Spiritual Perspective

Christianity is not [currently] declining in America. At the New York Times, journalist Lauren Jackson has been doing some searching, thorough reporting for a new series “Believing.” Apparently, 92 percent of Americans say “they hold a spiritual belief in a god, human souls or spirits, an afterlife, or something ‘beyond the natural world.’”

Jackson reasons that people haven’t found a satisfying alternative to religion. She reports that for the last few decades, much of the world has tried to go without God, a departure from most of recorded history. More than a billion people globally and about a third of Americans have tried to live without religion. Studies in recent years have offered insights into how that is going. The data doesn’t look good.

Actively religious people tend to report they are happier than people who don’t practice religion. Religious Americans are healthier, too. They are significantly less likely to be depressed or to die by suicide, alcoholism, cancer, cardiovascular illness, or other causes. In a long-term study, doctors at Harvard found that women who attended religious services once a week were 33 percent less likely to die prematurely than women who never attended. One researcher on the study said, that because “they had higher levels of social support, better health behaviors, and greater optimism about the future.”

Religiously affiliated Americans are more likely to feel gratitude (by 23 percentage points), spiritual peace (by 27 points), and “a deep sense of connection with humanity” (by 15 points) regularly than people without a religious affiliation.

Religion can’t just become another way to optimize your life. Some have tried. Jackson describes secular community gatherings with pop music, morality talks, free food — but “None of us became regulars.” Going for any reason other than faith itself leaves you with little reason to stick around.

How do you make sense of the problem of pain and the wonder of beauty occurring in the same world? If you’ve ever had the privilege of visiting the Louvre in Paris, you probably braved the crowds to get a glimpse of the statue of Venus de Milo.

Millions have been captivated by the woman’s physical beauty displayed in stunningly smooth marble. They’ve also been disturbed by seeing her arms broken off. Somehow the damage done to her arms doesn’t destroy the aesthetic pleasure of viewing the sculpture as a whole. But it does cause a conflicted experience—such beauty, marred by such violence.

I doubt if anyone has ever stood in front of that masterpiece and asked, “Why did the sculptor break off the arms?” More likely, everyone concludes the beautiful parts are the work of a master artist and the broken parts are the results of someone or something else—either a destructive criminal or a natural catastrophe.

We need a unified perspective on created beauty and marred ugliness that can make sense of both. The Christian faith provides that. It points to a good God who made a beautiful world with pleasures for people to enjoy. But it also recognizes damage caused by sinful people. Ultimately, it points to a process of restoration that has already begun and will continue forever.

Sandra McCracken writes in an article in CT magazine:

I woke up before the sun on a recent morning, just home from some overseas travel. The discomfort of jet lag is one of my favorite embodied metaphors of our spiritual reality. We live in liminal space. We are pulled between two time zones. On the one hand, by faith we are held secure in the love of God. We have received full redemption. On the other hand, though we have been made secure in Christ, we continue to experience uncertainty. We are sojourners, not yet home.

Jet lag is oddly comforting for me because it reminds me that much conflict in life takes time to resolve; there’s no way around it. Our bodies—and our hearts—require patience as they acclimate to new surroundings. In seasons of doubt or slow change, I come back to the truth … that above my uncertainty, I am secure.

Author Kate Bowler, associate professor at Duke Divinity School, has fresh insights on the “Gospel of Hustle” that has pervaded American culture for decades. She laments popular, accepted axioms like “everything is possible if you will only believe” and "everything you need is already inside of you”.

She says, “American culture has popular theories about how to build a perfect life. You can have it all if you just learn how to conquer your limits. There is infinity lurking somewhere at the bottom of your inbox or in the stack of self-help books on the bedside table.”

At age 35, Bowler was diagnosed with incurable stage IV colon cancer, which caused her to rethink ideas about hustle culture--doing more, pushing more to achieve success. She wonders what “enoughness” feels like. She has been able to manage her cancer with immunotherapy and has a new perspective:

We are believers in the gospel of hustle, the gospel of efficiency and the gospel of time management. We are convinced that we need to just discipline ourselves into better routines. But the whole idea of a formula breaks down when it can't solve the problem of being a person. It doesn't solve the problem of pain. For example, the gospel of hustle, the more I worked, the more work I got. Even success looks like failure, and I was just trying to get to the end of the mythical workday.

