Pray as you can, and do not try to pray as you can’t.
Take yourself as you find yourself, and start from that.
Remember, God sees your desire to pray. And where do you think that desire comes from?
Simple prayers, earnestly spoken, are a wonderful way to begin. And I’m encouraged to know that when I am without words, the Spirit intercedes for me (Romans 8:26-27).
Accept where you are, trust what you have, begin where you can, be grateful for what you have (the Psalms, the Lord’s Prayer, collects and good liturgy, memorized, reliable words given to you by other Christian people), notice your longing for God, and patiently wait on the Lord.
Howard Hendricks was one of my professors at Dallas Theological Seminary. He was an absolute master in the classroom, modeling excellence in teaching, care for the student, and the highest caliber of skill in communication. It was a gift to watch him lead. Prof. Hendricks’ son, Bill Hendricks, was interviewed and asked, “How do you define ‘leadership,’ and how did your Dad model that?” He answered:
I always think back to the simplest definition of leadership I’ve heard, which I learned from Dad’s friend Fred Smith, Sr. He said, “Followers—that is what leadership is all about. If people are not following you, you are not a leader. You may have the title, but that’s all.”i I look back at my dad’s life and work, and I see that the man absolutely loved teaching; that’s an understatement, actually. He’d say, “I love to teach; I live to teach. I’d teach whether or not they paid me to teach (but don’t tell the seminary that!).” In pursuing the craft of teaching, Dad learned a lot about leadership. He read all the books, met with leaders, and had conversations about leadership everywhere he went. From that perspective, he was obviously an expert in leadership. But he didn’t aspire to the title of “leader.” He didn’t create an organization, manage employees, or intentionally train a successor. Instead, he was a great communicator who happened to focus on leadership.
I do not agree that having followers is what leadership is “all about,” though I affirm that leaders have followers. And people will follow those with titles, though not for long if those holding a title neither steward their responsibilities well nor demonstrate a capacity to lead effectively according to their gifts. Titles are placeholders for authority, but not the source. Authority comes from people, from their lives. According to Bill Hendricks, it stems from gifts. I’d say yes, and character.
Hendricks states:
Your leadership is a function of your own giftedness. It’s possible to have the title of leader, but if no one is following you, then you’re not a leader. Conversely, you might not perceive yourself as a leader and might not have the title, but you look behind you and find that people are following. Leadership is not about titles or positions; it’s about your giftedness and the people who follow you. Play to your strengths and surround yourself with people who have the strengths you lack.
Leadership can be learned. Leadership gifts differ. Two things can be true at the same time. Wise leaders understand their gifts and appreciate that their ability to lead effectively has only a little to do with their title. Titles are important only insofar they clarify responsibilities and further the mission.
The best leaders surround themselves with other strong leaders and build an effective team. The purpose of the leadership venture is seen as bigger and more important than the personalities. They are more concerned with leading than they are with labels. They focus on goals. High quality, high character leaders are often more concerned with the work getting done, projects being completed, the right kind of workplace culture, and good and positive ideas being championed than they are with what people call them.
Some of the best leaders are the last to know they are leaders. They are too busy looking ahead. They find out they are leading when they look left and right and see they are gladly accompanied by quality companions. They look back and see others following along, sharing in the work. After that discovery is made, what follows is stewardship, and legacy, which both are part of the challenge of leadership.
I first heard that Tom T. Hall number on my way through Corsicana, Texas. I could easily turn that narrative into a sermon illustration. I had played through this list on a recent family road trip and was surprised one evening at dinner to hear my son break out in the chorus. Laughed my head off.
Paul will not permit us to compensate for neglecting those nearest us by advertising our compassion for those on another continent. Jesus, it must be remembered, restricted nine-tenths of his ministry to twelve Jews because it was the only way to redeem all Americans. He couldn’t be bothered, said Martin Thornton, with the foreign Canaanites because his work was to save the whole world. The check for the starving child must still be written and the missionary sent, but as an extension of what we are doing at home, not as an exemption from it.
For those in Christ, our loving concern is to be extended to every human being, reaching as far as those whom we are furthest from. But it must not bypass those nearest to us. It must encompass and encounter those in our orbit. It must be given to those we look upon every day, particulary our family, and even our enemies, of whom it has been said are often one and the same. Love begins in the neighborhood, and for householders, in the home.
