Prisons of Preference

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How varied are your works, Lord! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.
-Psalm 104:24 

I was recently pointed toward an interview by John Mark Comer with retired author/psychology professor Jerry Sittser. Sittser has been writing books about Christian formation for 25 years. In 1991 he lost his wife, his mother, and his daughter in a car accident with a drunk driver. Even writing that sentence brings me to a point of wordless pause. A moment of such unimaginable pain can ultimately harden a person or open them up. For Dr. Sittser, it was the latter. His life became a journey of learning to experience God's loving hope without big solutions or answers, but with an ever-expanding graciousness. I'm not writing about suffering this morning, but when someone has suffered through what Sittser has, his story is worth including because it changes the weight of his words on a number of subjects. 

Sittser's writings have invited the church to continue moving toward greater depth and greater relational understanding. In a society and a Christian culture so intoxicated with drawing lines, Dr. Sittser is a voice that encourages people to pursue the center in Jesus with curiosity and compassion. Life is complicated. People are complicated. Following Jesus from each of our own backgrounds can feel complicated. And therefore, we don't help ourselves by thinking that our approach to faith is the only right way or the universally superior way out there. The body of Christ is big and wide and thousands of years old and wildly diverse, and it can be exceedingly beautiful in helping us grow. 

That's why I was captured during this interview by a line in his book, Water from a Deep Well.  He writes, "The tradition to which I am least attracted is the one about which I should be most curious."

Fascinating. When was asked why that curiosity matters so much, he shared that we can easily become a prisoner to the things that we like. We become diminished and reduced when we only stay in our own preferences. 
Sittser shared that the core anchor that we all hold on to is this deep story that culminates in Jesus and the gift of the Holy Spirit for the formation of the Church. From there the church branched out and has explored what that has meant for two thousand years—with plenty of mistakes, but also with some beauty. But many people today simply find the tradition or practices they are most comfortable with and stop exploring altogether. They make their world so much smaller and less beautiful than it could be. And that not only limits their own experience of God, but it makes them highly judgmental of others who are outside of what I'm going to call a prison of preference. 

Here are the things that I've been told over the years: 

I'm a mystic, so I don't really read the Bible much. 
I don't do silence, it's not valuable to me. 
I don't like pre-written prayers; they feel stale. 
I don't like free-flowing prayers; they don't have thought put into them. 
Charismatic worship is just people worshiping their own emotions. 
Liturgical churches don't have space to follow the Spirit. 

I have a hundred more examples. For any of us—our traditions, our preferences, and our theology may be really solid. But we're going to have blind spots. And exploring practices and traditions that are not our norm can break us open and force us into spaces that challenge our assumptions. And when we are on the edge of our comfort zones, with open hearts, we often experience God in new ways. 

I love a lot about my Anabaptist tradition and our practices at LifePath. But every now and then, participating in a really charismatic worship service shakes me up in good ways. And one of the most profound seasons of my spiritual life came in the silence of a Franciscan monastery.  And conversations with Quaker theologians have reminded me of my temptation to focus on information over Presence. And books about the saints have challenged my temptation to think that Western contemporary Christianity is more evolved than past generations. And reading missionary stories about wild miracles keeps me humble when I'm tempted to think that God only works in ways that I expect.  

All of these things help me look around and see the community of Christ—past and present, Anglican and Catholic, Methodist and Evangelical—as opportunities for me to look for Jesus and learn—not only about my arrogance, but about being stretched toward God in ways that are outside of my comfortable norms. 

What prisons of preference are you living in? When you look at the teachings of Jesus, what have you quietly pushed aside because it's outside the fences you like to live inside? Where is there beauty and adventure and freedom and risk that God wants to grow? It might be the very tradition you are least drawn to that may form you in a new way. 

Maybe it means starting a prayer journal. 
Maybe it means reading a book from a different tradition or viewpoint. 
Maybe it means blasting some gospel worship music. 
Maybe it means reading a biography about one of the church Desert mothers or fathers. 
Maybe it's asking a friend for prayer even if you're not sure you believe in that stuff. 

Maybe there's something good you've missed out on because you've been safely inside your spiritual comfort zone for too long. And maybe those fences have grown into walls between you and others. 

Yes, division and tribalism are real. Some of our disagreements feel fundamental. Yet even if those things are true, the invitation remains. 
Don't let your preferences become a prison. The way of Jesus is spacious and gracious. 

Jesus, open my eyes to see your beauty in practices and traditions that are not my norm. 

Peace,
Keith