Jerome Daley's Blog, page 2

Come.

Freely and Lightly series, #4.

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

~ Matthew 11:28-30 msg

 

“Thin places.” Have you come across that term before? It’s often applied to geographic locations that feel particularly sacred, an abiding presence, holy ground. The veil between heaven and earth is gossamer thin, where you can almost reach your hand through that delicate membrane and touch the other side. Maybe you’ve felt that sense, either in travels or closer to home: not a moment, but a place.

Twenty years ago Kellie and I moved our family to Colorado Springs for two years, and I found a place like that: a chapel that seemed to hold a weighty, mystical Presence, no matter how many times I returned. The Old Testament had a name for this, the Shekinah Glory, and it was localized in various places: the Tent of Meeting, the Tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant, and later the Temple. Later still, Jesus expanded on that viewpoint speaking to the woman at the well:

“Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem [not bound to place]…. A time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit… (Jn 4:21-23).

Jesus championed and demonstrated a heavenly reality that was omni-present, accessible to all, and incarnated in his person. In effect, he invited his listeners to inhabit the Thin Place in all places and mediate the Thin Place to all people. I suspect that the human quest could even be defined in these terms and that the lack of this realmic interpenetration is the source of all human weariness.

I have spent several posts in this series exploring ways in which deep soul-weariness shows up in our lives. Jesus seemed to profoundly understand that, for all peoples and in all eras, we must face—and transcend—times of fatigue and burn out in our yearning for the Thin Place. It’s an essential part of the divine dance in which he draws us close in healing and intimacy.

Whether drained spiritually, emotionally, physically, or some combination, our encounter of the wearisome illusion of separation is meant to be redemptive. The disillusions of spiritual performance, tribalism, and cognitive conformity have served us well by exposing the “illusions” of these roads and awakening the desperate need for another! Soul fatigue is meant to bring us to the place where our relationship with God, self, and the world can be fundamentally realigned.

And here’s the new road, Jesus says: Come to me! Draw near, come close, ease your head onto my chest and feel my heartbeat. Enter this all-enfolding embrace and find your true Self in this holy space. Let go of the crushing need to be right or to work your way through the maze of religious performance. It’s so much simpler than that; it’s just about being with me. It’s about being loved beyond all reason. It’s about recovering your soul in Sacred Connection.

This is indeed the deepest cry of every human heart, no matter how deeply buried, skewed, or scarred. All sin and suffering on the planet is the result of misguided attempts to satisfy this craving for the divine embrace. Every violent act, every relational breach, every self-destructive impulse, even the ravaging of our natural world: like a child’s tantrum or teenager’s cutting or despot’s cruelty, we’re all just acting out the pain of separation. And Jesus says simply, Come. Be separated no more. In truth, there is no separation except of your own making.

Here was Paul’s appeal…and he should know! If anyone had cause to feel unworthy or spiritually burned out, it was Paul’s alter-ego Saul (Acts 7-9). But once this man of desperate violence encountered the depths of divine love, he could only exclaim…

Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture…. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. (Rom 8:35-39 msg)

The message of the Thin Place is that between you and God, there is no “between” (a powerful statement I heard somewhere). “Your life is now hidden with Christ in God,” Paul told the Colossians. Jesus’ vision for our union with God is nothing short of explosive: “May they also be in us,” he prayed before his death, “I in them and you in me.” Thin indeed.

I’m interested in visiting some of the renowned Thin Places of the world… but I’m also interested in being a Thin Place in the world. I hope you will too.

ThriveTip

Journal your musings to these questions:

Where do you feel separated from God?

What would it take to drop that illusion and accept God’s radical acceptance?

How is God inviting you to inhabit the Thin Place for yourself and mediate it for others?

Takeaway

Go Thin.

Mystic.

This morning I was reading a post from friends of mine at Second Breath Center in Greensboro where they describe a simple practice for discerning God’s direction in murky situations. Intrigued, I immediately dove into the practice while holding a question I’ve been pondering for several months…and wouldn’t you know, I felt like I received guidance! From God. I believe the Holy Spirit spoke something into my heart that I will tend over the coming months and see where it leads.

When was the last time you felt that kind of thing? When did you last experience direct communion and communication with God? Maybe something simple but divine. It’s not audible, for me at least, but interacting directly with God and hearing God’s voice is so central and necessary that I can’t imagine life without it. I don’t think this makes me special; I believe this is God’s heart for all of us.

The craving for the direct, personal experience of God is the heart of the mystic. What is a mystic? A mystic is one who reaches for the conscious experience of God beyond intellect as the primary means of moving toward oneness with God. A Christian mystic is one who experiences that spiritual intimacy mediated in and through Jesus Christ. Famous Christian mystics include Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.

Long held in suspicion by modern rationalism, at least in Protestant circles, we are seeing a resurgence of the mystical and contemplative in Christian practice in the twenty-first century. (And I use the terms mystical and contemplative interchangeably.) Which raises the important question of where we find spiritual authority: Do we find authority in experience? Do we find it in scripture? Do we find it in our spiritual traditions?

The “Wesleyan Quadrilateral,” reminds my scholarly friend Ethan Hardin, looked to all three of these channels (plus “reason” as the fourth) as crucial sources for a balanced theological understanding of God and the world, although Wesley specified scripture as primary. Church history could be organized through this very lens as various streams have prioritized one above others.

