Archives For Habits

political-convention     Here’s this weekend’s sermon on Colossians 3.1-17. 

According to my Facebook Timeline, I preached on this lectionary text from Colossians 3 exactly two years ago today.

Actually, my Facebook Timeline reminded me that Will Gerig and Becca McGraw, two youth who grew up here at Aldersgate, exchanged marriage vows here at Aldersgate two years ago today.

Will and Becca chose this passage from Paul about putting on Christ for their wedding service. Well, not the part about fornication.

And they didn’t just choose this text; they also chose a reading from the Song of Songs, an erotic love poem from the Old Testament that makes 50 Shades of Grey sound like a Cary Grant and Doris Day movie.

Since Dennis is on vacation- I mean sabbatical- it’s probably for the best that the lectionary today only gives us one of those passages I preached for Will and Becca.

I’d known them since Will was 8 and Becca was 7.

And so I wanted to do a good job with their wedding. I wanted to make sure I preached clearly this passage from Colossians 3 that they’d chosen and that through it I said something not only helpful but gospel true.

So I started by asking them a question, a Colossians 3 sort of question, the question begged by every bridal magazine, rom-com, and wedding ceremony.

I asked them this question:

If love is a feeling, how in the world can you promise to love someone forever?

If love is a feeling, how can two people promise that to each other forever?

Of all the things in our lives, our feelings are the part of us we have the least control over. You can’t promise to feel a certain feeling every day for the rest of your life.

If love is a feeling, then it’s no wonder the odds are better than even that it won’t last.

Two years ago today I’m not sure Will and Becca heard that as good news.

And then-

Then it got worse for me.

Because then I turned to the New Testament and reminded them that love in the New Testament isn’t just something you promise to another. It’s something you’re commanded to give another.

When a rich lawyer asks Jesus for the key to it all, Jesus says: ‘Love the Lord completely and love your neighbor as yourself.’

And when Jesus washes his friends’ feet, he tells them: ‘I give you a new commandment: love one another just as I have loved you.’

And when the Apostle Paul writes to the Colossians he commands them to ‘bear with each other, forgive one another, put on love.’

Those are all imperatives.

Jesus doesn’t say like your neighbor. Jesus doesn’t say you should love one another. Paul doesn’t tell us to try to love and forgive one another. They’re imperatives not aspirations. They’re commands not considerations. Here’s the thing. You can’t force a feeling. You can’t command an emotion. You can only command an action. You can only command a doing. A practice. A habit. I told them two years ago today.

In scripture, love is an action first and a feeling second.

Jesus and Paul take a word we use as a noun, and they make it a verb.

Which is the exact opposite of how the culture has taught us all to think about love.

We think of love as a noun, as a feeling, as something that happens to us, which means then we think we must feel love in order to give it.

But that’s a recipe for a broken relationship. Because when you think you must feel love first in order to give it, then when you don’t feel love towards the other you stop offering them loving acts.

And of course the fewer loving actions you show someone else, the fewer loving feelings there will be between you.

In scripture, love is an action first and a feeling second.

Love is something you do- even when you don’t feel like it; so that, you feel like it.

That’s how Jesus can command us to love our enemies. And just ask any married person- the ability to love your enemy is often the necessary condition to love your spouse.

Jesus can’t force us to feel a certain way about our enemies, but Jesus can command us to do concrete loving actions for our enemies knowing that those loving acts might eventually transform how we feel.

The key to having love as a noun in your life is making love a verb. Where you invest loving actions, loving feelings will follow.

You do it and then you feel it. Love is something you do and you promise to trust that the doing of love will transform your heart so that you do feel love.

Two years ago today, I led with that question: If love is a feeling, how can you promise to love someone always and forever?

Today, two years later, I have a different Colossians question:

     If that’s how love works for a spouse

If that’s how love works in a relationship

Then why do we suppose it’s any different when it comes to our love for God?

      If our heart works this way when it has a person as its object of desire, then why do we suppose that our heart works any differently when the object of its desire is three-personned, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Colossians roughly a generation after Jesus and 250 years before the Gospel about Jesus converted the Empire. When Paul wrote to the Colossians, Christians’ faith made them like unwelcome immigrants in a hostile land.

For the Christians in Colossae,  you couldn’t accept Jesus as Lord without rejecting Caesar as Lord. To make a commitment to Christ was to make enemies. So you didn’t join a church without thinking about it. Seriously and hard.

In fact, the Church wouldn’t let you. The Church first required you to undergo rigorous catechesis, throughout the long season of Lent.

Then, and only then, you would be led outside the sanctuary on Easter Eve to a pool of water. There the Church would strip you naked. And facing the darkness you would renounce Caesar and Satan and all their works.

