One of the things that is making all the difference in the world to me these days is Napoleon Hill's "Self Confidence Formula", from the marvelous book with what, to many, is an offensive title, Think and Grow Rich. I wish my Sunday School class would let me teach it, because it's not just about monetary wealth. It is (thought I doubt Mr. Hill would say it this way) about being all God created you to be, doing all God created you to do, and not letting this world keep you from it.
The formula is in five parts, and I intend to devote my next five posts, one for each of the five parts. The fifth is pretty long and may be a multi-parter.
First, the formula, as I recite it. Part of the process is memorizing the formula and reciting it daily. In reciting it over and over, I have changed it a bit to fit my particular point of view.
Here it goes:
In the Name of Jesus:
First: I know that you have given me everything I need (ability, attitude, and opportunity) to achieve the object of my definite purpose in life; therefore I demand of myself persistent, continuous action toward its attainment; and I here and now promise to render such action.
Second: I realize the dominating thoughts of my mind will eventually reproduce themselves in outward and physical action, and gradually transform themselves into physical reality; therefore I will concentrate my thoughts for thirty minutes daily upon the task of thinking of the person I intend to become, thereby creating in my mind a clear mental picture.
Third: I know, through the principle of autosuggestion, any desire I persistently hold in my mind will eventually seek expression through some practical means of attaining the object back of it; therefore I will devote ten minutes daily to demanding of myself the development of self-confidence.
Fourth: I have clearly written down a description of my definite chief aim in life, and I will never stop trying until I shall have developed sufficient self-confidence for its attainment.
Fifth: I fully realize that no wealth or position can long endure, unless built upon truth and justice; therefore, I will engage in no transaction which does not benefit all it affects. I will succeed by attracting to myself the forces I wish to use, and the cooperation of other people. I will induce others to serve me because of my willingness to serve others. I will eliminate hatred, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and cynicism, by developing love for all humanity; because I know that a negative attitude toward others can never bring me success. I will cause others to believe in me, because I will believe in them, and in myself. I will sign my name to this formula, I will commit it to memory, and I will recite it aloud once a day with full faith that gradually it will affect my thoughts and actions, so that I will become a self-reliant and successful person.--Napoleaon Hill, Think and Grow Rich, 1937, p. 54f, with some rewording by me here and there.
The formula reminds me that God created me for a purpose, it encourages me when I haven't done my best toward that purpose, it encourages me to get up tomorrow and seek to do my best for that purpose tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
More later.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Dream a Godly Dream
Do you remember Kermit the Frog singing "Rainbow Connection" at the beginning of "The Muppet Movie"? Honestly, I think that song should be included in the hymnal.
It turns out, when God created you, he left fingerprints. He left his will for your life imprinted in you (the computer tech in me says "hardwired" in you). Where? you ask.
Get quiet, very, very quiet, listen to the silence, until you find the deepest, most fundamental desire in your heart, your innermost dream. That is God's will for you. If you and I are anything alike, it may take a long time. Maybe years.
We are told dreams are for infants. We are told to face "reality" (Why is "reality" always unpleasant? Why are the things of joy and pleasure considered "just feelings"? If we really believe in heaven, isn't "All good things must come to an end" ultimate blasphemy? Doesn't our doctrine of Eternal Life mean Only good things NEVER come to an end? Anyway...)
Bruce Wilkinson has written a marvelous book, The Dream Giver. Bruce says God has implanted a dream in each of us; I am not the creator or the owner of my dream, I am merely the custodian. It is God's will that I launch out and do everything I can to realize that dream. It is God's will for me, and it is God's will for everyone around me.
God gave me a dream, and he gave me talents, gifts, and graces. But he didn't give them to me for me! He gave them to me to share with others. I am supposed to build something that will help others, serve others, save others, heal others, empower others, inform others, enable others. And as I carry out that ministry, I build the Kingdom of God, my part of it.
On the other hand, if I bury my dream; if I consider my talents and gifts to be worthless; don't I now only deny them to others? Don't I also slap the face of the One who created me?
How many children didn't need to starve to death or suffer life-crippling abuse, how many young people didn't need to go down to drug addiction, how many people could have been saved from divorce, from abortion, from murder, from suicide, if more of us had marshalled the courage to launch out of our comfort zones to pursue our God-given dreams!
