Thoughts

Recently I read through the Old Testament books of Ezra and Nehemiah. I was especially struck by Ezra’s repentance in chapter 9.

He finds out that other Israelites have sinned. He hasn’t committed this particular sin. Others have. And yet, when he hears about it, he spends a full day in mourning, and then prays in full identification with his fellow Israelites who have sinned.

My God, I’m too ashamed to lift up my face to you. Our iniquities have risen higher than our heads, and our guilt has grown to the heavens.

Ezra 9:6, emphasis mine

I often have the opposite impulse. When I hear about the latest ways Christians have failed to care for the orphan and widow, when I hear of their complicity in acts of violence and oppression, I don’t immediate identify with them and ask God to forgive our sins.

Instead, my temptation is mostly to distance myself from such Christians.

But there appears to be some power in this kind of repenting on behalf of others. Ezra’s repentance in chapter 9 paves the way for the rest of the people to repent in chapter 10. They mourn their sins and renew the covenant and return to the Lord.

In years past, when I went on vacation, I wanted to receive some big revelation from God about my calling. I noticed others would go away on retreats and come back with the next 10 years all mapped out because God spoke to them.

That sounds pretty good to me, but it’s literally never happened. I used to worry that this meant I had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the past and had been slowly drifting away from God for years and could never find my way back.

But I don’t worry too much about that anymore, because (in general) I think the way God guides us is much different.

Now I think about more like a general orientation that guides my life, and a trust that God will be present and at work in the midst of whatever circumstances come up in the midst of that journey.

For example, I know I have a priestly call to minister God’s word and sacraments to God’s people, to help them pay attention to how God is at work in their lives. But as far as the specific steps to take along the way, well, I don’t even know what the options will be until we walk it out.

In the midst of the general orientation and call to ministry, I simply pay attention to what God seems to be doing in the midst of it, and respond with a YES. The specific twists and turns along the way can’t be known ahead of time, so it’s fruitless to try and predict the future or “get a word from God” that will guarantee a positive outcome.

Instead, you simply orient yourself in the direction of your call, and keep your eyes open for God’s activity, trying to stay within the wake of God’s grace as he goes ahead of you.

So it’s less like having a map, where you know the exact location of your destination, and the terrain you’ll be encountering along the way, and more like having a general orientation and being ready for whatever along the way.

It’s like checking your compass to make sure you’re oriented to true north, and then trusting that God will be present and at work in whatever challenges the terrain presents along the way.

That isn’t to say that God doesn’t give us specific words sometimes, but that’s not the only (or even normal) way he guides us.

Imagine that you suddenly became a millionaire somehow. You’ve got $20 million in the bank, and you bought a big house with an abundance of unused bedrooms.

Imagine further that as you are settling into your new house, you look out your window and notice the family of six next door is being evicted from their dilapidated dwelling. The landlord is unceremoniously dumping the family’s belongings onto the lawn and locking them out of the house.

The family walks over to your house and knocks on the door to ask for help. Is it moral to refuse to help? Is it moral to have security throw them off your property? “I earned this money fair and square,” you might say. But that wasn’t the question. The question was whether or not it is moral to refuse to help when you know you can.

Admittedly, this is a simplistic parable. But I think it does illuminate the moral situation of those who continue to hoard obscene amounts of wealth when there are people literally dying from a lack of access to healthcare because they just can’t afford it.

Not to mention all the ways that hoarding wealth is destroying the planet, which inordinately affects the poor.

People are suffering and dying because they don’t have access to resources that others are using to purchase another boat. My contention is that this is immoral.

Last year Jeff Bezos became the richest man in modern history. It’s super hard to avoid using Amazon, but the ugly truth is that Bezos made (and continues to make) his fortune on the backs of underpaid and exploited workers.

We are weirdly obsessed with rich people. We lionize them when we should be calling them to account. They are hoarding massive amounts of wealth that they spend on frivolous projects because they don’t know what else to do with it. All while avoiding taxes to pay for the common good.

There is some evidence that this is changing, which is good. (Although people did still “donate” money to Kylie Jenner to get her into the billionaire club.) There is also at least one rich person who realizes they are a big part of the problem of modern society, and they ought to use their wealth to reduce the ravages of economic inequality.