Luther famously elevated (one might say even isolated) scripture with his term sola scriptura in reaction to the Catholic proclivity to elevate tradition as the anchor of faith.  Meanwhile, groups like the Quakers and later the Pentecostals and Charismatics placed particular emphasis upon the role of experience, or what we might call the mystical side of Christianity.

Each of these channels of revelation (scripture, tradition, and experience) hold a vital and sacred place within the faith journey, but there is a reason that I relate warmly to the terms mystical and contemplative: because in every season of history God is generally restoring the one component that has been either unconsciously lost or purposefully marginalized for generations. And I believe that in the current church milieu, it is the experiential dimension that is being championed and restored by the Holy Spirit. Not at the expense of scripture and tradition, mind you, but to perhaps form the necessarily orienting container with which to hold them.

I know that many loyal Christ-followers wouldn’t necessarily say that they experience that sense of hearing directly from God. Maybe they sense a holy presence…in worship or a mountain sunset or an inspired passage of scripture. If that describes you, it’s okay. You’re not a second-class citizen! But at the same time, keep leaning in for more intimacy. There is nothing God loves more than being face to face with us, hearing our hearts while we listen to the divine heart. Connection is the divine compulsion!

ThriveTip

Here are a couple fun applications to consider:

Check out a book by Gary Thomas called Sacred Pathways that describes nine different ways of connecting with God—“pathways” like nature, liturgy, solitude, and activism. Click here to see a summary of those. (By the way, there are intriguing connections between Thomas’ nine types and the nine Enneagram types!)

Take a look at the body-based discernment practice from the Second Breath Center I referenced at the beginning of this article.

Takeaway

We are hardwired for the mystical.

Burned out?

Freely and Lightly series, #3.

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

~ Matthew 11:28-30 msg

 

So far in this series, we have looked at the Context of Fatigue and the Weariness of Dualism. These are tough topics, but very very real. Today’s topic might even feel tougher as we consider how religion—even in its better forms—can also be part of the problem.

For contemporary Christians the word “religion” often has negative connotations. We’re about Relationship, not Religion, some would say. And I appreciate that intention. The word itself actually comes from the Latin religio and is related to the English word ligament: to connect or attach. In this sense, “religion” is about re-ligamenting or reconnecting us with God. That part sounds pretty good to me. The dark underbelly of religion, however, is the institutional overlay.

We’ve been talking about all the turbulence of COVID and the social, financial, and psychological toll it has taken on the world. But another COVID story is only beginning to be written—less dramatic perhaps yet potentially altering of our fundamental social landscape. The headline might read something like this: “A New Church Diaspora?” It’s not just our universities that have been running on borrowed time as entrenched, outmoded behemoths; many churches have as well. Structures that served us well in previous generations have largely institutionalized such that we now serve them. The tail now wags the dog.

Social prophets like Phyllis Tickle, Brian McLaren, and others have noticed that major realignments occur approximately every 500 years: tectonic shifts that rock our world, weed out failing structures, and establish new ones. The last was the Protestant Reformation in the 1500’s; you already know about that one. Half a millennium before (1054), the “Great Schism” split the church into Eastern and Western branches that still mark us today. Jumping back again to around 500, the Roman Empire collapsed, spinning Europe into the Dark Ages and spawning a monastic movement to safeguard the spiritual flame. And of course Jesus himself changed everything 500 years before that!

Anglican Bishop Mark Dyer calls these 500-year episodes “a giant rummage sale,” where we take a look at all our old stuff and decide to sell what we no longer need. Some believe we are going through this kind of giant sale today…and I am one of them.

The church crisis was brewing long before COVID, but the pandemic turned up the heat on everything, including church. What does that mean for us? I honestly don’t know. But I think it’s fair to assume several things: 1) that as COVID subsides, fewer people will return to church than left, 2) that digital church is here to stay, for better or for worse, and 3) that the natural process of reimagining and reinventing church will accelerate.

Now I’ll go out on a limb and describe some of the parts of church that I hope we can actively reimagine:

We must return to movement. Every denomination (and religion) was birthed organically and powerfully with an energetic core…only to trend inevitably toward institution. This would be true of even the most contemporary and innovative. If you have a building, a staff, a creed, a polity, and an (even unwritten) order of service, you are an institution. Institution isn’t bad—and I attend one gladly—but its danger lies in the assumption that the institution is the Fire…and that if you’re participating in the institution, then you’re participating in the Fire. Not so.

The early church had none of those appendages (building, staff, creed, polity, or service order), but they had the Fire! They had the Awe…which was contagious enough to draw some, repel others, and threaten all existing power structures. Each of these 500-year realignments brought with it a return to this kind of primal movement. And this is our need today: not to villainize structure but to right-size it by prioritizing the relational axis of Movement.

We must resist the commoditization of spirituality. I write as one who participates in this at some level: I write books and coach people. For money. It’s not the money that taints the product; it’s the power and control that tend to follow the money that bears scrutiny. And perhaps even more damagingly, a dangerous tendency exists for Christ-followers to outsource their spirituality to the institution rather than own it for ourselves.

This was the prime catalyst for the Protestant Reformation: forgiveness was commoditized as indulgences, scripture was commoditized for the educated and ordained, political power was commoditized by color of frock. Don’t think that we don’t still do this in more subtle ways today. The spiritual life is free and available for every hungry soul, outside the institution but not outside of community. The institution should be a resource, not a replacement. A welcome support, not the core. And the institution should help mediate the actual experience of community rather than just activities that substitute for life-on-life transformation.