Are you 55 years old, wondering where your youth went, when all the dreams died, when the fire went out, while you were marshalling the courage to keep getting up in the morning for that dead-end job you only barely tolerate? Is it getting harder and harder to fend off bitterness and futility? Are you watching the last sparks of hope sputter down to die?
Get back in touch with your dream. It's God's will. It's his way out.
And it's his way in.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Freedom
“Not everyone is willing to embrace liberty; liberty requires not just effort, but risk. Some people choose to delude themselves and see their chains as protective armor.” ― Terry Goodkind, Chainfire
I have devoted my life to freedom.
I have to free myself. And I have to show others how to free themselves. I can't free them. They have to free themselves.
And a shocking number of people really don't want to be free. "Who doesn't want to be free?" you ask.
When I called my mother to tell her about where the bishop was sending me, what turned out to be my last appointment, I told her the church members said they wanted to grow.
"That's good," she responded, supportively.
"It doesn't mean a thing," I said.
"How can it not mean a thing?"
"Mom! I keep saying I want to be skinny. I just don't want to diet and exercise."
Freedom, as the saying goes, isn't free. And it's not something you just buy and keep. It requires maintenance. It's like your health: if you don't work to maintain it, you lose it. Ask a 55-year-old man who's about forty pounds overweight; who has the horrible letters "MI" in his medical history; who is on medication for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and coronary artery spasms; who has arthritis-induced cervical spondylosis--in other words, if I don't do my neck stretches daily, I have horrible pains up the back of my head. I'm not a teenager anymore, and I would swear I was a teenager just a couple of years ago.
It's an adult thing, freedom. You don't give it to children. They can't handle it. They'd use it to hurt themselves and others.
Would I do well if I were free?
A clinical psychologist I saw after my divorce told me he had a dream that someone had given me several million dollars, and in the dream he was afraid for me. It made me think: if I didn't have to get up and go to work 40 hours a week, what would I do? If I could afford to buy whatever I want, what would I get? There's a lot of alcoholism in my family. Would I die the death John Belushi died? The death Robert Downey Jr. has avoided, and I predicted he wouldn't?
But "For freedom, Christ has set us free" (Galatians 5:1). It's what God wants.
I have promised God I will live the rest of my life for freedom.
Care to come along?
I have devoted my life to freedom.
I have to free myself. And I have to show others how to free themselves. I can't free them. They have to free themselves.
And a shocking number of people really don't want to be free. "Who doesn't want to be free?" you ask.
When I called my mother to tell her about where the bishop was sending me, what turned out to be my last appointment, I told her the church members said they wanted to grow.
"That's good," she responded, supportively.
"It doesn't mean a thing," I said.
"How can it not mean a thing?"
"Mom! I keep saying I want to be skinny. I just don't want to diet and exercise."
Freedom, as the saying goes, isn't free. And it's not something you just buy and keep. It requires maintenance. It's like your health: if you don't work to maintain it, you lose it. Ask a 55-year-old man who's about forty pounds overweight; who has the horrible letters "MI" in his medical history; who is on medication for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and coronary artery spasms; who has arthritis-induced cervical spondylosis--in other words, if I don't do my neck stretches daily, I have horrible pains up the back of my head. I'm not a teenager anymore, and I would swear I was a teenager just a couple of years ago.
It's an adult thing, freedom. You don't give it to children. They can't handle it. They'd use it to hurt themselves and others.
Would I do well if I were free?
A clinical psychologist I saw after my divorce told me he had a dream that someone had given me several million dollars, and in the dream he was afraid for me. It made me think: if I didn't have to get up and go to work 40 hours a week, what would I do? If I could afford to buy whatever I want, what would I get? There's a lot of alcoholism in my family. Would I die the death John Belushi died? The death Robert Downey Jr. has avoided, and I predicted he wouldn't?
But "For freedom, Christ has set us free" (Galatians 5:1). It's what God wants.
I have promised God I will live the rest of my life for freedom.
Care to come along?
