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.

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