Discipline, Devotion & Futile Motion |
| Posted by Mark (mark) on Apr 22 2008 at 5:15 PM |
I often wonder why spiritual disciplines so easily descend into a feeling of futility; as though I were only going through the motions. Almost every religion, including Christianity, tout spiritual discipline as an extraordinarily auspicious thing. If it is not present in your life, you’re probably not spiritually healthy; yet still I struggle with a feeling of relentless toil.
Christian circles tend to focus in on several commons areas of spiritual discipline: reading the word/bible study, praying/waiting on God, Sunday attendance and tithing—to name a few. In my limited experience I have met many Christians who practice these faithfully, yet still seem unfulfilled or even barren spiritually. I’ve met many more that troll along under the unbearable weight of guilt because they continually falter in their disciplines. In some of those cases the people make great effort, but still continue to fail in keeping up with the prescribed practices; for others there seems to be no motivation or effort to do so.
It even seems to me that at times—the weight of these disciplines, the rout exercise of them—can mitigate, crush and even pervert the genuine devotion people have for God. Yet that statement seems somehow surreal and bizarre to me; after all, shouldn’t discipline flow out of devotion? Shouldn’t the two work together in bringing us closer to Father?
No. That is the answer I’ve found myself arriving at lately. This may sound like sacrilege to some, as it once did to me. But I can’t escape it any longer—my answer is simply No.
Before anyone gets into a froth, let’s clarify something. When I talk of discipline, I’m not talking of effort. I don’t believe discipline and effort must be synonymous. In the words of one much smarter than I (Dallas Willard): Grace is not opposed to effort, just earning it. When a couple is newlywed and drunk with passion, discipline is not needed to love each other. However, when rough days come, the decision to remain faithful because your love was not mere infatuation based on emotion, but deeper than that; that decision of fidelity would be called discipline by some. Another example of this is the decision to resist temptation. When that decision is made for the sake of love (rather than a fear of consequence), you might call it a disciplined decision. If that is what you mean by discipline, then I must say that you and I are talking of two different things. But I will say that labeling decisions made for the sake of love—a love deeper than mere titillation—as discipline is a very poor and confusing thing to do.
It is confusing because most of us require discipline to help us make choices because of an absence of love in an area of our hearts. Truth is, without discipline the reality of my heart rises to the surface and I live according to my heart, perhaps honestly for the first time. Discipline for most of us is an attempt to treat the symptoms of a brokenness that is alive and well in our depths. In that case I’m very thankful discipline is so futile, because if it weren’t it would nullify the cross and I would have some serious thinking to do.
What I mean to say is that for most of us, spiritual disciplines are an outworking of our strength. It’s an attempt to treat the symptoms of sin. No matter how you slice it, when we are trying to fix sin in our lives, we are striving to make ourselves acceptable. That in itself reveals our brokenness because it shows how little we really understand His love for us. And what use is the cross if we can make our selves acceptable by our own strength? Perhaps we need to ponder the verse in IICorinthians where Paul tells us God’s strength is perfected in our weakness. The work of His spirit and the cross in our lives is not an exertion of our strength and ability—when it becomes that it brings toil and death; rather it is an admission of our weakness and a reception of grace.
If I sin it is not because I’m not disciplined enough or that the cross is ineffectual, it’s because some part of my heart isn’t surrendered; some part of me needs deep healing. I can spend my life striving and working and giving everything I have to be free of sin, but ultimately it is futile effort and I truly am going through the motions. By striving to deal with the symptoms, the disease is never cured. Thus, more symptoms always come back. All of us know intuitively that we cannot heal ourselves, and so the spiritual disciplines become futile and begin to be a burden, which can diffuse a love inspired devotion. When we realize a battle is futile, it is only a matter of time before we give up, or end up just going through the motions.
