Our Haiti team took part today in a "Global Focus Sunday" at a church here in Stockton, a day devoted to missionary work. The theme of the day, for me, was that God works in and through those who act out their faith, those who put into practice what God teaches through Scripture. Francis Chan, a visiting speaker who grew up in Stockton, made this point as he spoke of the difference between the early church, on the one hand, and what he sees in today's church, on the other. One was willing to give all they had for their Savior, to live their lives in devotion to Christ; and the other looks more like a group of people who may cuss less, but whose lives otherwise remain unchanged. The sermon could be summed up in this way: Live out your faith passionately for Christ.
Now passion isn't a popular notion in Western culture. Pico Iyer wrote of this in an essay called "The Nowhere Man." Here, he observed that we have become cosmopolitans, connected to nowhere and consequently also connected to nothing. We are "seasoned experts at dispassion" and "masters of the aerial perspective," unwilling to commit to any cause for the high virtue of intellectual fairness. I practiced this rule of scholarship in college, when history professors encouraged us to seek balance in our evaluations of people and events. Remaining circumspect was rewarded with good grades, but the unspoken message you learned in the process was clear: keep your emotional distance.
To dismiss this lesson as one I learned only in college, however, would be to ignore a deeper cause. Even one of my professors told me once that I was "too guarded" in my writing. A statement like this, I think, speaks to the truer reason some of us commit to non-commitment: we fear we will make a mistake, that some whistle-blower will call foul when we reveal we have passionately-- or even dispassionately-- embraced a cause. Ironic, that the true source of our (or, at least, my) cool intellectual detachment is not fairness, but fear. Our emotional distance has starkly emotional roots.
What, then, is the alternative to such emotional hollowness? Is it enough simply to devote oneself to a cause? This seems reasonable, but something more is needed. Earlier this morning, before Francis Chan's sermon on living in devotion to Christ, I heard another sermon on the need to serve as part of the body of Christ.* The pastor in this church (my church) at one point warned against workaholism, and reminded us that it is fully possible to grow too tired in one's ministry. A buffer to this, he implied, was to work together. This is simple enough, but I think lost on some-- especially men-- who think it is less threatening and more culturally appropriate (in the sense that you exhibit independence) to serve alone. The answer is to serve with one another on a cause you believe is worthwhile. Will this mean putting yourself in a position to let others judge your flaws? It does, but it also means tapping into a part of yourself that was meant to flourish from the beginning. It means finding purpose.
*I attended my church, but was given the chance to hear Francis Chan speak at another church. Here, a team of us served as part of our efforts to highlight our trip to Haiti in early June.
Now passion isn't a popular notion in Western culture. Pico Iyer wrote of this in an essay called "The Nowhere Man." Here, he observed that we have become cosmopolitans, connected to nowhere and consequently also connected to nothing. We are "seasoned experts at dispassion" and "masters of the aerial perspective," unwilling to commit to any cause for the high virtue of intellectual fairness. I practiced this rule of scholarship in college, when history professors encouraged us to seek balance in our evaluations of people and events. Remaining circumspect was rewarded with good grades, but the unspoken message you learned in the process was clear: keep your emotional distance.
To dismiss this lesson as one I learned only in college, however, would be to ignore a deeper cause. Even one of my professors told me once that I was "too guarded" in my writing. A statement like this, I think, speaks to the truer reason some of us commit to non-commitment: we fear we will make a mistake, that some whistle-blower will call foul when we reveal we have passionately-- or even dispassionately-- embraced a cause. Ironic, that the true source of our (or, at least, my) cool intellectual detachment is not fairness, but fear. Our emotional distance has starkly emotional roots.
What, then, is the alternative to such emotional hollowness? Is it enough simply to devote oneself to a cause? This seems reasonable, but something more is needed. Earlier this morning, before Francis Chan's sermon on living in devotion to Christ, I heard another sermon on the need to serve as part of the body of Christ.* The pastor in this church (my church) at one point warned against workaholism, and reminded us that it is fully possible to grow too tired in one's ministry. A buffer to this, he implied, was to work together. This is simple enough, but I think lost on some-- especially men-- who think it is less threatening and more culturally appropriate (in the sense that you exhibit independence) to serve alone. The answer is to serve with one another on a cause you believe is worthwhile. Will this mean putting yourself in a position to let others judge your flaws? It does, but it also means tapping into a part of yourself that was meant to flourish from the beginning. It means finding purpose.
*I attended my church, but was given the chance to hear Francis Chan speak at another church. Here, a team of us served as part of our efforts to highlight our trip to Haiti in early June.
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