I Want To, But Not Really

I don't remember who said it and it really doesn't matter. If a saying is good, it stands on its own, not on the back the mouth that uttered it. If I were really confused I might think I said it, but I'm not and I didn't:

"The only reason you are not a saint is because you do not wholly want to be."

I know I didn't say that because I never say "wholly". It was probably G.K Chesterton. He was very British and the quote sounds very British. Regardless, it stands. It stands because the wisdom exists no matter who said it. It says that the only reason we can really give for not becoming the person God created us to be is that we don't want to be that person. We live under the misconception that we know better than anyone else, including God how to live to our fullest potential.

Just a side note: Do you think it's odd that we think we know how to make ourselves happy and well-adjusted but we buy self-help books written by someone else to tell us how to do it? Essentially, we say, "I know how to be happy: do what this This Guy says!" and call ourselves "free thinkers".

Back to saints and our laziness. I will stop saying "our" and go to "my" so I'm not speaking for anyone else. I realized the other day that the quote is true. At any moment there are a dozen things that I could be doing. What do I choose? I complain that I don't have time to meditate; what with the kids and house and work. As I sit in the chair flipping through Netflix (which is instantly available, meaning I can watch it at any time, it doesn't have to be now) I think, "The kids are asleep. It's only 8 o'clock. And my wife is putting her laundry away upstairs. I could probably use this time to to meditate." No sooner than that thought entered my mind another thought entered, "Endless Summer in HD! I better watch that!" The point: I could have easily turned off the TV and spent some time in meditation. It's not like I wouldn't have been able to watch TV later. So there is no reason for me not to pursue union with God. No reason that I can't be in prayer or meditation. I simply choose not to do it. I had the thought, and that's the worst. I knew what I ought to do. I knew what I really wanted to do, but as my lifeguard friend once said, "In most people laziness overrides the desire to be happy". I can say with near certainty that in my case this is true. I really do want to move closer to God, right?

So what is the cause of this spiritual laziness? Or even worse, some sort of American self-denial where I will deny my soul while gorging my physical appetites. Much of this attitude is probably related to a desire to be accepted. I want society to accept me. Oddly enough, this is the same society that in many ways I can't stand. I can't stand it for the same reasons that I want to be accepted by it. Our culture says that we are supposed to watch TV, otherwise how will I know what I'm supposed to think and buy. Our culture does not encourage silence and meditation. Our culture does not like people who would rather do-without. I have heard many times the TV described as the "Demon in the Corner".

In a more practical sense, ask yourself why you enjoy (maybe?) going on vacation to place that doesn't have a TV, or cell-phones, or Internet and we call this "relaxing" and say things like, "I wish I could live like this" as we lay on the beach or sit on a mountain. But... we go home and immediately plop down on the couch and turn on the TV or get in front of the computer and see if anyone missed us. How much money do Americans spend going to weekend spas where they sleep on the floor, do yoga, and meditate? Yet we go home talking about how great that weekend/retreat/vacation was and fall right back into old habits. So back to the quote. We could change all of this today. It seems that we really don't want to.

We don't want to because it means action. Even sitting in silence and meditation is not really passive. It's like a diet or exercise program; at first it really sucks and you're tempted to just forget it. But after a few days or weeks it not only becomes easier and more tolerable but you begin to see the difference it's making and you can't imagine going back to way you were. I'm going to illustrate this in a very simple way using the analogy our Teacher used:

Jesus said, "My yoke is easy and my burden is light." Simple enough. This is the hard part though. What Jesus is saying is that if you want to come with Him, you must put His yoke across your shoulders. That's difficult for us. If you've ever seen a yoke you know it is a large, cumbersome piece of wood designed to rest across your shoulders so you can carry heavy loads that dangle from ends. If you saw the yoke laying on the ground you would say, "That looks really heavy and carrying it any distance would just be awful." If you can get past your initial shock at what's being asked and actually pick up the yoke, Jesus says we'll realize that it isn't heavy at all, but you'll never know until you put it on. That is what Chesterton (I've decided) meant. There is something holding us back. There is something about picking up that yoke that scares us. Even though all of our education and experience tells us it will be great, sitting there, on the ground, it just looks so heavy. We don't pick it up because we don't really want to.

We are too lazy to be happy. 

Eternal Vigilance

Last Friday, New Year's Eve, me, my brother, our friend Garret, and about ten other guys (and some girls) stood stoically on the beach patiently waiting on the wind to shift. It was a period of hopeful anticipation. The promise was one of a coming cool-front that would turn the winds offshore and shape the waves for the most epic day of the season. Three o'clock, they said. That's when the front would hit. So we all stood there, staring through the sea-fog and watched the waves, waiting for that moment when the foam would start to be blown off the top, signifying the switch.

Sunday was the Feast of the Epiphany, celebrating the arrival of the magi in Bethlehem. If I were smarter I would have thought about the connection as we waited on the winds. I would have have thought about how we were like those magi, led to the beach on a promise but still not really knowing what we would find when we got there. I would have thought about how they followed a star the same way I'm following the palms, watching to see if there is a change in the direction they're blowing. I would have thought about these guys trekking across hundreds of miles of desert to go to a backwater town in a backwater Roman province. I might have made the connection when my brother said, "Let's just get in. That way we'll already be out there when it shifts. We can be first." Now, I must admit, that's not exactly what he said, I cleaned it up a lot. But the thought stands: to go into the unknown, to be first, to be willing to risk the chop and the rip-tide to get the first waves. To have your place before the others realize they need to paddle out.

Because I'm not smarter, I made no such connection. Instead I ran around on the beach like a child, cursed the wind for not shifting, damned the fog for being so foggy, and made fun of the way my friends looked in their wetsuits. When my brother insisted that we paddle out, I did go. The water was cold (or should I say, the water is cold) and it would have been very easy to make up an excuse to go in. After all, the wind was still blowing on-shore and the fog was holding on pretty good. But I went anyway. And, yes, we were the the only three out. And even though nothing had changed to create the epic day we were all hoping for, the waves were still big and not too choppy. We were able to surf all we wanted while everyone else waited on the beach. I know what you're thinking, yeah, but when the wind does turn you'll be too tired to surf. No, you're wrong. Because, as darkness started to fall, the wind still hadn't shifted. If we had waited, we wouldn't have surfed at all. If we had sat there, waiting on a perfect certainty, we never would have left the beach.