Possible Preaching Angle:

This is exactly why Solomon mourned the futility of life in Ecclesiastes. The ultimate answer to life is not found in working harder, but in what Jesus said, “Come unto me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).

Singer-songwriter Sandra McCracken shares insight of how an early morning flight changed her perspective on her problems:

One morning I boarded an early flight to Florida for a music gig. My mind scrolled through the usual anxieties, like old tapes on repeat. From a west-facing window I found myself ruminating over some troubling circumstances that were pending resolution.

It was dark as we ascended through heavy clouds. Most of the window shades were closed in the cabin. A little time passed, then someone on the left side of the plane opened their shade across the aisle from me. The morning sun shot a blaze of pink light across my face. The sunlight lifted my spirits.

I looked back to see the view out the west-side window. It remained predominately dark. I had been so wrapped up in my tiny scope of vision that I hadn’t realized the sun had crept over the horizon. While one side of the aircraft was glowing with light, the other was still in the shadows. Perspective has a way of shifting our experience.

On any given day, I could make a list of my anxieties, but the morning light shining on the east side of that airplane reminds me that I could just as easily make a list of the good gifts that God has given me. Sometimes I choose to look out the dark side of the plane, into the shadows, and I focus on what is broken or needs repair. This is essential to know and consider the reality of our world. But I can get stuck there.

But no matter which window I looked out, all the while I was strapped safely in the window seat of that airplane. And all the while the pilot continued to steer the plane toward our destination. In spite of our shifting perspectives, we have a destination. God has gone before us to lay out a good plan for our lives (Jer. 29:11, Isa. 30:21). Even as we keep ourselves on the trajectory that God has purposed for us, he holds us and guides us along the way.

Imagine an eight-year-old boy playing with a toy truck and then it breaks. He is disconsolate and cries out to his parents to fix it. Yet as he's crying, his father says to him, "A distant relative you've never met has just died and left you one hundred million dollars." What will the child's reaction be? He will just cry louder until his truck is fixed. He does not have enough cognitive capacity to realize his true condition and be consoled.

In the same way, Christians lack the spiritual capacity to realize all we have in Jesus. This is the reason Paul prays that God would give Christians the spiritual ability to grasp the height, depth, breadth, and length of Christ's salvation (Eph. 3:16-19; Eph. 1:17-18). In general, our lack of joy is as Shakespeare wrote: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves" (Julius Caesar, Act 1, Scene 2). We are like the eight-year-old boy who rests his happiness in his "stars"—his circumstances—rather than recognizing what we have in Christ.

What would really satisfy us would be a God who said of anything we happened to like doing, "What does it matter so long as they are contented?" We want, in fact, not so much a Father in Heaven as a grandfather in heaven—a senile benevolence who, as they say, "liked to see young people enjoying themselves," and whose plan for the universe was simply that it might be truly said at the end of each day, "a good time was had by all."

—C. S. Lewis, in The Problem of Pain

At the 1992 Winter Olympic Games in France, American figure skater Paul Wylie won the silver medal. The victory came after a disappointing tenth-place finish at the previous Winter Games in Calgary (Canada). In an anthology entitled Finding God at Harvard: Spiritual Journeys of Thinking Christians, Paul Wylie shares his long journey from disappointment to victory—a journey marked by many ups and downs and great discipline. In his article Wylie uses his sport to reflect on the Christian life. He writes:

When maturity brings us closer to the ideal of Christlikeness, we fall less. More experienced skaters make fewer mistakes, and they also skate with a greater grace. As a skater refines a technique to match the ideal laid out by God in the laws of physics, the jumps and movements become effortless in their appearance, even though it takes years of falling to achieve the skills.

Things dog owners can't live without:

• Significant other: 54 percent
• Computer: 50 percent
• Dog: 48 percent
• Coffee: 35 percent
• TV: 35 percent
• Car: 26 percent

My pastor decided to pull a vacation surprise on his four children. "We're going to Junction City, Kansas," Peter told them. "It's where my dad used to pastor a church, and we can have lots of fun there." Meanwhile he made secret plans to spend one afternoon in Junction City, then drive on to enjoy the glories of Disney World.

