Why Cowboy Boots Help Me Pray

[This is one of the posts telling a story from the life of my Dad. Click here to see the others.]

To reference the great poet, Merle Haggard, I come from a place where "leather boots are still in style for manly footwear." I remember the shock to my system when I left home to go to college in another part of the country and I was the only one on campus who ever wore them. (Come to think of it, I was also the only one there who ever wore a proper hat.) My college basketball coach was from New Jersey, and it was equally a shock to him to see me and realize that people actually do wear these kinds of things apart from Western movie sets. (He was also shocked that so many people actually drive pickup trucks, and I've written before about why pickup trucks are good for my soul.)

Since moving back to the western part of Texas five years ago from those other parts of the world, I've changed from a sometimes-boot-wearer to an everyday-boot-wearer. Part of the reason I've made this change is that–though this might not be the case for everyone (particularly for those of you from places like New Jersey)–I'm convinced that boots help me to live more prayerfully. I've come up with three reasons why this is so:

My boots connect me to my roots. Perhaps connection to my roots matters to me more than to others, since I work on the same spot of land where my great-grandparents, and the century full of generations between them and me, lived and worked. My aunt claims that my granddad never owned a pair of shoes–boots only. My dad was a boot-wearer as well. As soon as he found out he was dying of cancer, he had one gift he was intent on giving me: a pair of really nice boots. He also had a pair of really nice boots, which his mother had given to him, and he only brought them out for special occasions such as when he wore them to my college graduation. I plan on wearing the pair he gave me when it's my kids' turn.

My roots really matter to me, not just because of the place and lifestyle, but because of the faith that has been passed down to me to me through them. Each of those generations mentioned above were dedicated followers of Jesus, to the point that each of them helped start new Methodist churches in their communities, on their land, or even in their own homes. So, in a very real sense, I've been a boot-wearing Methodist longer than I've been alive. I live more prayerfully when I am mindful that any efforts I make at a prayerful life are building upon those of at least the three generations of boot-wearing Texas Methodists before me.

They're made for a moseying speed of life. Anyone who has ever tried to wear a pair of these things realizes that they aren't made for being in a hurry. Boots are a microcosm of life, because–in boots as in life–if you attempt to go too fast, pain will come. I am convinced that hurry is not part of a life well-lived (see more here and here). Whenever I have a sense of being in a hurry, it's a symptom of things being out-of-line at another level, and the hurry results in me being less patient and less able to enjoy the people I love. On the other hand, when I mosey, living prayerfully comes more easily and naturally, and I'm able to pay more attention to all of the good things that are part of my life every day.

It feels so good to take them off at the end of a work day. Prayerful lives through the ages–from the beginning of the monastic movement through history down to my boot-wearing ancestors–have often been organized around four things: prayer, study, work, and rest. I just mentioned how the boots give me a more prayerful orientation and pace, but they also help with those other aspects. In a place as dusty and full of things like cactus and mesquite thorns as this part of Texas, boots are a necessity for getting any work done outdoors. Even when I'm working at a desk (like right now), I feel like I'm more ready if something comes up that needs to be done outside than I would be if I was wearing a pair of dress shoes.

Then, even though some boots can be pretty comfortable, the best feeling they give is when they're taken off at the end of a day. Again–as with our speed–boots are a microcosm of life: if we don't rest, pain is coming. Taking the boots off and letting our bodies rest after working is as important a part of living prayerfully as anything else. Our capacity to do anything worthwhile in our lives with God is diminished drastically if let ourselves continually live in exhaustion.

(If you're observant, you'll notice that this accounts for prayer, work, and rest, but not study. I'm not sure that I've figured out how to make that link between my boots and my learning yet, but hopefully I'll connect those dots one of these days.)

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Something I've prayed this week:

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people; Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (Prayer for the Fourth Sunday of Easter from The Book of Common Prayer)

[This is the 26th post from A Year of Living Prayerfully]

In Memory of Brennan Manning

As a youngster, I didn't like to read. At times, I would find some book I thought I would like, but I virtually never made it through any books that weren't full of pictures of my sports heroes. That changed, and it altered the direction of the rest of my life, when I read Brennan Manning's The Signature of Jesus. I was at a point in my life when I was beginning to become tired of living superficially, and I needed guidance on how to connect with God in genuine ways. Going through the pages of that book was a new experience for me, in which I discovered how effective good books can be at pointing me forward in the kind of life I want to live with God.