Saturday, September 10, 2011
My Daddy, Bill Thomas--September 11, 1924-May 21, 2002
Tomorrow, September 11, 2011, is the tenth anniversary of my father's last birthday. Ten years ago tomorrow, in the evening, I called him and wished him "a moderately happy birthday." He chuckled and told me how much it felt like a day 60 years before, Pearl Harbor day. He was 17. He joined the Army the next day and ended up a radio operator and machine gunner in bombers for the Army Air Corps. Shot down over Yugoslavia on Armistice Day, 1944, he spent 55 days with the Underground, and returned to active duty New Years' Day, 1945.
My grandmother, who died at the age of 97 in 1985, told me the war changed Daddy. How? I asked. She thought quietly for a long moment.
"He didn't smile as much after," she said quietly.
His oldest sister, my Aunt Ginny, who died in her early 90's a few months ago, told me Bill (my daddy) was "a pretty boy" and sickly, and his mother and his sisters all mothered him. Daddy said, growing up in The Great Depression, he never remembered going without anything. Aunt Ginny said he was petted and spoiled. Maybe so.
Aunt Ginny also said, when he first enlisted, Daddy would trade his beer rations for cigarettes. After the war, and intermittently until he died, Daddy was an alcoholic.
Children of alcoholics grow up with interesting personality traits, some of them less than desireable. But one thing we can learn, if we're observant, is to appreciate people for who they are.
Daddy was a genius. He was a hard-working man. We never owned more than one car, and often both my parents worked, often on separate shifts. When I was licensed to drive, I frequently had to deliver Daddy to his job, then pick Mom up at hers. I'd get Daddy at the end of his shift. Daddy was always early for work. Parked at the mill, with a clear view of the door the employees would take, I could see them lining up at the time clock ten minutes in advance to get a running start when the bell rang. If Daddy left five minutes late, that wis early for him. I would almost consider him psychotically honest.
Come to think of it, he had only one great character flaw: when pressure led him to feel forced to drink a beer, he'd keep drinking them until we had to hospitalize him for dehydration and malnutrition. He was only violent once, and then he only shoved my mother and me; he didn't hurt us. He was almost never angry when he drank. He'd be friendlier, more outgoing, sometimes weepy and self-pitying.
A couple of months after that last birthday, he started drinking again. We put him in the hospital relatively quickly in the process. And that's when they found the lung cancer. He was so weak from the drinking bout, they couldn't do chemotherapy. When they started radiation, they figured out it was doing damage to his good lung. So they couldn't torture him to death the way they do so many cancer victims. They sent him home to die. He was diagnosed just before Thanksgiving. He died May 21, 2002. It was a Tuesday.
Daddy lived his last years in the town where he met my mother, where I was born, Post, Texas. I have spent my adult life where I grew up--Georgia. So we flew out to see him after his diagnosis, just after Christmas, 2001. We spent a few days there. The night before we were to leave, just before we left for the motel, Daddy stood up and hugged me. He clutched my arms, stepped back, and looked into my eyes.
"Son, you're a good man," he said, his final benediction to me.
I thought a moment and said the last words I would say to him face-to-face before he would die. And I knew it would be my final words to him, my final benediction:
"YOU'RE a good man."
He was. I loved him, I miss him. I'm 55 now, and every day I hope to grow up to be as much like him as I can be.
My grandmother, who died at the age of 97 in 1985, told me the war changed Daddy. How? I asked. She thought quietly for a long moment.
"He didn't smile as much after," she said quietly.
His oldest sister, my Aunt Ginny, who died in her early 90's a few months ago, told me Bill (my daddy) was "a pretty boy" and sickly, and his mother and his sisters all mothered him. Daddy said, growing up in The Great Depression, he never remembered going without anything. Aunt Ginny said he was petted and spoiled. Maybe so.
Aunt Ginny also said, when he first enlisted, Daddy would trade his beer rations for cigarettes. After the war, and intermittently until he died, Daddy was an alcoholic.
Children of alcoholics grow up with interesting personality traits, some of them less than desireable. But one thing we can learn, if we're observant, is to appreciate people for who they are.
Daddy was a genius. He was a hard-working man. We never owned more than one car, and often both my parents worked, often on separate shifts. When I was licensed to drive, I frequently had to deliver Daddy to his job, then pick Mom up at hers. I'd get Daddy at the end of his shift. Daddy was always early for work. Parked at the mill, with a clear view of the door the employees would take, I could see them lining up at the time clock ten minutes in advance to get a running start when the bell rang. If Daddy left five minutes late, that wis early for him. I would almost consider him psychotically honest.