This is a grand mystery. We are commanded to love. We are commanded to love those in the household of faith. We are commanded to demonstrate love for the world in the same manner Jesus demonstrated his love for us. We are to act in loving concern for those who are suffering, those who are downtrodden, wherever they may be found. We are called to go to the nations. We are sent into the world. We often miss the opportunities that are right in front of our faces, foregoing faithful, straightforward obedience in our immediate circumstances for the pursuit of some grand purpose or glorious cause.
This observation is not meant to condemn. Rather, it is intended to invite reflection and discernment. I have long puzzled over the Christian compulsion to pursue grand ambitions in faraway places to the neglect of fellow citizens sharing the same city or state. And yet, some of these grand efforts have acheived great good, leading to transformation and faith. Work has been done in the name of Christ. Nevertheless, it seems we choose to go around people in order to get to other people whom we believe really need the love of Christ, rather than tending first to the needs of those where we are.
Above, Eugene Peterson resolves the tension by reminding us that ultimately the command to love is fulfilled by way of a both/and rather than an either/or, and that the calling to love in the Christian life is one of integrity. If we extend love to those far away, we had better be faithfullly loving those right here.
I confess I am not as successful in keeping the command to love as well as I would hope. It is not an easy command to keep. In order to demonstrate love for humanity, the Son of God crossed the veil separating heaven from earth. He put off divinity and put on flesh. He left a throne for a manger. He set aside the privileges of deity for poverty. He left the security and stability of God’s throneroom and became a refugee. The Ancient of Days became a baby. He left the position of Creator and took a job as a carpenter. He left home in the Galilean countryside and instead became one who had no place to lay his head. The one who came to us as life and light was plunged into death and darkness. He was propelled to obedience through love, a love for the Father, and a love for us. Jesus put aside a lot, for love.
When I see a love like that, I find a reservoir from which I can draw which is not only a well, but a river of life, which Jesus said springs up in those who embrace him and enter his kingdom. As an eternal spring, its supply is ample for those who are near and for those who are far, both. We cannot exhaust it. It is the love of God.
Personally, at the beginning of my day–often before arising–I commit my day to the Lord’s care. Usually I do this while meditatively praying through the Lord’s Prayer, and possibly the twenty-third Psalm as well. Then I meet everything that happens as sent or at least permitted by God. I meet it resting in the hands of his care. This helps me to “do all things without grumbling or disputing” (Philippians 2:14), because I have already “placed God in charge” and am trusting him to manage them for my good. I no longer have to manage the weather, planes, and other people.
There are many avenues by which we may choose to walk with God through life. Signposts, however, do help. Dallas Willard reported beginning each day with the discipline of committing all that would unfold “to the Lord’s care.” There is a natural connection to the Lord’s Prayer and Psalm 23. Both of those prayers declare that God is in charge and that provision and protection are available in God’s kingdom. Willard would mediate, or set his thoughts upon, these passages from Scripture, reminding himself God was worthy of trust and God’s power was available to those who call upon him.
Techniques do not bring us closer to God, but the testimonies of those who have gone before us can be suggestive for how we, too, might walk as companions of Christ. It is God’s grace that makes us holy.
The spiritual disciples are wise ways of seeking God, gifts from God that help us in the seeking. They have proven profitable for others who have longed to know God more fully; God continues to meet people through them. To take up a discipline is an act of faith. The discipline of turning the day over to God, acknowledging human limitations and declaring our trust anew, refocuses our vision, humbles our hearts, and heightens our awareness of the subtleties and, on occasion, the thunderclaps of God’s action. Remember, God raised a man from the dead (among other miracles), and some missed it. Turning the day over to God also allows us to relax. We don’t have to make it happen. God is at work.
A Christian spiritual practice like Willard describes would only take moments to complete each day. But it would make a difference, not only for one day, but maybe for a life.
What commitments do you keep? What actions do you take? How do you seek God routinely each day?
“The optimist is a better reformer than the pessimist; and the man who believes life to be excellent is the man who alters it most. It seems a paradox, yet the reason of it is very plain. The pessimist can be enraged at evil. But only the optimist can be surprised at it. From the reformer is required a simplicity of surprise. He must have the faculty of a violent and virgin astonishment.”
There is a lesson here for Christian leaders, not only those with apostolic and evangelistic ministries, but for those who serve humbly within the existing established institutions.