I have read (and sometimes re-read) probably a dozen others of his books in the years since. He was as effective as anyone at communicating the grace of God and how wondrous of a thing it is that God so endlessly loves people who are so thoroughly messed up. (It can be difficult to find, but his short parable, The Boy Who Cried Abba is worth abundantly more than the cost of the book and the time it takes to read it.)

Brennan's honest words were deeply needed. He knew both the darkness of sin and the incomparability of God's grace. I'm grateful for his life and for his courage to share words which have drawn me and so many others further into "the relentless love of Jesus."

The First Thing John Ortberg Hates About Spiritual Formation

Leadership Journal recently published an article by John Ortberg called, "Seven Things I Hate About Spiritual Formation." It's fantastic. I count Ortberg among my heroes, and largely because of people like him, I too fit his self-description as someone who now spends a lot of time writing and thinking about spiritual formation. It is the field that I studied for a master's degree, and even if I only count the books that specifically claim to be about spiritual formation–if I were to put the ones I've hung on to over the years because they're the best next to each other on a shelf–I've got at least three feet of them. And my number one frustration with Spiritual Formation would be the same thing Ortberg lists first:

1. I hate how spiritual formation gets positioned as an optional pursuit for a small special interest group within the church. People think of it as an esoteric activity reserved for introverted Thomas-Merton-reading contemplatives. I hate that. Spiritual formation is for everyone. Just as there is an "outer you" that is being formed and shaped all the time, like it or not, by accident or on purpose, so there is an "inner you." You have a spirit. And it's constantly being shaped and tugged at: by what you hear and watch and say and read and think and experience. Everyone is being spiritually formed all the time. Whether they want to or not. Whether they're Christian or not. The question isn't if someone will sign up for spiritual formation; it's just who and what our spirits will be formed by.

In other words, spiritual formation isn't a series of retreats for those who are "into that sort of thing." It isn't one elective, among many, that a church can offer. (If your church has a spiritual formation pastor...what in the world are the other people on staff doing?) Ortberg's simple description nailed it: everyone has an "inner you," and it is being shaped into some kind of thing or another all of the time. By virtue of being humans, this is unavoidable, so we'll be wise if we pay attention to that process.

The questions of spiritual formation, then, are about what kinds of things help that process to go well and what kinds of things impede it. The issue is never if we "like" spiritual formation, because everyone–whether or not they ever read anything by John Ortberg, Dallas Willard, or any of the other authors in those three feet of books on my shelf–is inevitably getting a spiritual formation just from the experiences that come with being alive. The only issue that matters is whether that formation is a good one or a bad one. What kind of character do you and I have now because of our spiritual formation to this point? And considering the trajectory of our spiritual formation up until today, what can we realistically expect that our character be like when it's all said and done?

A few of the books in those three feet of the best of the best on my shelf are by Robert Mulholland, and he addresses the same issue:

Spiritual formation is not an option. Spiritual formation is not a discipline just for 'dedicated disciples.' It is not a pursuit only for the pious. Spiritual formation is not an activity for the deeply committed alone. It is not a spiritual frill for those with the time and inclination. Spiritual formation is the primal reality of human existence. Every event of life is an experience of spiritual formation. Every action taken, every response made, every dynamic of relationship, every thought held, every emotion allowed: These are the miniscule arenas where, bit by bit, infinitesimal piece by infinitesimal piece, we are shaped into some kind of being. We are being shaped either toward the wholeness of the image of Christ or toward a horribly destructive caricature of that image. This is why Paul urges Christians, 'Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him' (Col. 3:17, NRSV; italics added). The Christian spiritual journey is a life lived in, through, and for God.

Human life is, by its very nature, spiritual formation. The question is not whether to undertake spiritual formation. The question is what kind of spiritual formation are we already engaged in? Are we being increasingly conformed to the brokenness and disintegration of the world, or are we being increasingly conformed to the wholeness and integration of the image of Christ? (From Shaped by the Word)

In my own biased opinion, I think that all seems obvious enough. But if it's true, why does church after church after church tend to view spiritual formation exactly the way Ortberg described: "an optional pursuit for a small special interest group within the church"? Even for churches that pay attention to spiritual formation, why do they look at it as if it is one thing among many that they might choose to do, rather than acknowledging that everything they do forms people's spirits in some direction–and therefore paying more attention to the destination (kind of character) to which that direction predictably points?