But I think a strong argument can be made that it’s simply immoral to be that rich. There is a long history of Christian opposition to this kind of hoarding, dating at least back to the Apostle James:

Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming on you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workers who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered the innocent one, who was not opposing you.

James 5:1-6

The Apostle James also gives us a scenario much like the one I outlined above:

Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

James 2:15-17

I read a story awhile back about a top automobile executive named George Romney (yep, Mitt’s father) who turned down several big annual bonuses because he thought no one should be paid more than $225,000 per year ($2 million today). It made me think about what a “maximum viable income” would be for me. Some amount after which I’d simply give away 100% of the income to people who need it.

I’m sure it’s more difficult to make these decisions when one actually has a lot of money, but I think making some kind of commitment up front helps to mitigate the corrosive effects of wealth. Jesus did say, after all, that wealth itself was “deceitful.” It’s tricksy, in other words. It whispers lies. When one has it, it’s very difficult to inherit the kingdom of God. Why would one want more of that in their life?

I’ve been using a new lectionary for morning and evening prayer this year, and today Acts 2:1-21 was the morning reading.

I was struck by Peter’s conclusion to his sermon: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

It’s easy to forget how revolutionary this is. If you cry out for help, help will come. If you ask God to save you, he will. Simple as that. The qualification is only your honesty about your needs. Admit your need and it will be met.

As I’ve been reading the Gospels this year, I’ve also noticed something about Jesus’ presence with people. He is completely free from ego and anxiety in every interaction. This freedom allows him to be fully present to those around him, creating space for them to just be with him, right where they’re really at. And then he simply offers to help them with whatever it is they need.

In Luke 9, while he is trying to get away for some down time with his disciples, the crowds find him anyway. What is Jesus’ response?

“He welcomed them, spoke to them about the kingdom of God and healed all those who needed healing.”

Such beautifully simple hospitality! Such presence and lack of ego!

I can’t remember who said this or what the exact quotation is, but I’m remembering that one of the great Christian spiritual teachers once said that the height of spiritual maturity is when one gets to a place of self-emptying so complete that she is able to be present among people in any situation able to say, “How can I be of help?”

That’s how I’d like to be when I grow up.

Poet Mary Oliver said, “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” You cannot love something you do not (really) see.

One of the most devastating casualties in our age of carefully constructed distraction is our diminishing capacity to pay attention. To gaze upon something and simply receive what it is. To focus our attention on one thing for several minutes without getting bored or drawn away by a new shiny social media update or breaking news story.

Simone Weil saw a deep connection between our capacity for paying attention and our capacity for prayer. “Prayer consists of attention,” she said, “It is the orientation of all the attention of which the soul is capable toward God. The quality of attention counts for much in the quality of the prayer.”

The student who is learning to keep distractions at bay and concentrate their whole being on solving an equation or understanding 19th century Russian politics is a person who is, often unknowingly, growing their capacity for prayer.

“Every time that we really concentrate our attention, we destroy the evil in ourselves,” Weil wrote. “If we concentrate this intention, a quarter of an hour of attention is better than a great many good works.”

Every morning and evening, when I show up to light a candle and say my prayers, this is the capacity I am cultivating. I am learning to pay attention to God’s movement in my life and in the world. I am learning to keep the relentless churning of the breaking news cycle at bay so I can focus as much of my attention as possible on God.

This is why certain “auxiliary” practices also seem to contribute to my ability to pay attention. Walking in the woods. Playing with my dog. Walking through an art museum. Reading poetry (slowly, out loud).

This is why I pray out loud now, too. It helps to keep my mind tethered to what I’m doing. Otherwise it floats off into whatever antagonism I last allowed it to get sucked into.

Something I’m trying to do more of lately is block out chunks of time for “deep work,” where my phone is on Do Not Disturb and I’m able to concentrate all my attention and faculties on a creative task.

I see this as a spiritual practice, because I’m confident that as I unhook my brain from the constant flow of outrage and anxiety on social media and focus on creating something, I am also growing my capacity for paying attention.

Attention is the beginning of devotion, and that’s the kind of life I want to live. A life devoted to things that really matter, things that birth beauty and bring blessing in the world.

Simone Weil said, “We do not obtain the most precious gifts by going in search of them but by waiting for them.” As we learn to pay attention, we’ll stop missing so many of the precious gifts that I suspect are all around us.