We must discover a less colonizing narrative. The Great Commandment has been largely buried under a misappropriation of the Great Commission, and the result has been a church with high walls to keep “us” in and “them” out…punctuated by forays outside the wall to try to convince people to adopt our belief system and come in. Does that sound harsh? I don’t mean it to be harsh. I just want to invite an honest, undefended self-assessment.

Jesus modeled it for us so beautifully: Disciple-making is about inviting people into an experience of God, an experience that starts with Love and ends with Love. This is not love-without-convictions, but it is definitively self-emptying and sacrificial. The church must stop vying for political power, defrock capitalism, and start being known for what it’s for rather than what it’s against.

We must prioritize practice over belief. Have you noticed that Jesus didn’t lead a single person in the “sinner’s prayer”? He didn’t talk about a chasm between them and a holy God to be bridged by the (coming) cross. He didn’t even talk about escaping hell and getting to heaven in the ways we usually do. Heaven, for Jesus, was a present invitation more than a future destination…and hell, for Jesus, was primarily a context for behavioral correction.

When Jesus talked about belief, it was personal, not conceptual. “Follow me” (18 times). Jesus’ appeal was relational; it was what every soul wants most to hear: You belong. You are wanted. “Repent” (9 times). This was not a call to change their ideology but to change their thinking and behavior. It was an embodied call, not a doctrinal one. “Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” “Sell everything…then come, follow me.” Jesus’ invitation was to come practice the life of faith in community with him. That intent hasn’t changed, but the church’s focus has largely drifted toward intellectual conformity.

To recalibrate, the church needs to better equip us to pray, to confess, to meditate, and to break the power of subconscious sin patterns in our lives. The church can better help us recognize the deceitfulness of wealth and worry and reorient our values toward Kingdom priorities. The church can help us cultivate more compassion for the poor and marginalized. Orthodoxy matters…but orthopraxy matters more, according to Jesus.

This blog series is about living “Freely and Lightly” according to Matthew 11, so why have I moved from scriptural comfort to ecclesial manifesto? Because, just as in Jesus’ day, the religious institution, birthed in Fire, has become more the problem than the solution. It has often become “heavy and ill-fitting” (which we’ll unpack in a future blog). At its worst, the institutional church is responsible for creating “heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them” (Mt 23:4). This is where institutions inevitably trend, which is why God has to reshuffle the deck every few hundred years.

If we’re going to recover from religious burnout and embrace an ethic of “freely and lightly,” we must accept the Church Diaspora and find new ways of living out the Kingdom life together. I find this entirely hopeful!

ThriveTip

How is your Breath Prayer going? If you haven’t tried it yet, take a look here. Then journal your thoughts to these questions:

How have I asked the Church to take responsibility for my spiritual life…and how can I take back my rightful responsibility?

Which of the four appeals above speak to my heart most strongly…and how can I respond?

How can I bring a humble, servant-hearted, and yet “reforming” influence into my faith community?

Takeaway

It’s been 500 years.

Observer.

I pulled out my journal as the plane leveled out from its ascent and settled into a three-hour flight home from our thirtieth anniversary trip (that number still explodes in my mind). After a week of deep rest and refreshment on a tropical beach, my heart was actually heavy. The morning’s departure seemed plagued by stresses and mishaps, and I felt disoriented. As usual, I tried to sort out the inner clutter by writing.

It all started when we went for a run that morning, and on the uneven ground, Kellie twisted her ankle. Pretty badly, actually, and hours later she was still limping with pain. I wound up doing the packing for both of us before heading to the restaurant for a rushed breakfast. Checkout had complications that left me feeling stressed, and the shuttle to take us to the airport arrived late. At the terminal counter, we found out that my flight reservation had been accidentally cancelled by them, so that took an extra half hour for them to figure out…while the flight was already boarding! We did manage to make the flight, though, and while I was writing all this down, I realized I didn’t have the new sport coat I had been carrying; I must have left it in the airport! Wow, rough way to end a great week.

I closed my journal entry with this sentence: “I’m dragging myself home from paradise a little ragged.” Opening a book, I tried to read a bit but found my attention wandering back to all I had just written. What did it mean, this rocky transition back toward our real lives? Where was God in all this?

I closed the book and re-opened my journal. Looking at that last line again, something kicked into gear inside me. That’s the story I’m telling myself, I thought grimly…but it’s not necessarily the only story. Or the right story. Or the most helpful story. Could there be another way to look at this?

My Inner Observer had showed up. Finally.

Have you met your Inner Observer yet? It’s that part of your awareness that can separate itself from all the emotional content you’re feeling, step outside yourself as it were, and take a more objective look at what’s going on. This is an absolutely critical skill for the psycho-spiritual journey we’re all on. Very little transformational growth can occur without it.

We could call the Inner Observer the Holy Spirit, and that wouldn’t be wrong. But using this fresh language for one aspect of the Spirit’s work in us leads us to a vital realization: The art of spiritual growth requires us to recognize our over-identification with thoughts and feelings so we can respond to a much larger Reality. We have thoughts and we have feelings…but our true identity, our essence, lies in neither. Which means that we can listen to the information coming from head and heart (and body as well) without being bound to it. Our three information centers are here to serve us, not to enslave us.