Spiritual formation should be to churches what science is to research universities. It is what we do, and we do it in a wide variety of contexts. Churches should be the leading centers of the world for this field, where people would naturally turn when considering questions like, "How do I become a truly good person? How do I live a truly good life?"

It's easy to go on a rant like this and ask why other people get it wrong so often. But then the answer to the questions in the above two paragraphs is significantly more difficult to swallow than those ranting sentences were to type. The answer (similar to #7 in Ortberg's list) always hits way too close to home. If what we're saying about spiritual formation is true, and those around us aren't valuing spiritual formation highly enough, a primary factor has to be that it hasn't been lived and taught well enough by those of us who do.

Daily Options and a New Schedule

A couple of changes to what you'll see here, based on two things I've learned from my most recent writing project: First, as I'm writing this, I've got about two and a half years in which this blog has been my favorite hobby, even if a very inconsistent one. Going back even farther, I had a previous blog which had a life of about four years before beginning this one, so apparently my track record of writing online without any predictable rhythm is now into its seventh year.

(Seeing that I've been blogging that long and have now built an email list of about seventy subscribers means my blog grows at about a rate of one reader per month. I'm quite happy with it being among the slowest-growing blogs in America. That means you're much more valuable to me than you would be to those silly famous people.)

But the intention is finally pretty settled in me to change that. Among the things that writing the 40 Days of Prayer posts taught me was that, to my own surprise, I really enjoyed writing according to a more disciplined schedule. I've overdone it for brief stretches in the past, trying to post something every day, which I can't keep up for long and still do other important things like bathe regularly. And–much more often–I've underdone it and not posted anything for long periods of time. So (I think) I've found a rhythm I can settle into while utilizing some of the things I learned while writing the Lent messages and work on a schedule of posting something new three times per week.

Second, based on the very kind feedback that a good number of folks gave me about the Lent messages, I realized that it isn't just the regularity of writing that matters, but also the regularity of reading. So, hopefully the three times per week schedule will be helpful in that regard, but for the handful of you who might want to also read something on the in-between days when nothing new has been posted, I've decided to start linking to some of the things I've written before which I think are still worth saying. (This experiment will be considered a success if anyone chooses it, and it will be a raving success if anyone who isn't a blood relative opts in.)

So, if you're interested in a daily option (except for Saturday mornings–I'll be taking a sabbath, and I'll let my internet monkeys take one too), choose one of these:

• Email: If you choose the email subscription option "Every Single Day (Except Saturdays)", on the days new things are posted, you'll receive them by email like normal. On the in-between days, you'll receive a link to something that's already out there.
• Facebook: If you Like the blog's page on Facebook, the same links will be posted there–new things on new thing days, and old things on in-between days.
• Twitter: Same idea, different way to get the links by following me on Twitter (@deharris). I post other things on Twitter as well, usually related to the kind of stuff I write about here-particularly links to good stuff I read by others online or on a Kindle.

I am a Spiritual Weakling, Which is Why I Pray Four Times a Day

I'm figuring out that my experiment for this year is perfect for people, like me, who are utter spiritual weaklings. I'm convinced that way that we often talk about the things we can do to arrange our lives as disciples of Jesus is completely upside-down. We say things like, "This is for those of you who really want to go deeper," giving the impression that a life of discipleship is for people who want to go above and beyond everyone else in churchy things. We frame it as if this kind of life is for spiritual honor students, or for those of us who are really interested in "that kind of thing." Thinking of a lifestyle of discipleship like that is erroneous and harmful, like flying upside-down in an airplane: It may seem fine for a moment, but if we are unaware of it, it won't work for long and some serious damage is coming our way. I'm finding this year's experiment in living prayerfully to be helpful, not because I'm advanced, but because of the opposite: I'm such a spiritual weakling that I can't make it through a single day of living in connection with God without building these re-connections with God into the routine of my regular days. Instead of thinking of this way of praying as being for the equivalent of the olympic long-distance runner, it's more accurate to think of it as being perfectly suited for the equivalent of the preschooler who can't keep their mind on one thing long enough to be able to put on their own pants. I want to live my life as God's friend, and I simply can't get anywhere in my attempts to do so without putting this kind of method into the way I live and having others join in to help me lurch along in these bumbling, blundering, lumbering attempts to follow Jesus.