Come to think of it, he had only one great character flaw: when pressure led him to feel forced to drink a beer, he'd keep drinking them until we had to hospitalize him for dehydration and malnutrition. He was only violent once, and then he only shoved my mother and me; he didn't hurt us. He was almost never angry when he drank. He'd be friendlier, more outgoing, sometimes weepy and self-pitying.
A couple of months after that last birthday, he started drinking again. We put him in the hospital relatively quickly in the process. And that's when they found the lung cancer. He was so weak from the drinking bout, they couldn't do chemotherapy. When they started radiation, they figured out it was doing damage to his good lung. So they couldn't torture him to death the way they do so many cancer victims. They sent him home to die. He was diagnosed just before Thanksgiving. He died May 21, 2002. It was a Tuesday.
Daddy lived his last years in the town where he met my mother, where I was born, Post, Texas. I have spent my adult life where I grew up--Georgia. So we flew out to see him after his diagnosis, just after Christmas, 2001. We spent a few days there. The night before we were to leave, just before we left for the motel, Daddy stood up and hugged me. He clutched my arms, stepped back, and looked into my eyes.
"Son, you're a good man," he said, his final benediction to me.
I thought a moment and said the last words I would say to him face-to-face before he would die. And I knew it would be my final words to him, my final benediction:
"YOU'RE a good man."
He was. I loved him, I miss him. I'm 55 now, and every day I hope to grow up to be as much like him as I can be.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Obvious Objection
Arrogance. That's the obvious objection. Overconfidence.
First, I believe the term "overconfidence" to be nonsense. You can no more be overconfident than you can be over-healthy, or over-accurate in your arithmetic. It is only possible to be "overconfident" in the sense of being mistaken, to underestimate the power of the opposition, as the South did in the Civil War.
As far as arrogance, it is not overconfidence. It is not confidence. It is insecurity trying to pass itself off as confidence. It is a lie.
Have you met truly self-assured people? I have. The mark of confidence is that the one who possesses it doesn't think about him/herself too much. In fact the confident person thinks of self as seldom as possible. When you meet a confident person, that person will want to talk about you. You will enjoy that person's company because that person enjoys yours. You will enjoy that person's company because you sense that person isn't out to get something from you. That person puts you at ease because that person doesn't need you. You will not feel put upon. You will not feel tired out from the conversation. You will feel energized. You will be tempted to glom on to the confident one, as one possessed of some kind of magic you want. You will probably not recognize the magic as confidence. But you will want it.
Ask yourself why would a self-possessed, self-assured, self-confident person drink to excess? Why do drugs? Why frequent pornography? Or prostitution? Or gambling? Why hurt people in any fashion? What would the self-confident need with such crutches?
No the antidote to arrogance is not punishment and berating. The antidote is encouragement, as early as possible. Children need correction. Once in a while, they need to be punished. But, as John Wesley admonished his preachers, "Preach ten words of grace for every word of judgment."
First, I believe the term "overconfidence" to be nonsense. You can no more be overconfident than you can be over-healthy, or over-accurate in your arithmetic. It is only possible to be "overconfident" in the sense of being mistaken, to underestimate the power of the opposition, as the South did in the Civil War.
As far as arrogance, it is not overconfidence. It is not confidence. It is insecurity trying to pass itself off as confidence. It is a lie.
Have you met truly self-assured people? I have. The mark of confidence is that the one who possesses it doesn't think about him/herself too much. In fact the confident person thinks of self as seldom as possible. When you meet a confident person, that person will want to talk about you. You will enjoy that person's company because that person enjoys yours. You will enjoy that person's company because you sense that person isn't out to get something from you. That person puts you at ease because that person doesn't need you. You will not feel put upon. You will not feel tired out from the conversation. You will feel energized. You will be tempted to glom on to the confident one, as one possessed of some kind of magic you want. You will probably not recognize the magic as confidence. But you will want it.
Ask yourself why would a self-possessed, self-assured, self-confident person drink to excess? Why do drugs? Why frequent pornography? Or prostitution? Or gambling? Why hurt people in any fashion? What would the self-confident need with such crutches?
No the antidote to arrogance is not punishment and berating. The antidote is encouragement, as early as possible. Children need correction. Once in a while, they need to be punished. But, as John Wesley admonished his preachers, "Preach ten words of grace for every word of judgment."