Ever trusting, his children bragged to skeptical friends, "We're going to Kansas for vacation. It's great!" All during the long drive from Denver to Junction City, Peter kept up morale by describing the wonders awaiting them: playgrounds, a swimming pool, an ice cream stand, maybe even a bowling alley.

After touring Granddad's old church, the kids were ready to check into a motel and go swimming when their dad dropped the bombshell. "You know something—it's kind of boring here in Kansas. Why don't we just drive to Disney World!" Mom reached in a bag and pulled out four custom-made Mickey Mouse hats.

Peter expected his kids to jump up and down in delight. Instead, they complained: "Ah, who wants to get back in the van?" "What about the swimming pool? You promised!" "I thought we were going to go bowling!"

The great surprise had backfired. For the next few hours Peter sat behind the steering wheel and smoldered as his children expanded on all the advantages of Junction City over Disney World.

[The whole thing reminded him of that famous quote from] C. S. Lewis: "We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea." …

[As he later pointed out in a sermon, Peter had learned a valuable lesson about human nature]: our desires are too small. We stamp our feet and insist on a merry-go-round in Junction City when Disney World's Space Mountain lies just down the road.

God has made [our] fantasies … so preposterously unrewarding that we are forced to turn to him for help and for mercy. We seek wealth and find we've accumulated worthless pieces of paper. We seek security and find we've acquired the means to blow ourselves and our little earth to smithereens. We seek carnal indulgence only to find ourselves involved in the prevailing erotomania.

—Malcolm Muggeridge, British journalist, writer, and Christian apologist (1903-1990)

Tim Sanders—former chief solutions officer at Yahoo! and author of Love Is the Killer App—shares the following thought about establishing priorities:

Take your life and all the things that you think are important, and put them in one of three categories. These three categories are represented by three items: glass, metal, and rubber.

The things that are made of rubber, when you drop them, will bounce back. Nothing really happens when these kinds of things get dropped. So, for instance (and I enjoy sporting events, so don't take me wrong here), if I miss a Seahawks' game, my life will bounce along real fine. It doesn't change anything and nothing is lost—my missing a game or a season of football will not alter my marriage or my spiritual life. I can take 'em or leave 'em.

Things that are made of metal, when they get dropped, create a lot of noise. But you can recover from the drop. You miss a meeting at work, you can get the cliff notes. Or if you forget to balance your checkbook and lose track of how much you have in your account, and the bank notifies you that you have been spending more than you have—that's going to create a little bit of noise in your life, but you can recover from it.

Then there are things made of glass. And when you drop one of these, it will shatter into pieces and never be the same. Even though you can piece it back together, it will still be missing some pieces. It certainly won't look the same, and I doubt that you could actually fill it up with water, because the consequences of it be being broken will forever affect how it's used.

The thing is, you're the only person who knows what those things are that you can't afford to drop. More than likely, they have a lot to do with your relationships. Your marriage, your family, and your friends.

In his book The Unnecessary Pastor, Eugene Peterson writes:

My two sons are both rock climbers, and I have listened to them plan their ascents. They spend as much or more time planning their climbs as in the actual climbing. They meticulously plot their route and then, as they climb, put in what they call "protection"—pitons hammered into small crevices in the rock face, with attached ropes that will arrest a quick descent to death. Rock climbers who fail to put in protection have short climbing careers.

Our pitons or "protection" come as we remember and hold on to those times when we have experienced God's faithfulness in our lives. Every answered prayer, every victory, every storm that has been calmed by his presence is a piton which keeps us from falling, losing hope, or worse yet, losing our faith. Every piton in our life is an example of God's faithfulness to us…. As we ascend in the kingdom of God, we also realize that each experience, each victory is only a piton—a stepping stone toward our ultimate goal of finishing the race and receiving the crown of glory.

A recent study of 1,000 people aged 65-85 points to the importance of a positive attitude in dealing with life. After almost 10 years of follow-up, researchers found that people who described themselves as optimistic had a 55 percent lower risk of death from all causes and a 23 percent lower risk of heart-related death.

Optimistic people tend to be more physically active, drink less, and smoke less. They cope with stress more effectively.

While one's attitude toward life isn't everything, it does make a crucial difference in dealing with life. And who has more reason for optimism than Christians?

Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Whenever we place a higher priority on solving our problems than on pursuing God, we are immoral.