Here’s another way of looking at it. We are subject to a constant stream of data flowing into our lives every day. We have conversations. We go places. We initiate certain activities. Other circumstances, not always of our choosing, find their way into our lives. Stuff happens…and then we assign meaning to it. We take a collection of events and then wrap a story around those data points that makes sense to us. This is all very normal and human. It’s just not always the truth.

The danger here lies in assuming that interpretation is reality. The events themselves are real; the story we tell ourselves about those events is—let’s be honest—a fiction. A creation. Our storyline is one possible interpretation out of a host of various possible interpretations. Some of our stories are more credible than others, but they are all intensely subjective. Thus, the need for another “Observer.” A third party. The Holy Spirit.

In my case I had stitched together a whole string of unpleasant circumstances (which were objectively true) and then concluded that I was “dragging myself home ragged” (a subjective narrative to try to make sense of those circumstances.)

Was my story wrong or right? Well, maybe there’s a more useful question to ask here: Was my story helpful or unhelpful? Was that story going to help me live more easily out of my true self, more in sync with God? Would that story help me be more present and available to love others well, or would it tend to mire my attention in self-preoccupation? I think we all know the answer to that one.

So here’s what happened.

My Inner Observer kicked in and offered me the crucial insight. I didn’t even have to create a new story for myself. All I had to do was detach myself from the old one. My feelings about the challenging events that morning didn’t change instantly, but I began to feel lighter almost immediately. And over the course of my flight home the hues of color began to return, inviting my soul out of the dingy monochromatic where I had begun. And, as it turned out, Kellie had my sport coat all along…so that was a mercy. But by the time I realized that, it honesty didn’t matter. My heart was free.

ThriveTip

So what are the stories you’re telling yourself right now? Narratives about your job, your boss, your marriage, your finances? Are they true? Maybe. Partly. Are they the whole truth? Probably not. Now the real question: Are your storylines helpful? Spend a little time journaling your thoughts around that.

The spiritual practice I have found to be most helpful in activating the Inner Observer and easing my attachments to storylines is Centering Prayer. Got a few minutes? Check it out here and try it now.

Takeaway

Take a step back from your stories.

Worn out?

Freely and Lightly series, #2.

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

~ Matthew 11:28-30 msg

 

In my last post, we explored the human experience of getting tired—how mental, emotional, and physical fatigue infiltrates our journey through life and how Jesus invites us to name it…and then find him in it. How is that going for you so far?

Today we want to continue that same conversation as we consider the second phrase of this empathetic passage: Worn out? Jesus asks. Are you feeling worn out today? Worn out in this day, this week, or this season of your life?

We can’t really talk honestly about the experience of “worn out” without acknowledging the global reality of COVID and its unparalleled impact on our collective human experience for the past year. The enormous vacuum of hugs and handshakes and dinner parties and church gatherings. The delayed weddings, the empty funerals, the sparse holiday celebrations. We have a whole new context for “worn out” now. And even as we begin to emerge from its shadow, we are haunted by nameless lingering griefs.

If ever the cry for “Freely and Lightly” has risen in our hearts, it is now.

There were many cultural conflicts simmering prior to COVID: agitated pots with isolated bubbles rising to the surface, just waiting for the heat to hit a tipping point into full-on boil. Racial injustice. A bloated educational system. Student debt. Political trauma. Economic crises in Europe. Environmental disasters. And COVID managed to yank the knob on the stove toward “high,” sending some of those pots into chaos. Other pots may not be far behind.

Some of these pots that have boiled over have brought needed attention to our cultural brokenness… and helped spark crucial shifts toward justice. And on other fronts, the conversation is just beginning, with solutions still far ahead of us. Even positive movement, however, can leave us feeling worn out, especially when we’re still disconnected from one another so profoundly.

Today let’s talk about a powerful shift to reconnect us with our vision for Freely and Lightly! We must find a way to train our souls by way of an essential, but uncommon, spiritual skill—moving beyond a dualistic worldview. Until we unshackle ourselves from dualism, Freely and Lightly remains a pipe dream.

Dualism is where we start in life: I know who I am because I am not you. I am a white, male, Protestant American …because I am not a black, female, Catholic Canadian. Dualism is binary and tribal. It’s ruthlessly black and white. It is the language of exclusion and competition. Dualism is a necessary tool for mathematics and commerce, so it’s not evil. But it is harmful in our social evolution and utterly useless in the realm of the Spirit. What got us here cannot get us there…and we’ll talk more about the alternative to dualism later.

In addition to its social pathology, dualism is the primary cause of our soul fatigue, and this is how it works. Regardless of our virile theology of grace, we tend to evaluate the state of our soul by tallying up the “good” things in our lives and subtracting the “bad” things. Consolations - Desolations = Heaviness or Lightness depending on the sum. But divine math doesn’t work this way. “All things work together for good,” Paul outrageously suggested!

Seriously? Are you saying that COVID is good? No, COVID is evil. But good triumphs over evil…if we let it. The seeds of circumstance bring both consolations and desolations into our lives most every day. Our spiritual “work” is to meet Christ in both and be transformed by both and then to transcend both. The Kingdom life operates on a plane above our pleasure or our pain. Those things aren’t irrelevant, which is why Jesus entered into our bodily experience…to then show us how to participate in a Reality untethered from circumstantial polarities.