Then, like Pharoah’s soliders, you would be drown in the water three times and, rising up from the water as Jesus from the grave, you would turn the opposite direction to affirm his Lordship and every practical implication that now had for your life.

Maybe it’s TMI but I certainly wouldn’t want to strip naked, plunge down into night cold water (with its, you know, shrinkage factor) and then stand around with a crowd of church people looking at me and what God gave me.

To do something like that- you’d really have to feel and believe that Jesus Christ is Lord.

And yet-

Those same Christians who faced down Caesar and spit in Sin’s face and renounced the world and took the plunge into a new one, naked and unashamed, still had trouble forsaking their former ways of life.

Just before today’s text, Paul chastises them for worrying about pagan food regulations, lunar festivals, idolatrous mysticism and ascetic practices.

And again here in chapter 3 Paul scolds them that though they’d died with Christ they still haven’t put to death their prior way of life: their malice, their deception, their fornication.

How does that happen?

They’d risked too much when they’d become Christian not to have felt its truth down deep inside them. But, it didn’t stick.

They knew that Jesus is Lord; too much was at stake for them not to have taken their faith with life and death seriousness. Still, it didn’t take.

They believed that they’d been set free to live as in a New Creation. Yet, they fell back to doing what they’d done in the Old Creation.

They had stripped naked for Christ- shrinkage factor and all- but they still hadn’t stripped off their old selves.

They had stripped naked for Christ, but they still hadn’t put him on. Why not? Or, how not?

It’s revealing-

In chapter two Paul admonishes the Colossians against false philosophy, wrong thinking, and deceitful beliefs. In other words, Paul scolds them to get their heads straight, but then his prescription for false thinking and wrong belief is through their hands. Through their habits.  And then here in chapter three it’s the very same dynamic. Paul tells them in verse two to “set your minds on things that are above.” But then, further down in verse 12, what Paul commends to them is not beliefs but practices, not ideas but doings. Paul uses a clothing metaphor:

“As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.”

    Any one who’s been around little kids knows- putting on clothes takes practice. Compassion, humility, patience- these aren’t attitudes in our heads. They’re not affections in our hearts. They’re virtues. They’re moral attributes that you can only acquire over time through habits. Though hands-on practice.

We assume our feelings of love for God produce works of love, that faith leads to action. I mean, we make habit a dirty word and suppose that we’re saved by the sincerity of our feelings for God or the strength of our belief in God.

But for Paul it’s our habits that shape our feelings and beliefs. For Paul, the way to our hearts, the way into our heads, is through our hands. Through practices and actions and habits and every day doings.

Before you can invite Jesus in to your heart, before you can conform your mind to Christ, you’ve got to put him on and practice.

You’ve got to practice serving the poor so that it becomes a habit until that habit becomes compassion.

You’ve got to practice praising God, week in and week out, until it becomes such a habit that you know without thinking about it that you are creature of God- which makes you NOT God- which becomes humility.

You’ve got to practice confessing your sins and bringing another’s sins to them without malice and passing the peace of Christ until those practices become habits because eventually those habits will make you forgiving.

You’ve got to practice praying “Thy Kingdom come…” and working towards that Kingdom in places like Guatemala and Route 1 and DC.

You’ve got to practice the Kingdom until it becomes a habit so that it becomes, in you, patience and hope.

You’ve got to practice receiving with outstretched hands the body and blood of Christ so that the habit of the sacrament makes you hunger and thirst for God’s justice.

You’ve got to put on Christ in order to calibrate your head and your heart to him.

Your love for God can never be just a feeling that you feel. It can never be just a belief that you believe.

If that’s all it is, then your love for God will never last because- here’s the rub- it’s not just the practices of Christ that become habits that then shape your head and your heart. It’s every kind of practice. It’s all your habits and every day doings.

So it’s not that your heart can either belong to God or to nothing at all; it’s that your heart will belong to God or to another god. The gods of capitalism or consumerism or partisan politics. The gods of nationalism or individualism.

If the way to our heads and our hearts is through our hands- through our habits- then our heads and our hearts will belong to something if they do not belong to God.

As James KA Smith says, Victoria’s secret is that she’s after your head and your heart not just your wallet. And so is Hollywood. And so is the Republican Party and so is the Democratic Party and so is Amazon and Apple and Wall Street and the NFL and all the stuff and noise that make up our everyday habits.

You see if you do not put on Christ, if you do not practice the habits of Jesus following, then all your other habits will shape you.

That’s why it’s not a bad idea, for example, to give God one day of your week.

Because your heart will have a lover. And your habits determine who.

When Will and Becca got married two years ago today, I told me them how lifelong monogamous love, for better and for worse, was an enormous, outrageous promise to make and even more impossible promise to keep.

