Devotional

The Wisdom of Stability, Part 2-Midday Demons (book review)

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The following chapter in Hartgrove’s book warns, “Buckle Up!”

After encouraging nurturing roots of love, he immediately offers that you can expect spiritual challenges. His first reference retells the story of the desert monastics’ “describing the ‘noonday devil’ who attacks after one commits to stay and begins to feel the heat of high noon.”

This is where the book’s subtitle, “Rooting Faith in a Mobile Culture,” gets highlighted. To stay, to root, to pursue stability “against the seas of constant change makes us susceptible to temptations we would not otherwise have occasion to know.”

The practice of stability cannot be reduced to a quick fix for the spiritual anxiety of a placeless people. It is a process. It takes time…To persevere in the process that leads to real growth, we must learn to name and resist the midday demons.

These are the three midday demons:

  • Ambition’s Whisper
  • Boredom’s Rut
  • Vainglory’s Delusion

I’m quite familiar with the first two. They often show face at high noon. Hartgrove offers several countermoves to these temptations focused on both spirit and body including physical activity, engaging community, and dying well.

This book, available on hoopla and an easy weekend read, is worthwhile. If you only read chapters four and five of this book, you will be enriched. However much you read, you’ll find yourself wiser and pondering your stability.

Photo by 光曦 刘 on Unsplash

The Wisdom of Stability, Part 1-Roots of Love (book review)

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Reading while traveling last weekend I gained a broader definition for stability thanks to Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. His book, The Wisdom of Stability, affirmed and challenged me, leaving me with this evaluation-I’m decently stable, but there’s always need for growth.

It’s important to point out what Hartgrove is addressing. He’s not talking about the need for emotional regulation or mental wellness. In simple terms, he shares a message of valuing staying put, committing to less wandering, and acknowledging “there comes a time to set seeking aside,” as Kathleen Norris states in her foreword.

Example: I overheard someone this morning describing the makeup of three fantasy football leagues they’re active in. One is made up of college friends; another is made up of childhood friends. Possibly without intention, this person is practicing stability in a way that many of us aren’t.

To practice stability is to learn to love both a place and its people. -Chapter 4, “Roots of Love”

Hartgrove uses trees to explain in chapter four. His analogy rings true, especially for those living where I do. Last year’s hurricane season wreaked havoc. Ask those who live where I moved in April. The community lost over a third of its trees. Why? Their roots couldn’t withstand the winds.

The chapter title, “Roots of Love,” comes from a thought by Benedictine Anselm of Canterbury, a twelfth-century monk who compared a restless monk to a tree. “If he often moves from place to place at his own whim, or remaining in one place is frequently agitated by hatred of it, he never achieves stability with roots of love.”

One temptation in the face of agitation is to flee (more about temptations in part two). Hartgrove challenges us to accept this goes against one reason we were made-to intimately share life with our landscape and its people.

How else can we learn the attention that is needed to really know a community? How else would we ever gain the patience that is required to care for a place over time?

Friday, I chose to go inside Chick-fil-A for lunch rather than hurry through the drivethrough. Not many other customers made the same choice, so the hostess had few people to chat up. She chose me as her customer to get to know. She asked a pretty standard question for non-Floridians, “Did you grow up in Florida?” I have to honestly answer that with a no. But when I say I’ve lived in Florida since 1986 and in this area since 2002, the reply is usually something like, “Well, you might as well have.”

More than once my seeking has tempted me to move on.

More than once, I’m reminded that God is wiser than me. With his wisdom comes stability, and with that stability comes wisdom.

The King is at the Gate

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Psalms 24:7-10 CEV (A Psalm by David)
[7] Open the ancient gates, so that the glorious king may come in.

[8] Who is this glorious king? He is our Lord, a strong and mighty warrior.

[9] Open the ancient gates, so that the glorious king may come in.

[10] Who is this glorious king? He is our Lord, the All-Powerful!

Suppose the ancient gates are entries to your mind, body, and spirit.

Even though he created you, this king doesn’t do force entry.

Even though your gate would yield to his command, this king knocks and waits for your reply.

It’s a common thought for those engaging him for the first time that it has to happen in a formal setting-church, monastery, temple, retreat center, for example. The psalmist declares, “Not so.” The gate controls are yours anytime of the day no matter your location.

This king waits to receive access to you, to be with you, all of you. And maybe unbeknownst to you, you’ve been waiting for him, too.

Opening your gate to this king makes room for connection you’ve been waiting for.

Opening your gate to this king makes preparation for healing you’ve been waiting for.

Opening your gate to this king makes room for communion you’ve been waiting for.

Opening your gate to this king makes it possible you exit the gate together.

