Saturday 27 October 2012

nike-ing apathy


apathy:
1.  absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.
2.  lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.
3.  indifference

As I pried my eyes open two mornings ago, I wasn’t sure of which was louder: my alarm clock or this word resounding in my head in rhythm with the irritating bleeping.  I was just working out a good reason to tuck myself a little further under the duvet (I’m constantly amazed by my nearly involuntary powers of self-justification at 5:45 am) when the Holy Spirit interrupted my internal monologue:

“I want you to study this word because you need to understand what you’re feeling and what you’re facing as a church.”

I’d felt really strange for a few days…sort of restless, but I didn’t really want to do anything.  Maybe discontent is a better word.  I found myself wanting to avoid conversations and issues and…people.  Vaguely discouraged by the current circumstances, which chiefly involve immigration challenges.  And the more I took notice of this feeling, the more disillusioned I felt about things ahead, and the more I wanted to avoid it all, anyway, all leading to subtly whispered questions in my mind: what’s the point, anyway?  Who really cares about anything we’re trying to do?  And with that question, a strange heaviness settled around my shoulders and down my spine, like a horribly overweight backpack.

Consequently, the voice of the Holy Spirit came as relieving insight.  This strange feeling of discontented lethargy leading to listless discouragement and purposelessness…it’s apathy.  And it’s not simply the byproduct of my own fluctuating emotions.  It’s the spiritual climate here, if you will, and it seeps into everything the way the damp drafts from the rain tend to chill even the sturdiest buildings.

Spiritual battle and the intense challenge of pioneering the gospel generally conjures images of living in squalor in some remote desert or rainforest where you’re never sure if you’ll be arrested or shot for acknowledging Jesus.  I have the utmost respect for the men and women who live in this type of battle zone.   But in the West, the battleground is far less obvious.  Here, counterattacks to kingdom advancement are not so much physical danger, job and property loss, and imprisonment; they are depression, workaholic tendencies, materialism…and apathy.

The most desperate thing about the West is that isn’t desperate.  Christian or not, we Westerners have enough grocery shopping, work deadlines, unanswered emails, and social engagements to occupy us from dawn until dusk- no, midnight.  These produce a paralysis in the Church; we are indifferent because we don’t have time to notice needs that are relatively invisible to middle class living.  And outside the Church, they provide a necessary diversion from gnawing emptiness and hopelessness.  The West doesn’t care because it doesn’t have to care, and this indifference is the apathy that settles in like a heavy fog.  It’s a helpful momentary narcotic that produces side effects of purposelessness, depression, and the vague sense that this is “as good as it’s probably going to get”.

Jesus addresses this issue of apathy in the “lukewarm” Laodicean church (Rev. 3:14-22).  Each of the seven churches is commissioned to overcome an aspect of opposition.  Some, like the church in Smyrna, faced imprisonment and death- understandably some things to overcome.  Just a few verses later, however, the Laodicean church is commanded to overcome lukewarm apathy.

Really??

I was stunned as I read this again this week.  Jesus addresses apathy as if it is as substantial a foe to the church as physical torture.  Bravely facing loss of property and family strikes me as noble sacrifice.  Facing apathy strikes me as…normal.  But apparently, fighting each of these is considered a worthy fight with a promised victory- if we acknowledge the enemy and engage in the battle.

The Greek word for “overcome” is “nike”.  Long before the advent of the immortalized “swoosh”, Nike was the Greek goddess of victory.  She was typically depicted triumphantly standing with her foot on the neck of her enemies.  Consequently, Jesus’ invitation to the churches to “nike” is a statement declaring his supremacy- over persecution, over culture, and even over world government.

I love that.  Apathy is not some state of “normal” into which we must resignedly settle; it is a very real enemy that we are invited to nike.  It rouses me out of the discouraged lethargy that wants to creep in and inspires me to fight.  And wonderfully, fighting is not a strain and struggle- it is simply worshipping, asking the Holy Spirit to fill me, and attending to the primary business of getting my soul “happy in the Lord”, as George Mueller puts it.

So this is one of the battles we’ll be fighting here inside and outside of the Church.  When I become aware of the attack here, I'm purposing to stop the walk down the slippery slope of my thoughts and connect with the Lord instead.  I’m glad to be aware that this is a very real battle, not a normative state we settle for.  And I’m even more glad that nike-ing is something promised- for us, for the church here, and for the city.

Saturday 13 October 2012

learning to see



“Good morning, Holy Spirit.”

