Looking for the Wilderness in an Age of Productivity

[Luke 5:15-16 ESV] 15 But now even more the report about him went abroad, and great crowds gathered to hear him and to be healed of their infirmities. 16 But he would withdraw to desolate places and pray.

One of the greatest dangers for those of us who are in ministry and/or non-profit work is burning out. This is especially troublesome if you are doing this kind of work while raising a family.

Members of the clergy suffer higher rates of obesity and hypertension than the rest of Americans.

Working for non-profits over the past 5 years, I have personally experienced burnout. I have never been as tired in my life as when doing this work. I have noticed anger and resentment grow in me as I go through a grueling day of work and ministry, even as my body is asking me for rest.

Why is This?
I think there are two reasons for our tendency to overwork in ministry.

First, our obsession with productivity in our culture. We value 'doing' more than 'being.' We are what we do. Whatever value you give to the world through your work is the value you receive from this world. Our identity, confidence, and self-esteem is contingent on what we do and accomplish.

With this philosophy, or work ethic, if you want to be better, you have to do better.

Second, ministry and non-profit work are often fueled by our passions. We dedicate ourselves to a good cause, to changing unjust systems so that it benefits the greater number of people. Clergy and ministers are fueled by a passion to serve God and people. We may feel duty-bound to spend ourselves for a cause.

In an age where productivity and hard work are rewarded, and when our passion to serve God and others is fueling us, the result is a perfect storm for burnout.

What Can We Do?
In the reading from Luke, we see that as Jesus' ministry grows, He found more opportunities to withdraw to the wilderness.

For many of us, witnessing our work and ministry grow and attract more people can be an exhilarating experience. We can easily get caught up in the excitement of our work. We may experience a new high that can easily become obsessive. We may plunge even deeper into our work.

Jesus doesn't seem preoccupied about that. His joy and excitement seem unaffected by His popularity. In fact, in chapter 5 of Luke, after healing a man with leprosy, Jesus instructs him not to tell anyone. Jesus seems not in the least concerned with growing His popularity and thus growing His ministry.

As His ministry grew, Jesus began to withdraw to desolate places. His initial reaction, unlike many of ours, is not to plunge deeper into His work. His initial reaction is to withdraw. How radical this is! How contrary to our own logic of productivity! Imagine if, when things get busier in your work, instead of working more you looked for opportunities to withdraw. I'm sure many of us would get fired if we did this!

And we are told in the Scriptures that Jesus withdraws to desolate places. Desolate places in the New Testament can be synonymous with deserts, places with few people and resources. These are places where there seems to be little life. He withdraws from places that are full of worldly life to find a Greater Life.

Jesus does more than just withdraw. He doesn't withdraw simply to have a nap or a cup of tea while enjoying the sunlight (not that there is anything wrong with that). But the Scriptures tells us that He withdraws to pray.

While physical rest is good and necessary, spiritual rest is even better and more necessary. Hebrews 4:10-11a describes entering God's presence as entering into His rest: "for whoever has entered God's rest has also rested from his work as God did from His. Therefore, let us strive to enter that rest."

The Greek word for strive in verse eleven is spoudazo. This word can be translated as diligence, eagerness, and even labor.  In its counter-intuitive and paradoxical way, the Scriptures uses a word related to hard work and productivity to call us to rest!

Striving for God's Rest
I am not trying to discount hard work. It seems to me there are many instances where Jesus works hard for His ministry. But Jesus is also diligent in returning to the wilderness. When Jesus started His ministry, the Holy Spirit guided Him to 40 days and nights in the wilderness.

As His ministry grows, He strives to return to that wilderness in the presence of God. Jesus returns to the place where He found His calling. He returns to that place of intimacy where He found His name of Beloved.

During Lent, we are called to follow Jesus in the wilderness. During our hard labor, our ceaseless ministry, it is most necessary to respond to the call of the wilderness.

We are called to withdraw from the crowds, the merciless goals and checklists, and return to that place of intimacy. Many of us get inspired to start our work of ministry after a powerful, transformative, and personal encounter with God. His love propels us to do our work.

As the years pass by and our ministry grows, we may forget that experience of intimacy in the wilderness, where God came and gave us the name of Beloved.

Let us labor then to enter into that rest, to return to that place of intimacy and experience once again the depth of God's rest.

What St. Francis Taught Me About Reforming the Church

Photo by Jim Linwood

St. Francis has been an inspiration for me since my conversion 14 years ago. Reading one of his biographies was an instrumental piece of my conversion to Christ. I recently read another biography of him, and his life is once again full inspiration and deep insights for me.

In my recent reading of his life, however, I was able to appreciate more his efforts of reforming the Church. St. Francis, in my opinion, is one of the great reformers of the Church, and those called to the business of reforming the Church should do well in studying his life.

Speak No Evil

Before I start sharing what St. Francis taught me about reforming the Church, I want to share an experience that I had last night while praying with my wife, and how this experience changed radically the direction of this blog post.

My original idea for writing this blog was to pit St. Francis' way of reformation vs. Martin Luther's. I wanted to show how much I preferred St. Francis' way over Luther's, but I do not wish to do that anymore.

As my wife and I were praying, she asked the Holy Spirit to highlight anything to me for tomorrow. Immediately I heard the words Speak no evil. As I heard those words I felt God was telling me not to pit St. Francis against Martin Luther in my blog. I was, at that moment, filled with great compassion for Martin Luther, and I desired no longer to speak evil against the man.

Pitting St, Francis against Martin Luther after all, as I shall explain later, would contradict the spirit of St. Francis.

The Way of St. Francis

St. Francis didn't set out to reform the Catholic Church. When he heard Christ's call to repair His church at San Damiano, Francis undertook this calling quite literally and started repairing the crumbling small chapel.