What you’ve been waiting for may just be waiting for you on the other side of your gate. But it’s not actually a what. It’s a who.

Open Your Gates!

Photo by Dave McDermott on Unsplash

Seen Too Much

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You’ve seen too much to do nothing

In the beauty

In the brutal

In the church

In the margins

In friend’s lives

In families

In the loving

In the hurting

In the calling

In the yelling

In the blessing

In the cursing

In the welcoming

In the dismissing

In the running

In the crawling

In the dying

In the living

You’ve seen too much to do nothing

(For deeper understanding, view this message by Pastor Matt Cote)

Keep Looking

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Father

I looked for you today

In the drizzling rain

In the psalmist’s lyrics

In a believer’s curiosity

In a mourner’s heartbreak

Son

I looked for you today

In a partner’s forgiveness

In an artist’s healing

In a woman’s pain

In a dreamer’s frustration

Spirit

I looked for you today

In a grandpa’s tears

In a friend’s question

In a pastor’s story

In a buyer’s decision

There you were

Everywhere saying, “Keep Looking”

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

Let’s Talk

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Started listening to a new audio book, In the Shelter by Padraig O Tuama. In chapter one he asked an interesting question about prayer, one I’ve not heard worded this way before. “Where is it that we are when we pray?”

It’s a different way to challenge one’s emotional and mental approach to prayer.

We are often in many places. We are saying to ourselves, “I should be somewhere else,” or, “I should be someone else,” or “I am not where I say I am.” In prayer, to begin where you are not is a poor beginning.

To begin where you are may take courage or compromise or painful truth telling; whatever it takes, it’s wise to begin there. The only place to begin is where I am.

Not where you want or feel you ought to be. This could mean rather than naming your present state-confused, frustrated, hurt, angry, lonely, unhappy, etc.-you ask for where you want to be or where you feel it is your duty to be-fulfilled, joyful, connected, healed, satisfied, understood, peaceful, etc.

Not in many places. We can often pray about what has happened, what we fear is going to happen rather than what is happening in this moment. We can be drawn to focus on the past or the future to the point that the present is ignored, maybe even avoided. The result that we aren’t even intending can be distance, even creating space for drifting to begin.

I believe what he’s encouraging is twofold. One is raw honesty. The other is naked vulnerability.

Prayer that is honest and vulnerable, not pious or fake, says to God, “I’m here. I believe you are too. Let’s talk.”

Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash

Monks, Nuns, and Celibacy

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I listened to Kathleen Norris’s book The Cloister Walk this week. Fascinating.

A highlight was Chapter 13, an honest look at her 10 years of relationships with celibate men and women.

In them the strengths of celibacy have somehow been transformed into an openness that attracts people of all ages, all social classes. They exude a sense of freedom.

She acknowledges her own struggle to understand how this can be, yet rejects culture’s prejudice take on reasons for celibacy.

As celibacy takes hold in a person over the years, as monastic values supersede the values of the culture outside the monastery, celibates become people who can radically assess those of us out in the world, if only because they’ve learned how to listen without possessiveness, without imposing themselves. With someone who is practicing celibacy well, we may sense that we are being listened to in a refreshingly deep way. And this is the purpose of celibacy. Not to obtain an impossibly cerebral goal mistakenly conceived as holiness, but to make oneself available to others, body and soul. Celibacy, simply put, is a form of ministry.

Natural tendency is to reject what we don’t understand or aren’t willing to be open to accept as necessary.

Ministry is a choice.

Availability is a choice.

Listening is a choice.

Our obedience to God’s choices for us won’t always be understood or accepted by others. Jesus actually told us to expect this to happen, to follow calling, to be about the Father’s work.

It’s necessary for transformation, for freedom.

Be strong in your obedience. Your body and soul will thank you. So will other’s.

Photo by Nikhil Singh on Unsplash

Valley/Highland/Grace Friends

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I’ve written about friends in previous posts. Nose hair friends. 21st Century friends. Even three types of hard times friends. This morning a new thought bloomed based on the song in this video.

I first heard this song after being pointed to it by a nose hair friend going through hard times. It’s on my 2025 Rest Playlist, which I started my day with today. Because friendship was on my mind, I listened to this song with a different ear and heart.

Here’s the thought that surfaced:

Some friends are better valley friends; some friends are better highlands friends.

I can hear some head scratching. “John, true friends, real friends don’t care about valleys and highlands. They’re in it for all of it.” Heard. But let me tell you my experience.

Back in the early-90s while in my 20s, I had a group of friends that got together often to play card games. Anywhere from 4-6 of us. We were friends mostly through work and church. Some were married, some single. We were very much highlands friends.

