I am in the middle of a longer series on "communal spiritual disciplines" and the focus this week is on "the spiritual discipline of slowing down."
In southern California this week, the El Nino storm pattern is both reminding me of why I don't live in Portland or Seattle and also helping me to practice "slowing down". I can't even get outside for a long run. Sheesh.
To get this conversation going, here's an excerpt from yesterday's sermon. I'll hit some practical steps for the spiritual discipline of slowing down over the next few days. The storm's going to stay around, so there seems no need to rush through this.
A couple of years ago, one of my neighbors was driving past my house and stopped his car and rolled down his window. A genial guy whose kids have long been involved in our church programs, I can always count on this guy for a friendly smile and hearty wave.
Seeing that he wanted to chat a bit I walked down to the curb and said hello. “Hey,” he called out, “Pastor Tod, do you know what your nickname is around our house?”
I shook my head, wondering if I really wanted to know. “We don’t call you Pastor Tod, we call you ‘Faster Tod’ because of the way you drive by our house when you take the kids to school.”
We chuckled and his tone was light, but his point was made. I really needed to slow down. Today, I want to talk about the spiritual discipline of “slowing down”.
And as that little story told you, I am probably the most in need of hearing this talk of all. I am confessing this up front, because I don’t need any of the guys who have skied with me to think I am a hypocrite.
I admit it. I drive fast, I ski fast, I eat fast. Heck, people tell me I even talk fast. The truth is: I have a need for speed.
I love riding my bike with the wind at my back and feeling strong and sleek and powerful. Taking turns in my private peleton of partners, drafting and pulling and going faster together than I ever could alone.
I love the feeling of careening down a powdery slope with nothing but the sound of the wind through my helmet and the squeeking of dry snow under my skis. I love when my eyes water and my nose runs, when my lip are frozen in a wide smile on my face and the endorphins are pulsing through my veins.
But I hate when I have to rush out the door just to squeeze in a bike ride in an already overcrowded day. I hate rushing through the parking lot of a ski resort, trying to get kids and equipment to the lift lines, trying to get gloves on hands, and boots on feet and snacks in stomachs all the while the time is slipping by. I hate the feeling that I am on vacation and all I am doing is yelling at my kids "Hurry up! We're going to be late for all the fun!".
I love to race through life. But I hate being rushed. I have a need for speed, but I hate being in a hurry. And what one pastor calls “hurry-sickness” is I believe one of the spiritual diseases of our day.
In what is now a classic article in pastoral circles, John Ortberg, the preaching minister at Menlo Park Presbyterian Church wrote of a conversation he had when he called an older, wise spiritual friend:
“What did I need to do, I asked him, to be spiritually healthy?
Long pause.
"You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life," he said at last.
Another long pause.
"Okay, I've written that one down," I told him, a little impatiently. "That's a good one. Now what else is there?" I had many things to do, and this was a long-distance call, so I was anxious to cram as many units of spiritual wisdom into the least amount of time possible.
Another long pause.
"There is nothing else," he said. "You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life."
That is the next spiritual discipline that I want us to learn from Jesus as we go through this Lent. Jesus himself had a lot to do, but he was never in a hurry. So again, we can take his yoke and learn from him. Listening to his Word, yielding to his Spirit with in us, encouraged by his people around us, we can learn a deeper, healthier rhythm of living.
A hurried life is a harried life. Rushing through our days can become addictive and that our spiritual lives requires rhythms that include deliberate slowness.
I understand that we are busy, active people who are packing a lot of life into living, who want our lives to matter, who want our days to count, who want to make a difference, who want the time spent on this earth to be significant and meaningful. I understand that we are busy.
We can’t just eliminate the responsibilities and opportunities that necessitate our moving so quickly. We don’t live in an environment where the pace is slow. And many of us are in a season of life that is just going to move more quickly than even we would like. So, how can we “ruthlessly eliminate hurry from our lives”? How can we practice and be changed by the spiritual discipline of slowing down?
Try on this maxim from Saint Vincent de Paul, the 17th century French priest whose name is synonymous in Catholic circles with an ardent zeal and a passion for helping the poor: “If you must be in a hurry, then let it be according to the old adage, and hasten slowly.”
Trying to practice "hastening slowly" is what this week will be all about. Hope to see you tomorrow.
Recent Comments