Before we get too cosmic here, let’s bring it back to a “peace that surpasses understanding.” There is a way to walk through a pandemic and all the other vacillations of daily life with an inner gyroscope that remains steady-as-she-goes. And this is where Jesus is taking us with his talk of Freely and Lightly. We’re just getting started on the richness of this passage, so let’s keep our sights set on that goal.

ThriveTip

How is your Breath Prayer going? If you haven’t tried it yet, take a look here. Then move on to the Daily Examen. Try practicing that each evening this week and see what you think. It’s an especially great way to reconnect with a spouse or roommate.

Takeaway

Let’s go non-dual.

Tired?

Freely and Lightly series, #1.

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

~ Matthew 11:28-30 msg

 

When is the last time you felt physically exhausted? Go ahead, think back until you find that moment. Where were you? What were you doing? Was it a workplace thing, were you exercising, did you get lost on a hike?

I’m not talking about good-tired… I’m talking about bad-tired. Depleted. Utterly empty. Maybe even scary-tired. Dangerously tired.

Or maybe it was emotional exhaustion, where all your inner reserves of joy and connection and meaning and resiliency were completely drained and you felt like an empty shell of yourself. A shadow that could blow away in a stiff breeze.

You’ve been there, haven’t you. So have I. It’s hard to even wrap words around that experience. Maybe you feel like you’re close to that place even now. And I want to say to you that it’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay…in the sense that we’re not meant for this! But it is okay…in the sense that you are secured and sustained with an enduring Love. A Love stronger than fatigue. We need to be reminded of that larger truth periodically, so go ahead and breathe that Reality into your soul.

Breathe. Can you feel it?

Jesus knew all about tired. When Jesus met the woman at the well in Samaria, John says that he was tired from his journey. How tired? We don’t really know. Tired enough for mention.

Matthew describes a long day of ministry for Jesus in Capernaum and eventually says, “When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake” (Mt 8:18). Sounds to me like Jesus was running on empty and ready to escape the crowd for a bit. Right at that moment a teacher of the law declares his loyalty by saying that he will follow Jesus anywhere. Jesus’ reply: “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Sounds tired to me.

Mark describes it this way: “Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, [Jesus] said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mk 6:31). The whole lot of them were pretty fried.

In the events surrounding Jesus’ crucifixion, his emotional exhaustion strikes me even more forcefully than the obvious physical suffering. He is abandoned by all his disciples and ultimately feels abandoned by God. That is distress in the extreme, so the author of Hebrews is dead on when he says that “we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses.” Oh yes, Jesus knows tired.

In the modern world, it seems like the pace of life only gets faster, demands get louder, our souls get thinner. We get it from all sides, don’t we? External pressure to run harder, internal pressure to perform better. Our entire sense of worth is at least influenced, if not downright defined, by what we can produce. All this is overlaid with an existential angst that Shakespeare poignantly described as “the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Are you ready to quit reading yet? “Thanks a lot, Jerome. I feel so much better now!” Yeah, I get it. But sometimes we can’t find the healing our souls need so desperately until we can name just how great is the need. Sometimes it feels easier to numb the pain by climbing back on the gerbil wheel and running it out again. But at some point, we have to hit the pause button and take an honest look at ourselves. And Jesus invites us to do just that.

Does it surprise you that Jesus spoke these words to an ancient, agrarian audience? Were they over-busy too?  That surprises me. Apparently, they too needed these words of stillness and hope in a time that seems much simpler than ours. There must be something intrinsic to the human condition that gets weary. And maybe that’s by design. Maybe God wants to meet us in our weariness. Jesus seems to have that precisely in mind in this passage…and we’re going to be unpacking that in detail in the coming months, so stay tuned.

ThriveTip

In the meantime, journal your thoughts to these questions:

What part of your life feels tired right now? Is it more physical, mental, or emotional?

Let Jesus breathe the Holy Spirit on you afresh now (Jn 20:22). Can you receive that? How does it feel?

Now find your Breath Prayer and practice it each day this week. What happens for you in this practice?

Takeaway

Fatigue invites Rest.

Liberal?

I was having lunch this week with two friends and in the course of conversation, both mentioned concerns about their local churches shifting a bit too far towards “liberal.” The emphasis on caring for the poor and the marginalized competed, in their minds, with the centrality of the Great Commission. I could tell that both of my friends care deeply about protecting the integrity of the gospel. They want to be sure that the church is influencing our culture, and not the other way around.

For most of my fifty-five years—first in my family of origin, then in my conservative schooling, and later in a number of different faith communities—just about the worst thing you could call anyone was a liberal. Whether the context was political, social, or spiritual, the label was damning. And I understand: it’s very human to carry a fear that convictions and values we hold dearly are under attack overtly or being undermined insidiously.

I’d like to talk today about why I have come, relatively recently, to relish the fundamental meaning of the word liberal…and why I think Jesus would relish it as well. Can we go there? What feelings rise as you consider this possibility? Would you be willing to read to the end?

Most of my friends would probably identify more with the label of “conservative” than “liberal”…and the last thing I want to do is offend people or compromise relationships with those I love. And I guess that is a conscious part of my appeal: Can we lean in with those who see the world differently instead of leaning away in fear or distrust? I hope so. I think that Jesus would want us to keep these kinds of conversations going with mutual love and respect.