Toward an Ontological Ethic
Forgive me, I've always loved big words. "Ontological" means "of or referring to being". I simply mean your ethic, how you behave, flows from who you are. In the 60's, when we loved beautiful, schmaltzy poster sayings, we used to say, "What you do speaks so loudly I can't hear a word you say."(Ralph Waldo Emerson?) It's schmaltz at its smelliest, but it's also very true.
During my summer vacation, I've become borderline addicted to some TV shows they rerun during the day. My wife and I have watched several dozen episodes of "Homicide: Life on the Streets", "Frasier" (I was already partial to that one), and "Crossing Jordan". And I will miss them when school starts back next week. An episode of "Jordan" we watched yesterday really wounded me. It was about child prostitution. When our heroes rescued the Hispanic teenager who had been kidnapped and forced into this lifestyle, the young police detective wanted to interview her to try to capture the people who had enslaved her. He called her name and said, "Will you do something for me?"
She looked as if she were going to start crying, she huddled into herself, and she said, miserably, "Do I have to take off my clothes?"
I thought I was going to cry.
It hurt me because I know such things happen. People entice young women, girls, from underprivileged countries with promises of honorable work and a better life in the United States. The next thing you know, the girls are slaves, serving the lusts of American men. Some times the death penalty seems like a better idea than others.
Watching that yesterday has prompted me to sit down to this blog again, because I think I have a message that needs to get out. I am convinced that people don't do these things because of how good they think they are. I am convinced that people live up to, or down to, their self-images.
I was the best teenage boy you ever met. I was the poindexter all the mothers wanted their daughters to date. (Funny. None of them seemed to want to date me. They were happy to cry on my shoulders about the boys they did want to date! Ah, well...!) I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't do drugs, I didn't try to get the pants off the good-looking girls I knew. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't immune to temptation. I was curious. I seriously wanted sex. But I saw myself as a good boy. And I knew there are some things good boys don't do. It was a terribly difficult time.
I don't think I've progressed from that. I think I've regressed. I've learned self-indulgence. And guess what? Self-indulgence is hard too. It's hard to have lost so much of the self-respect I had 30 years ago.
I learned in seminary to be much easier on myself, and on others. That is good, to a point. Jesus, after all, did not condemn the woman taken in adultery. But what were his final words to her? "Go and sin no more" (John 8:11). He called it sin. She knew it was sin. He did not punish her for it. But he did not minimize it either!
When did self-indulgence become a virtue? How is self-indulgence that far removed from incontinence? An adult who cannot control most bodily functions is a person to be pitied. So why should we admire a man who cannot control his libido? Why don't we condemn as infantile people who cannot say no to themselves? We call children in that state "spoiled brats".
A few years ago I drove past a billboard advertising a club for "adult entertainment". Still tempted by such things, yet it occurred to me that a true adult wouldn't need such entertainment. The same sign called spoke of a "gentlemen's club". Gentlemen? How?
No, I am persuaded that we will behave up to our self-image. I do not believe that we will behave out of fear of punishment, entirely. We learn how to get away with things as little children. I am persuaded that we will live up, or down, to our self-image. There are things good boys don't do, and things good boys do. If we learn to see ourselves as good, perhaps we will behave better.
During my summer vacation, I've become borderline addicted to some TV shows they rerun during the day. My wife and I have watched several dozen episodes of "Homicide: Life on the Streets", "Frasier" (I was already partial to that one), and "Crossing Jordan". And I will miss them when school starts back next week. An episode of "Jordan" we watched yesterday really wounded me. It was about child prostitution. When our heroes rescued the Hispanic teenager who had been kidnapped and forced into this lifestyle, the young police detective wanted to interview her to try to capture the people who had enslaved her. He called her name and said, "Will you do something for me?"
She looked as if she were going to start crying, she huddled into herself, and she said, miserably, "Do I have to take off my clothes?"
I thought I was going to cry.
It hurt me because I know such things happen. People entice young women, girls, from underprivileged countries with promises of honorable work and a better life in the United States. The next thing you know, the girls are slaves, serving the lusts of American men. Some times the death penalty seems like a better idea than others.