I’m re-learning to make these words the first ones out of my mouth in the predawn hours of the morning.  The “routine” of life makes it easy to slip from this habit: we know where we’re going and what we’re going to do in a given day, and if you’re like me, the day easily becomes a game of trying to accomplish everything as quick as possible.  Making it a game relieves that horrible, nagging pressure that we in the West feel- the heavy, almost panicky sense that there are simply not enough hours in the day to meet all of the demands.  We Westerners thrive on our “to-do” lists: checking the boxes of people we’ve seen, tasks we’ve completed, and dare I say, the ways we’ve served...I’ve lived most of my life as the poster child of Western drive.  And I’ve enjoyed it, thank you very much.  No matter how many times I take the Strengths Finder test, I come out with “Achiever” as my top characteristic every time.  Fine with me.

The only problem with this is that it makes it difficult to see.

We all look at plenty in a given day.  Most of it gets little more than a passing glance, though…we tend to see the next task at hand, see the people in the room who we like most, see the innumerable challenges to getting to wherever it is we want to go.  We have preferences, and we have plans.  The idea of “reaching out” tends to strike us as a grand initiative; we know it’s what we’re meant to do, and we know it’s where we’re going, but…there’s just so much to do.

Busyness is often blamed as the culprit.  But maybe how much we have to do is less of an issue than what we see.

Recently, God told me that it was time to start “embracing the interruptions”.  This is a challenging word to us Type A Introvert Achievers.  But I’ve been doing my best to take wobbly steps in that direction.  I’ve started to ask to see again.  This means that when I go into a shop, out for a meal, or walk down the street, I make eye contact rather than focus all my attention on the next box to be checked or even on the friend I’m with.  It means that I greet people- as many as possible- and ask how their days are going.  It means that as I go through my tasks, I ask the Holy Spirit to help me notice anyone I should talk with.  It means that when I notice someone- a particularly sad or happy face, a pregnancy, an injured limb- I ask God whether he wants to say something to them or do something for them.

And it means that I start the day by saying, “good morning, Holy Spirit”.

This helps me remember that the day belongs to him.  He owns my life, which includes my to-do list.  He doesn’t seem to be opposed to the lists, generally, but he does reserve the right to interrupt or adjust those lists however he likes.  And since he owns me, I am his responsibility.  This means that if life starts to be chaotic, making me feel the need to “get on top of things” and making an extra conversation or interruption seem like an overwhelming idea, it is his responsibility to make sure that everything comes together as it needs to in the end.  It’s his responsibility to make sure that there’s money in the bank account and food on the table.  Fortunately, he’s a very responsible God who hasn’t dropped the ball on this, no matter how many times my very important plan for the day has been interrupted.

Here, the structure of my day is determined by saying, “good morning”.  I ask him where to go and when to do things, asking to see clearer.  It’s coming, although it feels slow sometimes.  Today I set out for town, planning to go a shop.  Sure enough, he interrupted, telling me to go to a new coffee shop instead.  Given the day’s plan, it seemed like the least convenient option.  But I gave up the discussion and went there…sure enough, an elderly gentleman ended up in line right behind me.  Within a few minutes, he told me with tears in his eyes about losing his wife of 40 years.  He comes to the coffee shop at exactly that time on Fridays, Saturdays, and Mondays.  We planned to meet on Monday.  I’ll be bringing friends, as this is exactly what he needs.  After I sat down, a young family with a pregnant mother ended up at the next table, and I knew God was speaking to me for her baby.  I shared it in the end- not well, maybe, but I know it was obedience.

On the way home, I passed a boy just outside his house whose arm was in a sling.  I knew I should stop and ask to pray for him…but I didn’t.  Why not?  I don’t know.  It’s humbling…these are wobbly first steps, indeed.  I'm learning to see.  Thank God that when I miss it, I can start again the next day by saying, “good morning, Holy Spirit”.


Thursday 11 October 2012

there and back again...beginnings


10.09.12

We live in the Shire.

Granted, I can be one of “those” people- extreme Tolkien fanatics who have the annoying tendency of relating everything to Lord of the Rings.  But honestly…houses with thatched roofs sit behind tall green hedges, narrow aged roads and footpaths wind through green rolling hills, everyone knows everyone, and places have names like “Buckland” and “Rivendell Cottage”.  (I’m not kidding; it’s a charming little bungalow that looks like it was cut out of a Thomas Kincade postcard.)

I love it.  I love that a ten minute walk can get me either to High Street, the local grocer, or the boundary of The Hills, from which I can disappear into remote, stunningly beautiful countryside for hours on end. (This background is a view from the edge of it.) I love the marketplace feel of a place not yet bullied into supermarkets and shopping plazas.  I love that our house is surrounded by an eight-foot hedge and an iron gate.  I love that carrots and cucumbers are full of local flavor.  I love that “calling” on a neighbor results in an hour-long chat over a cup of tea- tea being symbolic of the sharing of hospitality, life, and community.

It’s so natural this time.  There’s usually a few days of adjustment during which I’m incredibly aware of the million subtle, unspoken differences between the sister cultures.  But none of that this time; it’s like coming back to your childhood home- a sense of comfort and nostalgia, like curling up in your favorite armchair.

