation seems rather straightforward: I want A. I need to do B to accomplish. A. I was unable to complete B.  I did not accomplish A. I failed. Now, wait just a minute. Let's back this up a bit and look at some of the problems with this equation.

1. We assume that A is obvious and very specific. The fact is that the more specific we make our goal, the more likely we will need to adjust it as we go along. Keeping A rather broad allows us to interpret and apply it in different ways, allowing lots of flexibility and creativity. For example, loving others is a very flexible, broad goal which can be pursued in numerous ways. On the other hand, buying a new car for our neighbour is a much more specific and difficult goal. And it may not be the best way we can show love to our neighbour.

2. We assume that there is only one way (B) to accomplish A. This type of narrowness sets us up for failure. There are many ways to get something done, so it is best to explore a few different options, ready to switch methods if one doesn't work out. Because life always throws something at us that we weren't expecting, the path to our goal is often not a straight line.  We should always be more committed to the goal than to the method. I am not saying that the end justifies the means, but that there are lots of means. Don't get locked into just one.

3. When we do fail to accomplish a certain task, it does not mean that we have failed overall or that the goal is now unattainable. It just means that we have hit an obstacle along the way. We probably need to stop and re-evaluate, look at different options, get some wise counsel if we can.  As long as we have not reached A, A is still possible. Somehow. Someway.

4. When A really looks like a lost cause, perhaps it is time to dig a little deeper and see if it was indeed a worthy and reasonable goal.  Sometimes we set our sights on something which, though useful in getting us started on a journey, is not really what we ultimately want or need.  As we go along, we might realize that the goal we had in mind is not really adequate. Our desires might be misguided or unrealistic. We may have mistaken fear, nostalgia, compulsion, anger, or any other strong desire or emotion for the motivation and confirmation of our goal. It is totally okay (and often wise) to re-imagine and re-adjust our goals as we go along.  If we don't do this, we might want to question if we are learning anything as we journey through life. Have we gained more information that needs to be taken into consideration? Have we heard some wise counsel which changes our outlook? Have we experienced healing in a way that has removed former compulsions and might significantly impact our goals?

Don't get me wrong, I am not advocating indecisiveness, breaking commitments, or endlessly changing course until one is confused and lost. What I am talking about is seeing temporary setbacks or adjustments as just that - temporary. Not the ultimate failure. I am talking about the need to hold fast to broad goals (love each other) and keep more specific ones (buying someone a car) in an open hand. By all accounts, I have failed many times in one of the goals I set for myself this year, yet I am still working away at it. The methods have changed, the timetable has been adjusted, and my expectations have fluctuated. But I am still on the path (though I floundered several times) and I am happy to say that the end is in sight.

This week I started reading Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen and David Oliver Relin. It is the story of a man who set out to honour his sister's memory by climbing K2 (2nd highest mountain in the world, considered by many the most difficult mountain for climbers to scale) and leaving her necklace at the top.  By all accounts, Greg Mortensen failed. After months of preparation, an incident involving another member of the team cost him his shot at the top. After a grueling 96 hour supply climb and descent, Mortensen and his teammate were called on to rescue a fellow climber in trouble. With only two hours of rest, they set out again and climbed for 24 hours to reach the sick man who was suffering from a pulmonary edema (and by this time his brain had begun to swell as well). There were two other climbers with the sick man, so all four men spent another 54 hours dragging and lowering the incapacitated man down craggy rock faces before they reached K2 base camp.

Mortensen and his fellow climber had so depleted their physical resources that they decided it would be too risky to attempt an ascent that year.  They both headed back toward civilization. Due to K2's remote location, it took another seven days of hiking to reach the nearest town. In his weakened state, Mortensen wandered off the path numerous times, once for several hours which left him alone on the glacier for a night with very limited supplies. On the last day, when his porter had gone on ahead, Mortensen again took a wrong turn and ended up in a small mountain village he had never heard of. Exhausted, he collapsed into the hospitality of the people of Korphe and slept in the house of the chief elder.

Mortensen felt something special in the town of Korphe and chose to recuperate there. As he regained strength, he got to know the resilient people of the mountain village and saw the struggles they faced. When Mortensen asked to see the village's school, the chief took him to an open area where 82 children (only 4 of them girls) knelt on the frosty ground and did their lessons without a teacher. At that point, Mortensen made a decision. Here is an excerpt from the book:

Standing next to Haji Ali,on the ledge overlooking the valley, with such a crystalline view of the mountain he'd come halfway around the world to measure himself against, climbing K2 to place a necklace on its summit suddenly felt beside the point. There was a much more meaningful gesture he could make in honor of his sister's memory. He put his hands on Haji Ali's shoulders, as the old man had done to him dozens of times since they'd shared their first cup of tea. "I'm going to build you a school," he said, not yet realizing that with these words, the path of his life had just detoured down another trail, a route far more serpentine and arduous than the wrong turns he'd taken since retreating from K2. (Three Cups of Tea, p. 33)

Mortensen did fail at reaching the summit of K2 and planting his sister's necklace there. But in failing to do so, he saved the life of a teammate, he made friends with the people of Korphe, and he founded an organization that has built over 170 schools in remote Pakistan and Afghanistan, providing education for many children, including 54,000 girls. His goal in honouring the memory of his sister was reached in a way more fantastic, meaningful, and far-reaching than he first imagined. And that's not really failure.