I want to clarify that I am not using the term liberal to refer to the political machine that represents one of two untrustworthy power structures in our country. Our first associations with “liberal” and “conservative” are usually to political parties…but political power structures have their own agendas that do not always represent the virtues of either liberal or conservative vision. In addition, these power structures specialize in villainizing the other side, which erodes opportunities for respectful dialog that are in such short supply today.

So, if not political, then in what sense am I championing the idea of liberalism?

The essence of the word “liberal” means to be generous. And to be generous (in any ongoing way) requires us to experience life from a worldview of abundance. If I have enough, then I can share some of what I have with you. If I have more than enough, then generosity can actually become a way of life—looking for those who are in need and finding ways to give of myself, whether that be in time or money or prayer or empathy. A liberal person is a generous person.

The origin of the word “liberal” is from the Latin for “free” (liber)…and the connection between generosity and freedom is profound. To be financially free is to allow for financial generosity. To have free space on my calendar allows me to be generous with my time. (And this particular kind of generosity is rare, isn’t it!) To be mentally spacious allows me to avoid the preoccupation, distraction, and mental clutter that chain me to my own small self-conscious, self-referencing world. A liberal person is a free person.

The connotations of the word “liberal” imply compassion. Why would we want to be generous and give freely unless we were motivated to meet the needs of those in distress? Unless we had eyes to see their needs, empathize with their plight, and were moved to bring the abundance of God-in-us into that place of suffering? Our world is crying out for mercy, not judgment. For healing, not withdrawal. Orthodoxy (right belief) is empty and impotent without orthopraxy (right action), so a liberal person is a compassionate person.

The implications of the word “liberal” require optimism. God is a redeemer, not an abandoner…yet some of the more destructive versions of Christian theology have led people to give up on the future of our world. Salvation is only understood in terms of getting yanked out of this world before it goes under, rather than receiving the blessed hope that “the kingdom of heaven has come near”…or, as one translation puts it, “is close enough to touch!” As we study the life of Jesus, we see the furthest thing from a dour, despondent, or pessimistic message. A liberal person is an optimistic person.

Do I want to be generous, free, compassionate, and optimistic? You bet I do. And I’ll bet that you do too, regardless of your political affiliation. The alternative, of course, is to find ourselves stingy, slavish, suspicious, and jaded. Sadly, I have found myself in that condition at times, much to my dismay, and recognized that it amounted to a distress call for help. Fortunately, God is always on standby to rescue the humble heart in such dark places.

Yes, God is vested in our liberality because it is intrinsic in the very nature of God to be generous, free, compassionate, and optimistic…as demonstrated in the life of Jesus. I could take the time to offer many biblical examples to this point, but I think any thoughtful person would acknowledge as much. In fact, if there is one theological concept and term that parallels the essence of liberalism, it is the word grace.

What is grace but a compassion-fueled, optimistically hopeful, overwhelmingly generous, freely-given, freely-received invitation out of oppression and into the all-embracing, all-forgiving, all-restoring arms of the Prodigal Father?

Such liberality stands in stark contrast to the Pharisees with their petty, judgy, scarcity-minded, walk-on-the-other-side-of-the-road, arrogant and even violent ethos. “Woe to you,” Jesus declared, “Because you load people down with burdens they can hardly carry, and you yourselves will not lift one finger to help them.” Woe to you because you are not liberal, he might well have said! And woe to the Pharisee that lives in all of us.

Truth is, we’re all recovering Pharisees…and the road to recovery is a liberal road. Being a Democrat doesn’t make you liberal, but being a follower of Jesus should. And if you vote Republican, then be a liberal Republican. May we carry a spirit of increasing generosity, lavish abundance, and compassionate concern for “the least of these” in every facet of our lives…from our secret devotional practices to our church worship to our political discourse to our community service. Let’s redeem the word “liberal” and champion it as the very Spirit of Christ that we get to carry in this world.

The problem with labels like “conservative” and “liberal” is that it’s terribly easy to attach our identity to them and then confuse an important social or economic agenda with our actual, essential selves. Instead, let’s anchor our true identity in the character and love of Christ. This could ease some of the tension we feel with our brothers and sisters across who see the world differently from us.

ThriveTip

“Unitive consciousness” is a term used to describe the intrinsic connection we all share as part of the human family. We literally belong to one another, despite any ideological divide. Spend some time this week asking God how to bring this truth more fully into your personal awareness and relational interactions.

Takeaway

In the truest sense, let’s all be liberal.

Circumstance.

Jeromy phoned from the house we call The Briar Patch. “Well, they sold me the wrong breaker,” he started. Argh. What does that have to happen? I sent the supply store a photograph of the old one!  The property was between guests, and he had gone to change a breaker that kept tripping the electricity to one bedroom.

“But what I’m concerned about,” Jeromy continued, “is the panel itself. It’s hot. Seems like it’s running into resistance that is generating heat. I think we need an electrician to come check this out. Make sure it’s safe.” I felt a tightening in my chest as a normal, run-of-the-mill maintenance matter seemed to suddenly escalate to a potentially hazardous and expensive project (You can read my post about this from a few weeks ago in the context of confession).

To cut to the chase, the issue resolved itself easily and inexpensively…but it involved a stressful twenty-four hours and some anxious conversations with the electrician and next guest. Most of the worrisome challenges I experience in my life these days are related to our Airbnb properties; there is much more drama to be found in these short-term vacation stays than in my coaching business that is usually pretty peaceful and predictable. But one way or another, circumstances seem to regularly land in our lives that are uncomfortable at best, downright painful at worst. Can you relate?

