I have struggled with what I at times have perceived to be God calling me into ordained ministry for about eight years now. During that time my conviction about that call has waxed and waned and with it, my enthusiasm for my work has varied in indirect proportion; not my church work, but my capitalist pig work. I think, “If God has called me to ordained ministry then I am wasting both His time and mine continuing in this job. If this is what He wants, why doesn’t He straighten my path away from this place?” I have lived as if one is God’s work and the other one isn’t.

Brother Lawrence tells us that, “the time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees at the blessed sacrament.”

If Brother Lawrence’s experience is available to all of us, then all work can be God’s work. All work should be God’s work. The question that is ringing in my ears is, if at all times I’m not doing God’s work, then whose work am I doing?

Lord, please give me a humble spirit, a simple life, and a loving heart.

In Christ.

Matt

I think, like so many things in the spiritual life, our difficulty with silence stems from the fact that we come to it with faulty presumptions. I have a tendency to spend my quiet time rattling off prayers as fast as I can conceive them, as if I’m under some kind of time constraint. In the end it’s rare that God has an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. How much better would it be to realize that a period of silence before God is to be used to engage and deepen our relationship with Him? So many times throughout the Gospels Jesus stole away to the wilderness to be alone before His Father and pray. It was a time of community between a Father and a Son and it is the model that we are to follow.

Our church in Houston traditionally held a prayer vigil during Holy Week. Someone would post a large chart on the wall in the parish hall and everyone would sign up for one-hour blocks to spend in the prayer chapel, round the clock, during the days leading up to Easter. Typically, I would volunteer for a 5 AM to 6 AM slot for all seven days. Often, I spent my time like I assume everyone else did; sitting in the little prayer chapel, praying through the basket of written prayers that grew as the week wore on. But the most profound experiences of silence and spirituality I ever had came on the rare mornings, the sun not yet risen, when I tread carefully down the wooden, spiral staircase into the nave. I would remove my shoes and sit barefoot at the base of the sanctuary steps, the building illuminated only by the candle above the ambry. No words were ever spoken but I knew I was standing on holy ground. I never revealed these actions to anyone, but it was in these moments that I felt closest to our Lord. It was in these moments that I believe I learned most of what I know about being a Christian.

My son is two and a half and is in near constant motion. He jumps and flops and runs and shouts. Most of the time, the idea of solitude with him in the room is laughable. But every so often he will crawl into my lap and snuggle with me. It is happening less as he gets older, but I believe it is those moments that strengthen the bonds between us, much more so than when we jump, flop, run, and shout together. When he will let me, I love to wrap my arms around him and rub my face in his hair. Although I am silent, I pray for him. I pray that he will remain healthy, that he will grow strong in body and faith. I pray for the little girl that will one day be his wife and I pray that he will be an honorable, Godly husband to her and she an honorable, Godly wife for him. I pray for things he cannot yet dream of, let alone understand, but I do so because I know these things are coming and must be prayed for. These times of silence are a gift.

When we take the time to be silent before God, I believe something very similar is taking place. Although we may not know it, in the silence our Father has wrapped His arms around us and is praying for things we cannot yet dream of, let alone understand, but He does so because He knows these things are coming and must be prayed for. I believe it is through these times that our bonds with God are strengthened and I believe that God’s heart aches for time with us, in much the same way that my heart aches for time with my son. These times of silence are a gift.

May we all have humble spirits, simple lives, and loving hearts.

In Christ.

Matt

Sadly, I don’t think we view enough of the activities and ministries within our churches and our lives from this viewpoint of hospitality. I have heard it said enough times to be either credible or urban legend, that one of the churches in our diocese believes that “everyone who needs to be Episcopalian is Episcopalian.” While this is an extreme example we often operate under the principle that we’re “welcoming communities” and we love new comers. But what if we actively tried to make people feel welcome whether or not they joined our church? Each Sunday our Rector invites all who are gathered in our nave “regardless of your denominational background, wherever you come from, to join in the communion feast around our Lord’s Table.” I love these words but what if we let them leak through our red double doors and spill onto our surrounding neighborhoods? What if we loved and fed and welcomed and embraced everyone in our community? In the Gospel of Matthew Jesus feeds the 5000 from five loaves and two fish and twelve full baskets of leftovers were collected. When He feeds the 4000 seven full baskets of leftovers were collected. This isn’t just hospitality; it’s extravagance in the name of welcoming people into the Kingdom.