As of five days ago, Leaves in the Wind has entered into its third year of existence. Once again, my deep thanks to all my subscribers for making it possible for me to write in the way I like to write. One of the basic pieces of advice that Substack offers to every writer who uses its platform is that he or she should ideally confine his or her publication to a specific topic (baking, UFOs, folk music, extremist politics, pet-grooming—that sort of thing), since that as a rule is what attracts subscriptions. Obviously, I have done precisely the opposite; I have never wanted to write about one thing and one thing only, even if I could make money by doing so, because I simply do not have that kind of mind. I have tried to make a virtue out of my tendency toward wandering attention, since I really have no discretion in the matter; it will wander whether I want it to do so or not. And you good and gracious souls allow me to flatter myself I have succeeded—at least, well enough to have retained your good will.
When I began writing on the web twenty years ago, the same advice prevailed. Pick a topic, stick with it, and build up your content base. Cultivate a niche audience. Find out what readers want. Cater to those desires. Stay on theme. Stay on schedule. Sing your song. Keep singing. Publish. Publish. Publish. Second verse, same as the first.
My approach to writing in public has changed over the years. My understanding of what I’ve been doing, and my philosophy of writing, has been developed and refined. I began with the desire to share thoughts, advocate for ideas, make connections, and build community. I started playing around with blogs in the days of Xanga and GeoCities, published a few short essays on a short lived MySpace site, and was an early adopter of several major social media services, which were places to keep writing, or to share writing. As a writer, I eventually landed on WordPress, which has served my purposes just fine. I’ve written beyond my home space. I’ve been thankful for those opportunities, when they’ve arisen.
There has been a theme to my work. I’ve written mainly about Christianity and my experiences as a person of faith. I’ve always written about theology and the Bible; more recently I have focused on Christian spiritual formation. I’ve relayed anecdotes and shared sermons and captured plenty of quotes and sometimes added brief commentary. I’ve written devotionally. I’ve written personally. I’ve shared news about my family. I’ve ocassionally commented on technology, developments in higher education, and philosophical ideas. Recently, I’ve shared music playlists that, for me, are snapshots in time. I write about books, both reviews of individual works and summations of what I’ve read, the latter an annual issue that attracts the interest of a few friends at the start of each year.
I’ve never had a large readership. I confess this used to concern me. I’ve let that concern go. The ideas I write about are of interest to me, and the practice of writing has helped me develop my voice and improve my craft. Eugene Peterson once suggested that I shouldn’t write for an audiencce, I should write for the truth, and only if I feel a fire in my bones. My pursuit is not a broad readership, but clearer thinking and a better understanding of myself, the world, and, ultimately, the truth. Writing crystalizes thought. Writing is also a practice, if practiced well, not only conveys what you know, but leads you to discoveries formerly unknown and ways of expressing things that you did not know were in there, inside you, things you did not know you could say or were capable of saying. Words represent thoughts. The thoughts come out. Sometimes they are clear. Sometimes they are a jumble. You work with the words. You move them around. You wrestle with them. They wrestle back. You hope they hang where you place them, and that they hang together in a manner that makes sense not only to you, but to others. We seek meaning. We share meaning. Writing is an act of meaning-making. We benefit from the work. Writing, when it is made a public artefact, can also benefit others, maybe even a broad swath of humankind.
If you write in public, you send your words out into the world. You are a mind, reaching out to other minds. Maybe those ideas catch on. Maybe they make sense. Or maybe they drift into the digital ether, collecting the equivalent of computational dust. Putting work out there is an act of faith. You don’t really know what will happen.
David Bentley Hart writes, “I have never wanted to write about one thing and one thing only, even if I could make money by doing so, because I simply do not have that kind of mind. I have tried to make a virtue out of my tendency toward wandering attention, since I really have no discretion in the matter; it will wander whether I want it to do so or not.”
That approach resonates with me. I am not nearly as skilled a writer as he is, nor a polymath, nor as accomplished. But that doesn’t matter.
I can chase rabbits. I might even catch a few. It could even be fun. That’s what writing is. Chasing ideas. Acquiring needed provisions (not only reading, but experience). Going out on the hunt. Having an adventure. Opening up to contingency. Some successes could be plain luck. Other successess will be born of hard work. Nothing will happen if you don’t show up, sit in the chair, dance with the ideas, make choices, commit, and share. You might find delight in composing a good sentence. Someone else might delight in reading one. Experiences might align; they might not. Delight is not the only possible experience a writer or a reader may have. Boring? Possible. But heaven forbid it.
If you’re a writer, or considering a writing practice, by all means, write. If you’re a reader. Thanks. Thanks for joining the chase.