I was recently reading the familiar parable where a farmer casts seed far and wide and, as you know, the seed lands on four different kinds of soil: the hard path, some shallow, rocky soil, a thorny patch, and finally some good, cultivated soil where the seed grew and flourished. Most of the seed is lost, but the seed that finds root produces an enormous rate of return. Up to 100%, Jesus says.

Jesus goes on to interpret the parable to the disciples: The “seed,” he says, is “the message about the kingdom.” In other words, it’s the kernel that holds the transformational potential to change our current perspectives and mindsets, to actually rewire our hearts and minds so we can perceive a new reality he calls the Kingdom of God. A new belief system? Yes…but much more than that. The Kingdom is a whole new operating system! A totally new dimension with a new way of being in a world that we used to think we knew.

None of that is probably news to you…but here is something that was a completely fresh thought to me this week: What if the seed, the message about the kingdom, isn’t just new truths? What if it includes new experiences? And what if those experiences aren’t necessarily enjoyable…to start with?

The scene in my mind began to change a bit, and I began to imagine Jesus tossing out seeds of circumstance across the landscape of our lives. Big handfuls of situations where the “good” and the “bad” were all mixed up: A fender bender lands alongside a work bonus… A hard drive crash lands alongside an anniversary vacation… One kid gets into a Master’s program while another kid gets downsized and laid off.

Could all of these experiences be seeds of the Kingdom? I think so.

Paul said that he had learned to be content “whatever the circumstances.” In Philippians 4, he continues, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”

How did Paul learn the secret of contentment? There’s only one way I can think of: by having these seeds scattered across his life journey. By receiving the whole gamut of circumstance with confidence in the Farmer’s good intentions—rather than with complaining and resistance—Paul saw each circumstance, consoling or desolating, go into the ground and produce good fruit.

Talk about freedom.

If this is true, it takes us back to the implicit message of the four soils: Which soil are you? Are you trying to pick out all the seeds of bad circumstance—trying to eat them or bake them or strangle them? Or can you accept the random circumstance of loss or suffering, pulling that seed down into the fertile soil of faith, hope, and love where the divine alchemy transforms painful kernels into good fruit? Fruit that actually feeds your soul as well as the souls of others.

As I pondered the “fruit” of a faulty breaker and an anxious guest, I began to feed upon its richness. I began to write down a declaration for Kellie and I to hold as a commitment over this year: We will not be slaves to fear when it comes to our properties! We will do our best to prevent problems…and to respond with as much grace and confidence as we can muster when problems inevitably arise. God helping us, we will not be held hostage by the fear of a disgruntled guest or by our own anxious insecurities.

Truly, every kind of circumstantial seed can produce good fruit if we receive it in the soil of trust and obedience. Can we go there together? Can we work to carve out that orientation in our souls? I think it just might change everything.

ThriveTip

What circumstantial seeds are falling in your life right now? Which would you call “good” and which would you call “bad”? Can you imagine God transforming all those seeds into good fruit to feed your soul? Journal your thoughts and prayers on this…and finish with the Welcome Prayer.

Takeaway

In the soil of trust, all seed bears good fruit.

Confession.

I texted my friend Anthony at 11:06am to reschedule a call. In his reply, he asked how my soul was doing today. My reply: “99% good. 😉 Working with taxes and finances today, so 99% is a win!!” Several hours later, the, ah, manure had hit the fan.

It was first of the month—the day I have to close out the books on the prior 30 days of our Airbnb business. It’s the same routine every month, although every month seems to bring its own special sauce of aggravations and obstacles. I’ll admit, finances is my kryptonite. Some people seem to love getting every cent into its perfect little place, but all those cents seem to sense my barely concealed antipathy…and run for cover. It’s like herding cats, and it often brings out the monster in me. That was certainly true today.

It didn’t help that, while crunching numbers for hours and trying to squeeze them into their proper categories, a small crisis was brewing at one of the properties. A failing electrical breaker might actually be symptomatic of a failing breaker panel! A $100 problem might suddenly transmogrify into a $1000 problem. And trying to schedule a tradesperson here in the mountains…well, that requires a Ph.D. in spiritual formation. Then trying to arrange a bid from another vendor on the same day. And the kicker: trying to file 1099s just under the deadline. Whew, by the end of the day I felt a little beat up.

I tell myself that it’s a spiritual practice: an oh-so-predictable fresh opportunity every month to embrace my financial angst with humility and grace. Without anxiety, without attachment. Maybe with some extra meditation, a yoga session, and a glass of wine. It really is a spiritual practice, one I failed miserably this time!

I know, “failure” isn’t the best way to evaluate a spiritual practice, as if God is holding up scoring placards to grade us. “There’s no failure, only feedback,” I often tell my clients. Okay, so the “feedback” from today was that my aptitude for organizational anxiety is still alive and well. And that anxiety is still a magnet for shame with me, a sneaky enemy who wants to double-down on my embarrassment.

But there’s other feedback too: that, once again, true humility is still the antidote for all the toxicity of grief and shame. That mercifully, graciously, I am still loved. And I am still human. Loved, in fact, right in the center of my humanity with all its flaws and frailties. And so are you!