That is, without a community to hold them accountable to it.

“That’s why, for Christians, there’s no such thing as a private wedding,” I told them.

Of course, the same goes for our lifelong, monogamous love for God.

It’s why there can be no such thing as a person who is a Christian in private.

It’s why there can be no such thing as a Christian who is not a practicing part of the Christian community.

It’s why there’s no salvation outside of the Church.

Because without the practices that become habits of the Christian community- without putting on Christ: in prayer and praise and passing peace and serving the poor- your mouth might confess that Jesus is Lord but your heart will eventually hunger for another lover and soon you’ll be worshipping idols unawares.

 

 

 

You Are What You Love

Jason Micheli —  July 29, 2016 — 1 Comment

political-conventionThese next two weeks I’m teaching a class for licensed pastors at Wesley Theological Seminary. While reading the participants’ papers in the evening, I’ve been listening to bits and pieces of both parties political conventions. Every now and then a social media notification from a Facebook Friend or Twitter Follower will flash across my laptop screen. When it’s not an invitation to play Candy Crush Saga, it’s most often yet another tweet or post perpetuating the culture war antagonisms in our country.

Convention season has me thinking not of The Donald or Hillary but Augustine.

St. Augustine of Hippo was the kind of dude whose pre-Christian biography The Donald and Bill Clinton could resonate. In other words, he was a narcissistic horn-dog. But that’s not why I’m thinking of Augustine.

I’m thinking of his long work of theology entitled The City of God, written in response to the fall of Rome.  In it, Augustine characterizes Rome’s fall as inevitable by drawing a contrast between the earthly city (Rome) and the heavenly city (God’s Kingdom).

What distinguishes citizens of the two cities, Augustine argues, is not beliefs but love.

The earthly city is necessarily finite, even doomed, because its citizens’ love is directed towards finite ends whereas what distinguishes the citizens of the heavenly city is a love aimed towards God.

For Augustine, our primordial orientation to the world as creatures is not knowledge or belief but love. We are not led in the world by our head. We instead feel our way in the world with our hands and our heart. As creatures we are not mere containers for ideas or beliefs.  As creatures our lives are dynamic, aimed outward from ourselves to the world.

Another way of putting this is that humans are not primarily rational creatures we are intentional creatures; that is, we are aimed towards an object other than ourselves.

For Augustine, we are essentially and ultimately lovers. To be human is to love. And it’s what we love that defines who we are. Our ultimate love is what constitutes our identity. It’s not what I think that shapes me; it’s what I love.

Augustine’s way of putting this is that we are teleological creatures. ‘Telos’ means end. We are creatures directed towards an end: God and God’s Kindgom. That’s how we’re wired from the Day One of creation (and this is what Sin is: to have our loves directed towards something other than the Kingdom. Sin isn’t the absence of love it’s misdirected love).

We’re teleological, End-driven, creatures. We’re not pushed by beliefs; we are pulled by a desire. It’s not that we’re intellectually convinced and then we muster up the heart to follow Jesus. It’s that we’re attracted to a vision of the End that Christ gives us.

The ancient Christians had a way of stating what Augustine is after:  Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi.

It means, literally the ‘rule of prayer, the rule of belief.’ This was their of remembering that our worship- the practice, disciplines, and habits of worship- do not flow out of our beliefs and faith feelings but determine them. They shape them.

What we do forms what we think, believe, and feel. The way to our heart, recalls lex orandi, lex credendi, is through our bodies not through our heads. Our worship precedes our beliefs. What we think and believe about God flows from, not to, our love God.

For Christians at least, the caveat embedded in lex orandi, lex credendi is that our hearts aren’t just shaped by Christian liturgies they’re shaped by every sort of liturgy. All of our embodied practices and habits shape our hearts. What we do daily, in everything we do, shapes our desire. In other words, if our habits do not calibrate our hearts for God they will draw hearts towards something else.

Our hearts will worship, desire, want, and love.

Our heart, Augustine says, needs a lover.

But it doesn’t have to be, and most often is not, God.

Our habits determine who/what we worship, desire, want, and love. Correlatively, our habits reveals who/what we ultimately worship, desire, want, and love.

So listening to the conventions the past two weeks, I can’t help but wonder if what Christians should be concerned about is not The Donald vs. Hillary winning in November nor which issue is the issue over which Christians must distinguish one another. I wonder if the danger is how the practices of our U.S. politics, the habits of our election seasons, the pageantry of our political conventions shape our hearts more. Because, of course, if so then, as James KA Smight says, we just might not love God as much as we think we do.

