When people speak of nourishment—in the personal sense—my back goes up.  I am reluctant to spend my time doing things that are considered beneficial to my mind or spirit—that’s because I can’t shake the feeling that such activities are really for the privileged.  I always imagine others who cannot afford to have a relaxing day at a retreat center or don’t have time to slow down and do something nice for themselves.  Having said that, I nonetheless went to a workshop yesterday; while the focus was not spiritual nourishment, per se, there was an emphasis on taking time for activities that promote spiritual growth, rest, and quiet time with God.  As soon as the words came out of the speaker’s mouth, I was uncomfortable.  Who are we, I thought, to sit here in a warm building and contemplate how we can spend more time contemplating?  I always figure it would be better to be out doing God’s work rather than thinking about it. 
And then it hit me—or rather God hit me, with this realization: how many hours a day do I spend watching Seinfeld, playing piano, and goofing off in general?  Well, to be honest, quite a bit.  So much so that I often feel like I don’t deserve my paycheck from the church (or any other income I earn, for that matter).  I do volunteer work and think about God and all, but really, I could be doing so much more.  Instead, I find many other things to distract me from doing God’s work.  It’s funny—I have no problem seeing retreats and meditation as the stuff of more fortunate folks, but somehow I disconnect my recreational activities from such comparisons.  In reality, people who are homeless, hungry, or working three jobs just to make ends meet are as unlikely to have time for naps and Seinfeld as they are a day off or money for a week-long retreat.  So why don’t I get all bent out of shape when someone proposes watching the latest indy flick, and yet I freak at the suggestion of spending a day in nourishing prayer?  I don’t think it’s that I’m afraid of being with God.  No, I think it’s that I’m afraid God will say I didn’t do enough to serve “the least” of him.  I’m afraid he’ll say I chose to stay in the warm church building, drinking Starbucks and learning how to improve my prayer skills, rather than standing outside in the cold, serving food to the hungry whilst I went hungry myself.  I’m afraid he’ll say I chose “creature comforts” instead of choosing to comfort others.

As I was listening to NPR today, I heard something that really disturbed me: a listener wrote in to say that she was very moved by the Amish response to the school shootings.  Rather than respond with violence or hatred, they responded with forgiveness.  She went on to say that we could learn something from them in this time of revenge and violence (I assume she was referring to the war in Iraq).
 So, perhaps you are wondering what disturbed me so about this letter.  Well, of course it’s not the Amish response part, nor is it the suggestion that we take a page from their book, so to speak.  No, what disturbed me was that the spirit of reconciliation in lieu of revenge was a surprise response to this particular listener. 
How sad, I thought.  Here we are, living in a country with a president who claims to be a Christian (and tons of other ordinary folks who claim the same belief), and the first time this person has heard of Christians forgiving their enemies comes not from the Whitehouse (or the guy down the street), but from a community of people who have sanctioned themselves off from the rest of us.  Now, this is not to criticize the Amish.  Rather, it is a shameful criticism of those of us who claim to be God’s people.  Indeed, we should take the Amish approach when dealing with those who do not have our best interest at heart; but shouldn’t all Christians, not just Amish, be leading the way in peace and reconciliation?

Recently, I was driving down the road—the windows were down, the music was up, and the Wu-Tang Clan did their thing.  Now, whether or not it’s appropriate for a pastor to listen to the Wu-Tang Clan is beside the point.  I say it’s beside the point because I suspect that I probably shouldn’t be listening to them—they rap about violence and rarely have a song that isn’t peppered with every curse word known in the English language.  But, as I was listening to them that day, I thought about my relationship with Jesus.  Sometimes I feel like I’m dating Jesus—I mean that instead of being truly committed to him, say the kind of commitment one finds in marriage, I am simply “seeing” him.  I love Jesus, I really do.  But I don’t seem to want to give up the things that would perhaps enable me to really make that commitment to him. I don’t feel compelled to give up my own colorful language, particular shows and books, certain bands I still enjoy (the aforementioned included), and a ton of other things. This is not about being “saved”.  It’s about really turning my life over to him.  I’m not sure what my problem is—I guess it goes back to that Donald Miller thing about being in a world full of mirrors that only reflect me.  I’m just too selfish.  And yet, “dating” someone does not imply that love is not there—as I already said, I really do love Jesus.  But what I should desire is what Jesus desires for me—my only goal should be to please God.  Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:15 that
“Christ died for all so that those who live would not continue to live for themselves.  He died for them and was raised from the dead so that they would live for him”.

I want to change, and yet I don’t.  I think sometimes that I can use my “pitfalls” to a ministerial advantage.  Gee, what churchophobic person wouldn’t want to hang with a pastor who likes Wu-Tang?  But I also suspect that my ways alienate other people—the kind of people that perhaps don’t want their pastors to live like me.  I don’t know.   I just can’t seem to figure out who I’m supposed to be as a follower of Christ…