Photo by Michael 1952.

St. Francis started restoring other crumbling small churches around the area as well. Slowly, other people, moved by his radical simplicity and humility, joined him in his efforts. The little brothers, as they were called, not only joined him in restoring these little churches, but also in imitating the way of St. Francis. They forsook material possessions, they practiced humility and obedience.

St. Francis' call to obedience is an essential part of his way of life. We can romanticize St. Francis as a humble lover of nature and poverty and ignore other characteristics that were integral part of him: his call to obedience to the Church.

He spoke no evil of the Church in a time where evil abounded in the Church. He remained obedient to the Church until his death. In an age where aversion to authority is common, this is indeed a hard pill to swallow.

The Way of Holiness

Ultimately, St. Francis' call to obedience is linked with his call to humility, and ultimately, his call to holiness. His love for the Church restrained him from speaking evil to a Church that probably deserved it, and instead he chose to give his life in service for the Church. St. Francis did not come to condemn the Church, but to give his life for her.

This way of holiness is deeply connected with the way of Christ, who, in like manner, didn't come to condemn the world but to save it. This is not to say that St. Francis (or Jesus, for that matter) didn't speak against evil. The way he did so, however, was from his personal example and his persistent call to penance. It is interesting to note that the word "penance" meant more a call to conversion or metanoia, which is a radical new way of thinking, than simple medieval self-flagellation. 

St. Francis, instead of condemning the Church, became a great example for the Church. He denounced greed in his preaching, while at the same time showing the way by being the way. Criticizing evil is easy. Becoming holy not so much.

St. Francis is Still Reforming the Church

The spirit of St. Francis is still reforming the Church. 

It is amazing to witness the incredible patience of God. When we want change, we want it now. There is nothing wrong with desiring change now. The problem is our propensity to force immediate change with violence, condemnation and divisions.

I believe God desires change now, but the way He chooses to deal with it is not always immediate. Sometimes we cannot make changes and reforms immediately without creating violence, hurt and divisions.

I have no doubts that God chose St. Francis to reform the Church. This reform, however, was not and it is not immediate. It is still happening, and God is still using St. Francis to reform the Church. 

Pope Francis, in choosing St. Francis as his namesake, is calling the Church to reform. You can clearly see how the example of St. Francis is still reforming the church, 800 years later.

And we have a part to play. During this season of Lent, we are called to reform ourselves, and by doing so, reform the Church. What the Church needs more of is not people who are condemning and pointing constantly to the need of reform verbally. Of those we have abundantly. What the Church needs more are examples of holy living and for us to lead the way of Christ, by not coming to the Church to condemn it, but to save it.

What Walking in The Rain Taught Me About Entitlements

This past Wednesday it rained heavily. It didn't rain for most of the day, despite what the weather forecast told us. No, it started raining just as soon as I left the office to head to my evening appointment.

To make matters worse, I hadn't driven my car to work and to get to my appointment, I had to walk 40 minutes between transit stations. Not only that, but the heavy winds made it impossible for me not to get soaking wet, despite my sizable umbrella.

As I walked, I started to get understandably upset. After I got upset, I started to feel sorry for myself. I'm fighting a cold, and now I'm walking in the rain I thought. After feeling sorry for myself, I felt that an injustice was being done to me. I grew bitter, looking for someone to blame.

And then, I remembered to give thanks for the rain.

My Comfort is Important!
We live in a place where most of us are accustomed to certain comforts that we take for granted. Most of us have a place to take shelter from the elements. Most of us can take a hot shower when we need it. Most of us have a warm bed waiting for us at night.

Most us are used to these comforts.

After so many years of living with these comforts, I must confess that I not only take them for granted, but I take them as my rights and entitlements. I have grown accustomed to expect those comforts, and when I'm deprived of them (like the day I found myself walking in the rain) I feel that an injustice has been done to me.

What's irrational about this whole situation is that I felt this way despite the fact that California is going through a drought, and we desperately need the rain! My comfort was more important than California's need for rain.

St. Francis is Wrecking My Life

I've been reading a biography of St. Francis and it has made me question how I'm living my life. When St. Francis started his order, the Little Brothers adhered quite strictly to the rule of poverty. They didn't own anything. They walked barefooted. Many times the brothers slept on the streets during winter, fighting the merciless cold weather.

And yet they were filled with joy and contentment.

Why is it that the Little Brothers, who forsook all comforts and dealt with worse circumstances than I ever have, found themselves with greater joy, while on the other hand I, when I found myself in an uncomfortable situation, was angry, filled with self-pity, and felt as if my rights were taken away?

The answer to that question is because I felt entitled. I have grown so accustomed to my comforts that they almost became an idol, and when they are taken away from me, my joy and peace lose all their bases for being.

We, The Entitled People
We are told that as Americans, we are an entitled nation. Whether this is true or not, it is undeniable that we are blessed with more comforts than many other developed nations in the world. I believe that the overabundance of these comforts breeds and feeds our sense of entitlement.

As Lent is well underway, the Church calls us to times of abstinence, penance, and almsgiving. What a perfect opportunity this is to shave away so many of the things we feel are our rights!

I invite you then, to fully go into this time of Lent and embrace all of its practices, not out of a mere sense of obligation, but out of a sense of love for God and others. Joyfully give up what you discern are entitlements, and give them to others who need it. Abstain not for the sake of abstaining, but as a spiritual practice that will chip non-essentials out of your life.

As you do this, see if you begin to shift your attitude towards those things you are abstaining from. See if you still consider them as entitlements, rights, or worse as deserved, or if instead you begin to see them as gifts of pure Grace from God.

Give abundantly and eagerly. Deny yourself and carry your cross. Give thanks to God in all things. This is our call for Lent.