Watching that yesterday has prompted me to sit down to this blog again, because I think I have a message that needs to get out. I am convinced that people don't do these things because of how good they think they are. I am convinced that people live up to, or down to, their self-images.
I was the best teenage boy you ever met. I was the poindexter all the mothers wanted their daughters to date. (Funny. None of them seemed to want to date me. They were happy to cry on my shoulders about the boys they did want to date! Ah, well...!) I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't do drugs, I didn't try to get the pants off the good-looking girls I knew. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't immune to temptation. I was curious. I seriously wanted sex. But I saw myself as a good boy. And I knew there are some things good boys don't do. It was a terribly difficult time.
I don't think I've progressed from that. I think I've regressed. I've learned self-indulgence. And guess what? Self-indulgence is hard too. It's hard to have lost so much of the self-respect I had 30 years ago.
I learned in seminary to be much easier on myself, and on others. That is good, to a point. Jesus, after all, did not condemn the woman taken in adultery. But what were his final words to her? "Go and sin no more" (John 8:11). He called it sin. She knew it was sin. He did not punish her for it. But he did not minimize it either!
When did self-indulgence become a virtue? How is self-indulgence that far removed from incontinence? An adult who cannot control most bodily functions is a person to be pitied. So why should we admire a man who cannot control his libido? Why don't we condemn as infantile people who cannot say no to themselves? We call children in that state "spoiled brats".
A few years ago I drove past a billboard advertising a club for "adult entertainment". Still tempted by such things, yet it occurred to me that a true adult wouldn't need such entertainment. The same sign called spoke of a "gentlemen's club". Gentlemen? How?
No, I am persuaded that we will behave up to our self-image. I do not believe that we will behave out of fear of punishment, entirely. We learn how to get away with things as little children. I am persuaded that we will live up, or down, to our self-image. There are things good boys don't do, and things good boys do. If we learn to see ourselves as good, perhaps we will behave better.
What's In It for Me?
When you try to force a square peg into a round hole, which finds it more comfortable?
When you try to force a square peg into a round hole, which benefits more?
Doesn't it harm both?
Do you believe that God created you? Do you believe God is great and good and loving and powerful? Then isn't it just possible that God did a good job in your creation, and that God has a pretty powerful and good will for you?
How does it serve God, or you, or anyone else, for you to be miserable? Isn't it just possible that there is a hole the perfectly fits the peg your are, and that you are resisting God's will, and hurting yourself and others by persisting in a life that makes you miserable?
The first week I was pastoring I felt guilty because I was enjoying myself so much! All my training had me convinced, emotionally at least, that God's will couldn't possibly be fun, that if I was enjoying myself I must be out of the will of God!
I'm still waiting for somebody to show me where that is in the Bible.
What if God, in creating you, revealed his will for you in the deepest desires of your heart? What if you can recognize God's will by what gives you the greatest joy?
When I studied ethics in college, I learned that hedonism makes a pretty good ethic, if it's applied properly. Follow me on this: hedonism is the pursuit of pleasure. But what is the greater pleasure, a long happy life, or an orgy of delight ending in premature death? Hedonism, properly applied, teaches that moderation in all things actually brings the greatest pleasure; that being a good neighbor will bring greater pleasure, being a good citizen, being a good spouse, being a good parent, even if, in the short run, they might bring some temporary discomfort.
Do you like to exercise? I don't. I love to eat what I want, when I want. I love to stay up late reading or watching my favorite movies, and sleeping without an alarm clock, getting up when I wake up. But I don't like being overweight. I don't like how I look or how I feel when I'm 30 pounds above where I should be. I don't like how I feel when I've sat around all day and accomplished nothing because I slept until nearly noon.
So hedonism teaches me that I'll be happier if I endure the discomfort, the displeasure, of exercise now, of an intelligent diet now, of a disciplined sleep schedule now, so that I may live a longer, healthier, happier, more fulfilled life.
One more illustration: The last five years I pastored, what kept me sane was singing with a fine organization, The Tara Choral Guild. For two hours every Tuesday night, I would sit in rehearsal working on very difficult music, shooting for perfection. I was frequently nervous, not entirely sure I was up to the challenge!
One spring we did Mozart's Requiem. I swear, I was still making mistakes in the performance. I never did get that thing to perfection. But my wife says it was the finest performace we gave in the years I was in the Guild. And I'm very proud of that performance, prouder of many easier things I probably performed better.