So what scenario invites your demons out to play? What’s your kryptonite? When does your ego rise up to strive and prove and resist? Where does failure and shame haunt you? There—right there—you are loved, accepted, embraced. Without shame or judgment. God’s heart feels our pain and longs to walk us out of the struggle and into a safe surrender. Have you felt the Shepherd tend your heart like that lately?

Later this afternoon, bruised and subdued by my struggle, I thought about the morning’s text to Anthony. “99%, my eye,” I snorted. But the tenderizing presence of Love was having its effect, and my heart was beginning to soften. I texted him back at 6:13pm,

“By way of confession, I feel compelled to acknowledge that my day did not go very well after all. Spent most of the afternoon frustrated and angry with my work.”

And you know what? James was right. “Confess your sins to each other,” the apostle counseled. “Pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16). Confessing my shortcomings to Anthony was an unexpected salve on my soul tonight. My wife Kellie usually catches the brunt of both my sins and my confessions, but stepping into the light with a trusted friend was a burden lifted and a healing received.

Anthony’s response was typical Anthony, which is to say, infused with grace and truth through the Holy Spirit: “Thanks for sharing this with me, Jerome. I will pray for your heart and head to be refreshed after this difficult day. Lord, be with your beloved Jerome. Push back darkness, silence the voices of the false self, and move his soul to the safe place of your enveloping love, grace and kindness. Thanks for being my friend, Jerome! I love you!”

Wow. What a transcendent gift. My eyes tear up as I write this at 4am. (Couldn’t sleep.) I know that God loves me and forgives me and restores my heart. I do. But sometimes it helps to hear God speak it through a friend.

What would have happened if the Spirit hadn’t nudged me to confess to Anthony? Or if my ego had shut it down? I still would have been forgiven…but I might not have felt forgiven. Verbalized confession opens the door for a visceral encounter with healing grace.

Confession isn’t much of a practice for us Protestants…at least in words spoken (or texted) to another human. Maybe some baby got thrown out with the bathwater in Luther’s defining corrective five hundred years ago. Maybe our spiritual journey isn’t as privatized as we tend to think. Perhaps the depth of healing that confession brings really is a means of grace meant to be experienced within and among the community. Experienced together in ways we can’t fully experience alone.  

Confession doesn’t require a priest, just a trusted friend and a bit of humility. Try it for yourself and see. “The prayer of a righteous [friend] is powerful and effective,” James concludes. Indeed it is.

ThriveTip

Take a moment to think: Who would you call or text if you wanted to experience the comfort and healing of confession? And, What is it you would want to confess?

Takeaway

Confession is truly good for the soul.

Awakening.

Do you remember your first prayer, your first Godward reach? I don’t know my first prayer…but I remember my most enduring prayer as a boy that remained deep in my heart as a young man: Lord, I want to hear your voice. That simple yearning must have risen to heaven a thousand times as my soul took shape. Many years ago, God initiated that conversation with another boy, and you might remember the story.

Young Samuel had come to live with the prophet Eli; he “grew up in the presence of the Lord,” but “the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him” (1 Sam 2,3). He was perhaps seven years old when God called to him in the night: “Samuel!” The boy got up and ran to Eli asking what he needed, only to have Eli answer sleepily that he had not called: Go back to sleep! Three times this happened… until it dawned on Eli that God was the one doing the calling, and he coached Samuel on how to respond.

Isn’t Samuel a picture of all of us? If we had ears to hear (as Jesus admonished his listeners), would each of us not hear our names being called in the night? Not audibly perhaps, but none the less authentically! But many of us remain in the condition Samuel was in before he laid down that fateful night: The word of the Lord has not yet been revealed to us.

Like young Samuel, we are sleeping in the house of the Lord: We are genuine Christ-followers. We belong to God. But our spiritual ears aren’t yet attuned to God’s voice. We pray for direction but generally follow our own instincts. We read words God spoke in the past but can’t yet hear God speak to us today.

Perhaps your awakening is as simple as Samuel’s. Is your name being called? I’ll go out on a limb and say, Yes! God is calling you! God is seeking intimate communion with you personally. And all you have to say in reply is, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

What does it mean to listen? Maybe it means to quieten all the other voices, internally and externally. To get still inside and out…and be attentive. And—perhaps above all—it means to trust that God’s voice will land in our inner ear, that we will indeed hear, and that we can indeed respond.  

I’m no prophet (although I think most of us have the capacity to speak prophetically at times), but I have learned to hear God’s voice. As Elijah discovered, the Voice is more gentle whisper than fire and wind (1 Kings 19:12). Not usually overly-dramatic. I’ve learned to feel the nudge, to trust the gentle drawing, and to know that I can follow that Voice safely without having to be certain of everything. That God is big enough to carry my life forward in good and redemptive ways, despite my all-too-human limitations. There is no pressure to “get it exactly right;” instead, there is simply invitation to listen, to perceive, to trust, and to follow. It’s quite simple really.

ThriveTip

Perhaps you feel in need of specific direction in your life right now. At a crossroads of sorts. Sensing a possible change in direction. Try using this journaling exercise as a way of listening to the Voice with expectancy and safety. We are in enormously capable and loving hands, and it is our desire to please God that does, in fact, please God…as the late monk Thomas Merton declared.

Let’s join Merton in his most vulnerable prayer:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

Takeaway

God is calling your name.