It feels wrong somehow.  Surely I should feel the “trial” of missions already- a sense of loss and sacrifice and the intimidating challenge ahead.  And I know it will come- there’s enough that God is speaking and enough paths that I’ve crossed to make me aware that there are challenges enough ahead- I don’t yet have my head around everything that’s coming yet.  I’m eager to “get dirty” with the work of it and don’t prefer to sit too long. 

But I can’t force the pace now- there’s still the slow, patient work of waiting on the Holy Spirit here.  And in the meantime, I know that I can choose: one option being anxiety and frustration that at nearly one week in the country, there’s not yet a clear format and paved road ahead.  Or I can choose the alternative: to accept with gratitude the odd discomfort of finding something easy and enjoyable.  So many prophetic words came about finding ease and lavish blessing here; it’s strange to feel the challenge of accepting them!

Today it poured, forcing me mostly indoors and producing the first twitches of impatience.  But I’ve come back to thankfulness, and I am intensely thankful.  Yes, I’m eager to go to work, and I am praying intently, asking God for insight, strategy, and opportunities.  In the meantime, I’m going to go thoroughly enjoy a cup of tea (is that the fourth or fifth cup today?) and an apple bought from a local farmer.

Thursday 4 October 2012

risk is right


9.21.12

Moving countries is an abstract, surreal idea until all your meager worldly possessions are out of your closets and cabinets, off your walls, and tucked into cardboard boxes.  For months I’ve heard the polite question:

“Sooo!  How are you feeling about going to England?”

I’ve had one consistent answer: I don’t know.  Perhaps that’s owing to the honest truth that the sentimental bone in my body is probably about the size of my smallest toe rather than my femur.  Or it could be due to the fact that just two days ago, John and I had to again address the question of whether I should still plan to come now, despite the obstacles and risks.  But whether I can succinctly define my emotional state now or not, the reality of the situation is at least a little more concrete, and fresh realities tend to effectively produce fresh emotions, fresh ponderings, and fresh journeys with God.

Empty bookcases and walls have the most startling effect.  My library bursting from the shelves creates an odd sense of security; the hard covers create an illusion of life and lifestyle being secure, and the dog-eared paperbacks lend a sense of familiarity and comfort, as if the strange unknowns in the world have their mysteries unraveled and put to rest on the specially marked pages.  Now, though, the only thing remaining on those shelves is a layer of dust so thick I could write messages in it. (Really…do you dust behind all your books?) And it’s a sharp reminder that safety is a myth and security an illusion, as John Piper describes it.  On the contrary, life is full of risk, and if we do not risk, we waste our lives.

Risk is right.  This is a welcome reminder that I must deliberately make to myself at times.  It’s not always.  Usually it’s when I see that another fellow graduate finished graduate school and is settling nicely into a promising career.  Or when others who are four, five, six years younger than me post photos from their weddings or their second child’s first birthday.  Or when I sit in my bare room with my feet on a cardboard box, contemplating this reality: I am about to move to another country.  I will not have an income.  I do not really know what I will do when I get there.  I do not know when I will come back.  When I come back, I will have no car, no home, no certain career, and God forbid, no health insurance.  If you ask me about a 401K, I will have no option but to stare at you with all the personality and intelligence of a dead fish.  Yes, I am profoundly aware of the risks I am taking with my 25-year-old life, risks that no sensible, middle-class American college graduate really ought to make.

Why, then?  Well…God spoke.

As I close the tenth overstuffed box of the day, I wonder how Joshua and Caleb felt staring at giants on their west sides and an unbelieving people on their east.  I wonder if underneath their unwavering commitment to the mandate and promise of God, they felt a little unsteady, pleading inwardly that God would, indeed, prove himself consistent to what he spoke.

And I wonder about Abraham, the father of our faith.  Was leaving the familiarity of home and family and traditional lifestyle and traditional gods as simple as telling Hagar to pack up the kitchen supplies and hitch up the camels?  As Abraham broke away from convention and headed into some vast unknown, did he have any questions for the God who would become his Friend?

Selfishly, I hope there were some startling realities of the unknown that they had to overcome.  I find my courage again thinking of these men and women “of whom the world was not worthy”.  They lived nomadically, knowing this world is not home.  And faith- that is, obedient action to that which God spoke- determined their lives and made mine possible.

So the empty bookshelves lead to me a more resounding reality: this world is not my home.  I do celebrate the marriages and children and careers and lovely homes and great cars of my peers.  I believe these things can be gifts from God and may be parts of his perfect will for many lives.  Roads that include these things are full of their own risks and potentially, adventures in God.  But on September 21, 2012, the road God has asked me to take is one that is unconventional and seemingly unwise…a waste, some would say.  But heaven is home, not this room full of boxes, so I can find courage to act in faith like Abraham, ‘not knowing where I am going’.  And the God “who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were” will, I trust, prove himself consistent with what he has spoken.