Over the past several weeks I have struggled with maintaining a constant connection to God throughout my day. Despite reading about Henri Nouwen and others lauding the virtues of continuous prayer in all our mundane tasks, I have struggled to do so, justified in my self-righteous insistence that my work requires too much mental engagement to leave room for God. But finally Karl Rahner knocked me off my pedestal. He writes, “That’s why I now see clearly that, if there is any path at all on which I can approach You, it must lead through the very middle of my ordinary daily life…if it’s true that I can lose You in everything, it must also be true that I can find You in everything.” So it seems that once again, my experience is not unique. People much more intelligent and faithful than I, have already conquered the struggles which vex me today.

So how does Rahner relate to our calling to hospitality? It strikes me that it is only through our willingness to offer, and indeed to accept, hospitality that we meet God. Jesus’ actions throughout the Gospels were essentially acts of hospitality. Even His death and resurrection were in part an effort to make us welcome in an unbelievably extravagant way, and so I think we’re made more Christ-like by our willingness to die a little for the sake of someone else. Indeed, I think for me, hospitality that’s a little over the top, a little more than is acceptable and certainly more than is required but an everyday part of our lives, may be the ultimate distillation of our Kingdom life.

In Christ.

Matt

- Jean-Pierre de Caussade, The Sacrament of the Present Moment

We live in an age when many people are questioning the relevance of the church in today’s society and in their own lives. Sacrilege by Hugh Halter is a book that also questions the relevance of the church and seeks to provide areas in which all Christians could stand to grow. The essential premise of Mr. Halter’s book is that Jesus was counter-cultural therefore Christians should also be counter-cultural, and it is his view that our modern churches have become so mainstream as to be all but indistinguishable from the very culture Jesus spoke out against. To this end he takes numerous cheap shots at today’s churches with such witty prose as, “In my world, when I meet someone new, I rarely say I’m a pastor, I’m always a ‘nonprofit consultant’…even though I lead a church, I’m not a complete dork.”

And it’s here that Mr. Halter lost me. To be sure, our churches could stand to be a little more like Jesus. I’ll even grant that we could stand to be a lot more like Jesus. But Mr. Halter chooses to be deliberately provocative in his comments and in so doing doesn’t make the argument that we should be counter-cultural but that we should be counter-church. Because of the many short comings of our churches Mr. Halter throws the baby out with the bath water and asserts that a new model is required; not coincidentally, his model is available.

However, despite his comments that I suspect will garner audiences that find his comments refreshing and insulting in equal measure, Mr. Halter does suggest areas that are worthy of discussion and introspection. His thoughts are primarily based on a three point model of “Biblical apprenticeship” that includes, “1) becoming like Jesus, 2) doing what Jesus did, and 3) doing the above with the types of people Jesus liked spending time with.”

Mr. Halter spills considerable ink imploring us to to be more open minded and less rigid in our doctrine. He encourages us to open our homes to those whom Jesus came to serve and for our family time and Sabbaths not to be sacrosanct, but as times to be used for the glorification of God. He motivates us to see God in all things and to reconsider the purpose and liturgy of communion, re-crafting it to be an open and accessible part of our Christian walk.

In short, Hugh Walter is suggesting that we need to be transformed by the Gospel of Christ and the love of Jesus. He poignantly states, “Often we think people’s lack of spiritual response is because they just don’t want to find God. More often, I have found, the real problem is that we just don’t live enough like Jesus yet.” I find myself unable to argue this point.

I think Sacrilege is a book that will speak to many people and I believe Hugh Walter is a man who’s heart is in the right place. Consider reading this book with a Christian’s heart, forgiving the book’s shortcomings and focusing on it’s key principals. You just may find some areas of your life that are asking to be transformed.

In Christ.

Matt