All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king.

- from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

NOTE: There are some questions about the veracity of certain parts of the book and most recently, Mortenson has come under investigation for handling of funds for his charity, CAI. While I acknowledge these difficulties with the story, I do believe that the point of this blog still stands.

The MEDIUM

Mixed media on my table this morning

As part of the homework for a spiritual formation course I am facilitating, I took a two-day media break this week. Since I was working and still needed to attend to necessary correspondence and research, I didn't forgo the internet entirely, but what I did do was stay off Facebook, not take any pictures, not post anything anywhere, not watch television, not listen to music, not read emails that didn't need a response, and not research anything that wasn't directly related to my work. Two days is a relatively short period of time, and not all that stringent of a media break, but I found it quite instructive.

The first thing I noticed was that I had to deal with a compulsion to regularly check all my usual haunts (Facebook, email, Instagram, Words with friends, etc.).  I also had to resist the urge to instantly look up something I was curious about and fight against the habit of passing the time on the bus by fiddling with my iPhone. Things that we do on a regular basis become like second nature, so to change a habit requires a bit of effort.  I had to say no a lot and I am happy to report that my no feature works fine! This is probably one of the most beneficial aspects of any kind of fast or period of denial: giving the no muscle a workout.  It was most encouraging to experience not being at the whim of my desires and impulses and realising that I can direct my thoughts and actions in the way I want them to go. I have the ability to say no to temptation. I am not implying that this is easy, it is not. It is always simpler just to keep doing what we are accustomed to doing, but like the trainer on my DVD workout says: transformation is not a future event, it is an everyday activity. And saying no to compulsion is part of transformation.  Whenever I had the urge to check on something (and there were several times where I pulled out my iPhone and was poised to type in something that I thought I needed to know about right away, but I resisted), I reminded myself that the only thing I want to be compelled by is love (2 Cor. 5:14). One of the happy side effects of saying no to compulsion is that we avoid distractions and going down tangential bunny trails. It meant that I had two of the most productive days of work ever!

Part of the problem with being so attached to media input is that we lose the sense of immediacy. The word "medium" indicates that there is always something or someone in the middle, an intermediary, an interpreter, an intervening agency that distances us from the source. This is one of the reasons that the Old Testament forbid consulting mediums or spiritists (Deut. 18). God invites people to address him directly, to meet with him, to be in a close relationship. But we are prone to use a medium because it allows us to keep people (and God) at a safe distance (see Exodus 20). The media do most of our work for us, interpreting the news, only giving us what is deemed important or noteworthy, and serving up endless information for our consumption and amusement with relatively little effort or commitment on our part. On the other hand, real relationships take a lot of work: more attention must be given than posting a status on Facebook, writing a short tweet, or liking someone's photo. In real relationships we can't just show our best side and we can't edit what people see and hear. Real, one-on-one, face-to-face relationships require a lot more courage and dedication than media interactions.

Last night I got off the bus and turned around to see a most spectacular sunset happening. There were pinks and greys and blues; there were variegated clouds in intricate patterns extending across most of the sky. My first impulse was to whip out my iPhone, take a picture, and post it. But I said no. Instead I stopped, stood silently for a few minutes, and just took it in with my eyes. No camera between me and the sky. And it was one of the most satisfying moments of my day. Like letting a chocolate dissolve in your mouth instead of chewing it quickly.

Staying away from media for a few days was also a good reminder that the world keeps on turning whether I update my Facebook status or not, whether I post a photo of that great view or not, whether I blog or not. The false sense of urgency fades. For anyone who is trying to build a network or gain traction on social media (some writers and artists depend on these platforms to earn their living, so I understand the necessity of consistent good work) it can be tricky not to feel pressured to put something interesting and amazing out there every day in order to keep your audience coming back for more. But I never want to make writing and creative decisions based on how many people follow me or how many hits I get on my blog. Again, I only want to be compelled by love, so I often repeat the following mantra to myself: if I don't have a genuine gift to give to others, there is no need to post something. There is no need to fill up space.

This week I came across something that really resonated with my exercise in saying no.  It challenges our contemporary definition of freedom as "the right to choose." In truth, this idea has more to do with consumerism than with real freedom.  Thankfully, freedom has not always been this cheaply defined.  

"...for philosophers such as Aristotle, freedom was not an end in itself; we became free only as we acquired the moral capability to guide our lives. To lack such capability was to be subject to the undisciplined desires and choices of the immature. Thus freedom did not reside in making choices but in being the kind of person for whom certain options simply were not open. Freedom was not a status but a skill." (Stanley Hauerwas. The Peaceable Kingdom. University of Notre Dame, 1991, p. 8) 

Let us develop the skill of freedom not only by our yes but also by our no.