Spending that time weekly with fine musicians struggling for excellence was some of the greatest therapy I ever knew. The pursuit of excellence is not exhausting, it's exhilirating!
We sang in one of the finest auditoriums in the world, Spivey Hall on the campus of Clayton State College in Morrow, Georgia. But we had some problems with the staff at Spivey at that concert, and we decided not to sing there again. We decided we'd find some accomodating church who would let us use their auditorium. After working so hard on the Mozart, the guild decided not to do anything new the next season; they chose instead to pull out some things we already knew, and to take it easy for our next concert.
That's when I quit the Tara Choral Guild. As long as we were striving for excellence, I found great joy and healing in singing with them. But then they chose mediocre church music over excellence, well, I had better things to do with my Tuesday evenings. In the last years of my burnout with church work, I said, "We do mediocre church music here every Sunday! I don't need the Tara Choral Guild for that."
Do you get the point?
When you try to force a square peg into a round hole, which benefits more?
Doesn't it harm both?
Do you believe that God created you? Do you believe God is great and good and loving and powerful? Then isn't it just possible that God did a good job in your creation, and that God has a pretty powerful and good will for you?
How does it serve God, or you, or anyone else, for you to be miserable? Isn't it just possible that there is a hole the perfectly fits the peg your are, and that you are resisting God's will, and hurting yourself and others by persisting in a life that makes you miserable?
The first week I was pastoring I felt guilty because I was enjoying myself so much! All my training had me convinced, emotionally at least, that God's will couldn't possibly be fun, that if I was enjoying myself I must be out of the will of God!
I'm still waiting for somebody to show me where that is in the Bible.
What if God, in creating you, revealed his will for you in the deepest desires of your heart? What if you can recognize God's will by what gives you the greatest joy?
When I studied ethics in college, I learned that hedonism makes a pretty good ethic, if it's applied properly. Follow me on this: hedonism is the pursuit of pleasure. But what is the greater pleasure, a long happy life, or an orgy of delight ending in premature death? Hedonism, properly applied, teaches that moderation in all things actually brings the greatest pleasure; that being a good neighbor will bring greater pleasure, being a good citizen, being a good spouse, being a good parent, even if, in the short run, they might bring some temporary discomfort.
Do you like to exercise? I don't. I love to eat what I want, when I want. I love to stay up late reading or watching my favorite movies, and sleeping without an alarm clock, getting up when I wake up. But I don't like being overweight. I don't like how I look or how I feel when I'm 30 pounds above where I should be. I don't like how I feel when I've sat around all day and accomplished nothing because I slept until nearly noon.
So hedonism teaches me that I'll be happier if I endure the discomfort, the displeasure, of exercise now, of an intelligent diet now, of a disciplined sleep schedule now, so that I may live a longer, healthier, happier, more fulfilled life.
One more illustration: The last five years I pastored, what kept me sane was singing with a fine organization, The Tara Choral Guild. For two hours every Tuesday night, I would sit in rehearsal working on very difficult music, shooting for perfection. I was frequently nervous, not entirely sure I was up to the challenge!
One spring we did Mozart's Requiem. I swear, I was still making mistakes in the performance. I never did get that thing to perfection. But my wife says it was the finest performace we gave in the years I was in the Guild. And I'm very proud of that performance, prouder of many easier things I probably performed better.
Spending that time weekly with fine musicians struggling for excellence was some of the greatest therapy I ever knew. The pursuit of excellence is not exhausting, it's exhilirating!
We sang in one of the finest auditoriums in the world, Spivey Hall on the campus of Clayton State College in Morrow, Georgia. But we had some problems with the staff at Spivey at that concert, and we decided not to sing there again. We decided we'd find some accomodating church who would let us use their auditorium. After working so hard on the Mozart, the guild decided not to do anything new the next season; they chose instead to pull out some things we already knew, and to take it easy for our next concert.
That's when I quit the Tara Choral Guild. As long as we were striving for excellence, I found great joy and healing in singing with them. But then they chose mediocre church music over excellence, well, I had better things to do with my Tuesday evenings. In the last years of my burnout with church work, I said, "We do mediocre church music here every Sunday! I don't need the Tara Choral Guild for that."
Do you get the point?
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