Back in September, I shared a portion of Bob's writings on spiritual disciplines (click here to read Part I). The first three that he wrote about were the Discipline of Sacrifice, Suffering, and Silence. Below is the balance three disciplines - the Discipline of Simplicity, Sorrow and Slowness. In re-reading these, the Discipline of Lament jumped out at me, especially during this time when many guests come to visit our work and want to "get their hands dirty" on their trip. Learning to lament - to take time to cry out to God for the brokenness of this world - is important. Taking time to be in the moment, to lament, without rushing to fix or find a solution, is difficult to do. I think West Africans are better at lamenting than North Americans, as indicated by the wailing surrounding a person's death. Lamenting allows us approach a situation with more humility, and as Bob points out, allows transformation to go from the bottom up, instead of the top down. Reading this again makes me miss his wisdom, yet I'm thankful that we still have his voice in his writings. I don't know what his purpose was in writing this document, other than to journal in some way his own spiritual journey. I hope it is a blessing to you as it has been to me.
The Discipline of
Simplicity
The decision to live more simply (and as with all disciplines, we are really talking about living increasingly simply because becoming simple is a life-long process) is really a hedge against that which would distract us in order to live as we are intended. Simply allows us to see the distraction coming, allows us to prepare to rebuff it. God warns against attachment to the world around us, against aligning ourselves to idols, but this must mean more than merely being against idolatry, materialism, or consumerism, or more that merely not being distracted. Living simply means that we actively pursue a lifestyle that allows for more peace, more contemplation, more centering, and ultimately more love. God directs us to avoid the pursuit of money and stuff, because pursuing it distracts us from our real reason for existence – caring for others and for what God has given us.
The Discipline of
Sorrow (Lament)
(Jer 31.15, Rom 12.15) I’m afraid this one came not from
God whispering to my soul, but from my reading.
It comes from the book Reconciling
All Things by Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice. Chapter 5 is actually titled “The Discipline
of Lament,” and I think their thoughts on this are terrific. The message is clear and powerful:
Christians, especially American Christians, need to come purposefully expose
themselves to the suffering of a broken world, and once exposed, we need to
weep. Katongole/Rice write: “The journey
of reconciliation is grounded in the call to see and encounter the rupture of this
world so truthfully that we are literally slowed down. We are called to a space where any action is
too easy, too fast, too shallow—a space where the right response can only be a
desperate cry directed to God. “ Lament
“refuses to spiritualize, explain away, ignore or deny the depth and truth of
suffering in this world.” And like the
voice of Rachel in Ramah, Lament “refuses to be consoled.”
When we discipline ourselves to intentionally expose
ourselves to enter into the brokenness, pain and mourning of others, we begin
to understand it from their perspective.
Again, from Reconciling All
Things: “Lament slows reconciliation
down because it sees the challenge of transformation not from the top but from
the margins - indeed from the bottom.
Lament teaches us to see the world from the standpoint of murder in
Ramah, exile in Babylon, crucifixion outside Jerusalem, mass graves in Rwanda...-
even from a place as small as a long marriage falling apart while both husband
and wife feel powerless to stop it.
Transformation looks very different from the bottom. The more global reconciliation becomes, the
more self-assured it is. The more local,
the more slow and fragile.” Here, words
of Jeremiah recall the insult of dealing superficially with brokenness: "They dress the wound of my people as
though it were not serious. ‘Peace,
peace, they say, ‘when there is no peace.'”
The Discipline of
Slowness
(Ecc 7.8,9; Jas 1:19) In a way, this discipline is a bit
harder to ferret out, because it is tied up in silence, simplicity and
sorrow. It is a call to be more careful,
more deliberate, and less casual with the way we live our faith. It is a call to, as my Liberian brothers
always say, “Take time.” This discipline reminds us that we are in a war, and
to allow ourselves to become indifferent or haphazard could lead to spiritual
disaster and wreckage. One of my
favorite phrases, in fact my life’s motto is “pay attention.” It means take nothing for granted, keep your
eyes and ears open. Paying attention is
harder the faster one travels. On the
road of life, the fast mover misses more of all the lessons about the journey
than the slow mover. And of course,
there are no shortcuts to sanctification anyway. Moving slower allows us a chance to
understand the nature of the spiritual epic swirling around us.
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| Bob's coffee mug, used daily during our coffee time. |
Our culture, of course, is addicted to fast. Our culture teaches us that patience is for
suckers and that slow and deliberate is the same as boring and uncool. And nothing is worse in America than being
boring and uncool. Ultimately, and like
all disciplines, going slow is about love.
One more quote from our friends Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice, in Reconciling All Things: "A friend of ours recounted an experience he had
while working with an international group of Christian missionaries on a plan
to combat poverty. During the meeting,
one participant suggested it might be helpful to invite some poor people into the
process to help the group think more deeply about how to lift people out of
poverty. Another participant quickly
disagreed. "That would just slow us
down," he said. He was exactly
right. But maybe slowing down is what we
need.”
Moving slow gives us a better chance to assess each other’s needs, share each other’s load, and walk together.
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