James Bryan Smith writes about this in The Good and Beautiful Life:

I don't do these things because I want God to love me and bless me, nor to avoid punishment or impress people with my piety. I do all of this to keep the fire burning. I do them because I am spiritually weak. I cannot maintain an effective and joyful Christian life without these activities. I also need weekly times of worship fellowship and host of other disciplines to nourish my soul. When I neglect these things, my soul atrophies. I simply know of no other way to be an apprentice of Jesus.

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Something I've prayed this week:

Hear, O LORD, and be gracious to me! O LORD, be my helper! (Psalm 30:10)

[This is the 25th post from A Year of Living Prayerfully]

Resurrecting My Experiment

When Advent began last year, I committed myself to a year-long experiment and to being public about its progress by writing about it here. The gist of the experiment was that I would push my own advice from Live Prayerfully to its farthest reasonable limit by doing all of the things I talk about in the book every day for a year. (The book doesn't encourage anyone to do all of the stuff all the time–I'm intentionally trying to take things to an extreme.) I was able to stick with it for quite a while, even if it wasn't all very pretty (for a couple of examples, see One Dog, Two Cats, and Four Attempts to Pray and My Bad Christmas Prayer Idea). But then, around the end of February my streak ended of legalistically doing everything I set out to do, when I didn't realize that I had missed morning prayer until I sat down to read midday prayer.

In itself, that wasn't that big of a deal, but–like how in your house when one thing breaks, three or four others are likely to follow–after the streak ended, my experiment began to go downhill. Generally I've kept things up, but it's become more common for me to realize when I go to bed at night that I didn't do something that I'd committed to do as part of this year.

Part of that is due to the fact that I haven't been writing about it. The "40 Days of Prayer" posts that went up daily during Lent occupied all of the writing opportunities I had during those weeks, so apparently my abilities to stick with commitments is weak enough that if I wasn't writing about them, I also became less likely to do them.

But now–the writing project for Lent is behind me, and we're a week into Easter, so I think it's appropriate to resurrect the commitment to the experiment.

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Something I've prayed this week:

O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (Prayer for the Third Sunday of Easter from The Book of Common Prayer)

[This is the 24th post from A Year of Living Prayerfully]

Because of the Resurrection...

Because of the resurrection...

Death is defeated. Death itself is abolished. Its sting is gone, because life does not end in a grave.

Death's primary expression, sin, is no longer our master. We can choose to remain slaves if we like, but a new, indestructible, full life-as-it-was-meant-to-be has become available to us.

Jesus' primary expressions, love and grace, matter more than death and sin. They always will.

Every opportunity to love someone and extend God's grace is an opportunity to do something that will last. Love and grace count more than we realize.

Great news! Suffering has no final word about anything. Jesus' suffering did not get the last word on his life, neither will ours. When it comes, suffering either shapes us to be more like our crucified and risen King, or–if we forget how he suffered before rising–to harden our hearts against him.

In Christ, every loved one who is no longer here is well and cared for.

We don't have to accept the fairy tale pictures of heaven. We too easily settle for thinking that we'll grow wings, sit on clouds and play on harps in a never-ending church service (does anyone really want to sign up for that?). Instead, God will make all things new–new heavens, new earth, new bodies...new creation, far better than any fairy tale we could imagine!

Jesus' friends expected that all of God's people would be raised at some point in the future. They didn't expect that point in the future to break into the present by happening to him on the third day after being crucified. Therefore, while we anticipate the future day when resurrection happens to all of us, the living Jesus enables us to practice his kind of life now, getting a foretaste of what's to come. We eagerly await the day when we and all those whom we now miss will be given new, death-defeating bodies like that of our King.

Thanks be to God! Eternal life is now in session, because of the resurrection.

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Readings for Easter Sunday:

Acts 10:34-43 Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24 1 Corinthians 15:19-26 John 20:1-18

A Prayer for the Day:

O God, who for our redemption gave your only-begotten Son to the death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the power of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.*

*From The Book of Common Prayer

[This is part of 40 Days of Prayer: Daily Emails for Lent]