I hear it all the time, mostly at parties and social gatherings where I’m more likely to run into non-Christians. Often I end up on the receiving end of it at funerals, hearing someone’s grief channeled through anger:

‘I don’t need someone else to connect me to God.’

‘I don’t need a church to tell me how to live my life.’

‘No,’ I normally qualify, ‘you don’t someone like me necessarily. But you need someone.’

Moral absolutes get a bad rap in the antinomian landscape we’d rather call postmodern.

As Americans, we instinctually believe it to be our birth right to decide what is right and what is wrong for ourselves. To have an organized religion tell us what is right and wrong- and train us into those beliefs- strikes us as deeply unAmerican; never mind the fact that the organized religion we call America is the institution who indoctrinated us into the belief that we should decide right and wrong on our own.

As the theologian Stanley Hauerwas repeatedly echoes: rp_faith4.jpg

“America is the exemplification of what I call the project of modernity. That project is the attempt to produce a people that believes it should have no story except the story it chose when it had no story. That is what Americans mean by freedom. The problem with that story is its central paradox: you did not choose the story that you should have no story except the story you chose when you had no story.”

The consequence of living in a nation where you’re indoctrinated into believing that you should have no story except the story you chose when you had no story is that you’re more likely than not to attend a church that’s gun shy about indoctrinating you into a counter story.

And so in most contemporary churches, the mood is more often one of comfort than challenge.

When it comes to ethics, the focus in churches is on conversation rather than catechesis. The extent to which churches are shaped by the belief that you should have no story except the story you chose when you had no story can be seen in the cliches we use to describe churches as moral communities.

We want churches, we say, that ‘live into the questions’ (rather than learn the wisdom of the saints).

We prefer churches where our youth will be able to ‘make up their minds for themselves’ (even though we’ve not trained them into having minds worth making up).

Faith, we say in progressive churches, is about ‘exploring the question’ while in conservative churches we say similarly that faith is about ‘making a decision for yourself Christ.’

The problem with not wanting the Church to indoctrinate you in to its answers of right and wrong is that it ignores the fact that right and wrong conduct is grounded in the kind of people we are, the traits of character we have.

What our American religious ethos obscures is that morality- ethics- is not                        what we do or decide.

It is who we are.

People of virtue, people with good character, moral people are those who tend to do the right thing and to do it rather easily or without effort or agony; to do it naturally.

Bad people, however, habitually do the wrong thing and the worst without even agonizing about it because they no longer have the character sufficient to discern or choose the good.

This is auspicious news, for any parent knows we are not born with the particular traits or character we come to possess. Virtuous traits of character have to be acquired or “learned.”

The moral life is learned, an apprenticed art.

What the Church calls ‘catechesis.’

We become the kind of people we are through only through other people- through practice and training under other people. As Thomas Aquinas taught, we acquire habits by repeatedly acting in particular ways until the attitudes and dispositions related to the act become our own, become reflexive. According to Aquinas, only people with the proper training and mentoring, only people shaped by appropriate traditions and stories, are likely to do the right thing.

Exhibit A: My friend and congregant, Brian Stolarz. images-1

Brian, a lawyer, has written a book, One Big Setup, in which he tells his story advocating for Alfred Dewayne Brown, who was sentenced to be killed by Texas without any physical evidence to corroborate the charge of murder, despite having an IQ which- by law- should’ve precluded him from capital punishment and in the face of the fact that the state’s only witness had been bullied into perjuring herself.

Brian’s decision to take the pro bono, career-harming death penalty case was, he writes, reflexive.

Why?

Brian writes that he grew up Catholic in Jersey, going to Mass every week; as a result; he grew up just believing- knowing- that the death penalty was wrong.

Why?

Because that’s what his priests and his Church drilled into him. That, and the fact that you’re supposed to stick up for the poor.

And so, when it came to make a decision about advocating for Alfred Dewayne Brown, Brian writes that it wasn’t really a decision at all. It was something more like a reflexive yes.

A habitually-conditioned response.

So much so that when Brian looks back with the benefit of hindsight, he’ll honestly say that if he had to ‘choose’ all over again he’d probably decline the case.

To show that this isn’t just an abstract theological excursion, that there’s something at stake in the Church catechizing Christians into the moral life, that there’s something at stake in the Church failing to do so…

brownalfredExhibit B: The Texas Appeals Court just overturned Alfred Dwayne Brown’s death sentence.

(You can read about it here)

The face-saving State will now try to request a new trial for which it now has no evidential basis.

Thanks to Brian.

And the many, many years and sacrifice and tears he gave to Alfred.

So the next time some couple wanting to get married or baptize their baby tells me they want their ‘children to decide for themselves when they grow up’ I’ll tell them about Brian and tell them the stake are much too high to let them let their children decide for themselves.