I suppose I’ve come to think of spiritual disciplines as measurements of perceived obligation. We might not admit it openly, but most of us think that in order to be acceptable Christians (we fear rejection from both men and God) we need to measure up. The criteria is always some variation of the spiritual disciplines. But aren’t these obligations we strive to reach, this futile religion we bow down to—aren’t these the very things Jesus supposedly saved us from? Aren’t we suppose to be the people who worship in spirit and truth? Is it truthful to say we put our faith in Jesus, but then continue striving to measure up? Mainly I think we’ve deceived ourselves, because the world sees us for the hypocrites we so often are. Perhaps that’s why we so readily cloister ourselves away from real life and hide within our Christian circles. But I digress, for that is another article altogether.
Yet remember when I said effort and discipline aren’t necessarily synonymous. This is where the beauty of the cross begins to flicker in our dark night of sin; for the cross has not relieved us of effort, but it has transformed it in our lives and relationships. It’s an effort that is no longer driven by fear of consequence or as a reaction to consequence; instead it is fueled by grace and love—a love that never rejects us. It’s destination is different now too. No longer do we strive to fulfill perceived obligations; rather, our effort is fully put toward surrender and submission to Him, to His spirit at work in us. Instead of striving to mask the symptoms of the sin disease, we begin to embrace the work of His spirit in us, as He begins utterly healing the disease.
Thus you may not be surprised after all I’ve written, to learn I thoroughly enjoy many of what we call spiritual disciplines. I like waiting on God and listening for His voice. I read scripture too. They are an intricate part of my relationship with Him. I can’t imagine life without that interaction anymore. Yet they are not the burdens, or the notches on my proverbial belt they once were. I simply desire to know Him, and they are part of that expression and exchange. I no longer feel a tinge of futility in them. I rarely feel as though I’m going through the motions, and when I do I stop and ask why.
It seems odd to me that when new Christians are born into the kingdom, into “freedom”, we immediately crush them with obligations. We immediately give them the expectations god has of them: read __ chapters of the bible each day; pray at least 15 minutes a day; attend sunday service; join our mid-week bible-study; be part of at least one out-reach ministry. Soon they are so busy, the people in their old life who would’ve most noticed the genuine change in them, don’t even see them anymore. I suppose we are just welcoming them into what we think Christianity is supposed to be. Usually the newbie does well with the obligation too; they are so fired up for their new found love, they tirelessly perform and fulfill said obligations. This only causes us to load more on them. This makes no sense.
Can you imagine if courtship were this way? Perhaps a better question is this: why do young passionate couples hold hands as they stroll down the street? Why do they kiss? Is it because upon entering the relationship they were given a list of contractual obligations they must fulfill? You must hold hands at least once a day; you must cuddle twice a week; never part ways without kissing good-bye. It’s absurd isn’t it? How quickly would those disciplines in which lovers gladly indulge, descend into frustration and futility? How quickly would they end up going through the motions? I think if you need discipline to choose what love naturally lives, you have a foundational problem. And if you turn that which love is naturally disposed too, into an obligation, you will surely quash and eventually kill that love.
Instead, why can’t relationship with God be like other relationships? Lover’s hold hands and kiss because they’ve seen others do it as a sign of affection, and because it is a pleasant thing to do. We desire to have physical contact with a lover. We desire to know them in all ways. If you desire to know God, won’t you seek out contact with Him? And when you see other’s interacting with Him, won’t you learn from them? Not only that, when you are free from obligation, you are also free to have a unique relationship with Him. Just as each individual couple has there own idiosyncrasies, so too does each lover of God. They may all kiss and hold hands; they may all feed on scripture and learn to listen for His voice; but they also have their own individual interactions that only they understand. And for those who fear that many would fall away, and not put any effort into their relationship, I ask: is it better to keep up a facade of devotion? No, that only creates white-washed tombs. Let the people know God according to their desire for Him, not according to an obligation that says you must spend so much time with Him.
Ultimately, instead of letting what we call “spiritual disciplines” sprout naturally in the midst of a blossoming relationship, we tend to prescribe them as a means to that relationship. I think we have it all backwards. I think we’re finding death instead of life. I think we should rethink our ideas of spiritual discipline altogether.
