About a month ago, I finished reading a book called "The Irresistible Revolution" written by Shane Claiborne. Some of the things I read reinforced what I already sensed - that the body of Christ in America today seems to under-value hospitality, which is reflected in the way that we meet and interact. The best way that I can describe it is as "convenient isolation" of ourselves from our brothers and sisters. There's more I could say, but I have to go to dinner. Here's what Shane says.
"So, as congregations build larger buildings, gyms, and food courts, we find ourselves less likely to meet in homes and kitchens, and around dinner tables. We end up centralizing worship on corporate space or "on-campus". Hospitality becomes less of a necessity and more of an optional matter, a convenient privilege."
Think about it. What are the consequences of this paradigm? How can I work to change this?
26 April 2008
25 April 2008
A Well-Ordered Heart
Over spring break, I caught a glimpse of this statement while at a friend's house. I wrote it down to think deeply about it later. Admittedly, I was cleaning my room and found it waiting for me to consider. Here's what it says.
"A well ordered heart is this:
to love the right thing
in the right way
to the right degree
with the right kind of love."
Reflecting on my life, I conclude that there are many things that I would claim to love - God, my family, friends, people, and nature, for example. At the same time, my lifestyle either confirms or refutes my claims to love those things, and suggests that there are other things that I love without recognizing or admitting so - money, success, recognition, privilege, reputation, comfort, control, and certainly more. What should I do first? Examine my priorities, behavior, and values to discover where I place my affection and energy, then compare them to what I ought to be. Sifting through the many things fighting for my allegiance takes discipline, discernment, and discretion. It requires reflection, self-evaluation, and humble honesty to admit that my heart is not where it should be. That is my confession today, and every day.
There are times when I have chosen the right things to love, but did not show that love in the right way. So once I have learned what I ought to love, how do I properly display that? If I claim to love my family, it would be difficult for me to sincerely say so if I did not communicate with them, serve them, or support them. There are many practical ways to do so: spending time talking with and listening to them, finding ways to show appreciation for them, and praying for them. These are just a few examples.
I admit that another of my struggles is finding a balance. Some ethicists and philosophers writing on the concept of virtue describe it as avoiding extremes, which are vices. For example, courage is the virtue which avoids the bookend extremes of cowardice and recklessness. Loving the right things is good, but I must determine how much love is appropriate for each thing. This isn't to say that love is a quantitative measure, such as utility, but that different things require various measures of love. This is where I have to think very carefully about ordering the things that I value. What should be of greatest importance? What will endure?
Similarly to loving the right thing to the right degree is recognizing which type of love is appropriate for each right thing. For example, the love that I owe God is reserved solely for him. The love that a husband has for his wife is different from the love that is between friends, which is not the same as the love shared by families. I'm sure that there is more that I (or you) could say about this.
The complexity of this concise proverb is encouraging as wisdom, but also discouraging when I examine my heart.
I love some of the right things with the right kind of love, and maybe in the right ways (on a good day), but chances are that I don't love them to the degree that I should. Most likely, where I may succeed in one category, I fail in another. It's frustrating to compare my forward progress to the backtracking that I've done over nearly 22 years.
To me, it seems that the first step is to admit that I've got it wrong. My priorities are jumbled, my behavior is inconsistent, and my heart is imbalanced and sometimes chases the wind. I simply can't fix this, even in a lifetime.
Yet, by the goodness of God, I am being changed. It's slow, painfully slow. There are moments of hope amid seasons of failure. I have to admit with the apostle Paul that I am not what I should be, and I am what I shouldn't be. But God loves me in a way that I cannot fully comprehend, to a degree that is still breaking through to me. He doesn't love me because I love him, but because he loved me first, and promises to do so despite my incapability to love the right things in the right ways, to the right degree and with the right kind of love.
"A well ordered heart is this:
to love the right thing
in the right way
to the right degree
with the right kind of love."
Reflecting on my life, I conclude that there are many things that I would claim to love - God, my family, friends, people, and nature, for example. At the same time, my lifestyle either confirms or refutes my claims to love those things, and suggests that there are other things that I love without recognizing or admitting so - money, success, recognition, privilege, reputation, comfort, control, and certainly more. What should I do first? Examine my priorities, behavior, and values to discover where I place my affection and energy, then compare them to what I ought to be. Sifting through the many things fighting for my allegiance takes discipline, discernment, and discretion. It requires reflection, self-evaluation, and humble honesty to admit that my heart is not where it should be. That is my confession today, and every day.
There are times when I have chosen the right things to love, but did not show that love in the right way. So once I have learned what I ought to love, how do I properly display that? If I claim to love my family, it would be difficult for me to sincerely say so if I did not communicate with them, serve them, or support them. There are many practical ways to do so: spending time talking with and listening to them, finding ways to show appreciation for them, and praying for them. These are just a few examples.
I admit that another of my struggles is finding a balance. Some ethicists and philosophers writing on the concept of virtue describe it as avoiding extremes, which are vices. For example, courage is the virtue which avoids the bookend extremes of cowardice and recklessness. Loving the right things is good, but I must determine how much love is appropriate for each thing. This isn't to say that love is a quantitative measure, such as utility, but that different things require various measures of love. This is where I have to think very carefully about ordering the things that I value. What should be of greatest importance? What will endure?
Similarly to loving the right thing to the right degree is recognizing which type of love is appropriate for each right thing. For example, the love that I owe God is reserved solely for him. The love that a husband has for his wife is different from the love that is between friends, which is not the same as the love shared by families. I'm sure that there is more that I (or you) could say about this.
The complexity of this concise proverb is encouraging as wisdom, but also discouraging when I examine my heart.
I love some of the right things with the right kind of love, and maybe in the right ways (on a good day), but chances are that I don't love them to the degree that I should. Most likely, where I may succeed in one category, I fail in another. It's frustrating to compare my forward progress to the backtracking that I've done over nearly 22 years.
To me, it seems that the first step is to admit that I've got it wrong. My priorities are jumbled, my behavior is inconsistent, and my heart is imbalanced and sometimes chases the wind. I simply can't fix this, even in a lifetime.
Yet, by the goodness of God, I am being changed. It's slow, painfully slow. There are moments of hope amid seasons of failure. I have to admit with the apostle Paul that I am not what I should be, and I am what I shouldn't be. But God loves me in a way that I cannot fully comprehend, to a degree that is still breaking through to me. He doesn't love me because I love him, but because he loved me first, and promises to do so despite my incapability to love the right things in the right ways, to the right degree and with the right kind of love.
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