Eventually we all parted ways as relationships go, yet we tried to keep in touch. And then, one of the couples got a divorce. In that moment, we were challenged.

I had never experienced friends getting a divorce. For that matter, I’d never experienced anyone divorcing that was close to me. It was foreign territory. An unknown valley that I was more observing than experiencing. And as much as I tried, it was just awkward. The result? These days we’d call it ghosting. I felt a lot of guilt about it.

Forward five years, another couple of church friends got divorced. This time, I knew better, and I was the valley friend they needed. I had grown in what it meant to be a friend through the valley. That experience led me to go back to my first divorced friend and acknowledge I could have been a better friend through his valley.

Here I sit almost thirty years later, and it’s like I’m the opposite-better valley friend than highland friend. And when I listened to this song this morning with my friend evaluator hat on, it was a call to grace.

Grace for myself. Sure, I’d like to be the ideal friend regardless of the space. When I believe I’m not, grant myself grace to grow in whichever land my friend is walking.

Grace for my friends. Sure, I’d like them to be ideal friends regardless of my space. When I’m tempted to say they aren’t, grant them grace to grow in the land I’m walking.

Maybe the lesson isn’t as much about valley and highland friends. It’s about grace granting, to others and to myself. “All the same.”

Attached to God (book review)

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Last Fall I read Krispin Mayfield’s Attached to God.

I wrote one post about a lament exercise he outlined, but I never offered my thoughts about the whole book once I finished. Today, I finished rereading it. Time to share.

I’m a little obsessed.

My hunch is that anyone wishing to understand or improve their relationships with humans and with God would also believe Mayfield delivers on the subtitle’s promise of a practical guide. His effort to breakdown attachment science then connect it to one’s relational experience with God produces clarity and hope for any breakdown to be restored.

Of all my highlights, here are three to whet your appetite.

Distance happens in all relationships. (Chapter 1, “The Still Face of God”)

A friend of mine recently made a self awareness by saying, “I guess I live in a fantasy world.” I’d say that’s true for many professing Christians in regards to their beliefs about how close they are expected to feel to God at all times. Mayfield argues human relationship with God is like our other relationships-distance happens.

I was in my 30s before I fully accepting this truth. Many close friends moved and distance happened. It’s normal. That doesn’t provide comfort or easy acceptance, just normalcy. Learning how to respond to distance in a secure way is worth the effort, for you and for the relationship.

Information doesn’t change your beliefs, experience does. (Chapter 4, “Shutdown Spirituality”)

When religious folks get their head around this one, attachment shifts. And it’s a struggle. Why? We are programmed that attending church or a study group is the sole means of establishing beliefs. Any transparent pastor or counselor would most likely agree with Mayfield. They’ve seen how experiences affirm or alter beliefs, in their own lives and in those they serve.

From my experience, this has definitely played out the last 15 years for me. Traveling to other countries, visiting other denominational churches, and dialoguing with Christians on the other side of all kinds of aisles has made me check my beliefs. And yes, some have changed.

In any authentic relationship, there’s room for real talk. (Chapter 10, “The Risk of Trust”)

When people describe what the younger generations are looking for in their attachment to religion and God, the word authentic comes up regularly. I believe age doesn’t matter; we all hunger for it. This 57-year-old does.

RECOMMENDATION: For all your attachment seasons, secure or insecure in any relationships including God, this book deserves space in your library.

Deliver Me (book review)

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Meeting writers after you’ve read their book or blog is an interesting experience. My experiences have always been positive. I can’t think of an interaction when I walked away saying, “They weren’t at all what I expected.”

There’s a whole different vibe when you know them before they are published or start a blog. If you thought you knew them well beforehand, you find out pretty quickly that they have layers, stories that have made them the person you know. In many ways, you walk away from reading their work saying, “What a gift they just gave the world!”

That’s my response to reading my friend Dawn Van Beck‘s latest book Deliver Me. Only having crossed paths this last year, we are still learning our layers and stories. Well, I guess I can’t say that as much now since that’s pretty much what Dawn does in this book. And she doesn’t hold back.

Dawn’s raw vulnerability as she addresses regrets, shame, forgiveness, and letting go relays her healing journey to freedom. You can imagine she states many life-giving lessons, but here’s the one that I most appreciated.

That’s what happens when you give God a little-He creates more. (chapter 11, “Releasing the Shackles”)

In describing a dream where she experienced the release from shame and the gift of forgiveness, Dawn paints a clear picture of what I believe she did by writing this book. One belief of mine: I believe she gave more than a little. She gave a whole lot more. And God is creating even more.

Dawn, thank you for giving. Thank you for sharing your story. I pray God continues to create more.