Curing Forgetfulness

I figure that by this time in my life I have preached somewhere between 1700 and 2000 sermons.  A lot of words.  A lot of study time.  A lot of forgotten stuff.  Forgotten, not only by my listeners, but also by me.

If the Church of Jesus Christ had a better collective memory, we would have turned the world upside down by now.  The Kingdom of God would have so powerfully moved into our communities and homes that Satan would have been sent packing centuries ago.  The reason this has not occurred is because the distance from our cerebral cortex to our hearts and hands and lips is further than we know.  If only God would have designed us as efficiently as Apple does its computers.  Slap the information in, and the machine performs precisely the task desired.

Human beings are not high tech in that regard.  This explains why negative influences around us do not immediately create in us negative behavior.  We forget.  It is not necessarily a chosen forgetfulness.  We simply need some kind of help to "remember."

What can help the marvelous truths that teachers and preachers proclaim become embedded in our minds to the point that hearts and behavior are transformed?  The Sunday School answer is:

Trust the Holy Spirit and prayerfully commit to become what we've heard.

This is certainly an important aid for developing a transforming Christ-memory.  But we tend to need something more.

The spiritual disciplines that have been practiced through the millennia provide a powerful part of the answer.  To some people these are the habits of monks, nuns and cloistered fanatics.  To others they are occasional practices which disciples of Jesus can pick and choose from the buffet of spiritual delicacies:

If it helps you, feel free to try some.  Have your fill.  When it bores you, drop it in favor of something more apropos.

But truly transformed people through the ages have recognized that consistent application of these habits (Scripture reading / study / memorization / meditation, prayer, fasting, worship, confession, fellowship, service, solitude, silence, tithing, etc.) does something to the soul.  It gives the heart a better memory.

The mind forgets, but the body tends to remember.  The first time I recall learning this lesson was when I was in my late 20s.  We had organized our first Super Bowl party with the high school youth in the church we served in SE Kansas.  Before the game and food, we had a football game at the nearby schoolyard.  It began as flag football.  Quickly the flags were cast away as foolish, and we played football like it was meant to be played.  Everyone, young and old, male and female literally threw themselves at one another in a no-holds-barred game of tackle football.  No pads, no helmets, no fear.  No problem?

The next morning I could barely move.  Now please understand that I am no wimp.  I grew up in Ohio.  I have played football all my life.  We played in blazing sun, torrential rains (the best!) and waist-high snows.  We played in the morning, stopped to eat for sustenance only, then played through the afternoon, and, after a brief break, played until dark.  If we had had a ball with a light in it, we would have played until bedtime.  I was no stranger to this brutality.  But my body was older now, and at sun's rise, it would not allow me to forget what I had done to it the previous afternoon.  The next year we decided to name an MVP of the game each year, but the MVP stood for "Most Vertebrae Popped."

Spiritual disciplines capitalize on this ability of the body to remind us of what our minds often forget.  The classic disciplines of Jesus-followers "force" our bodies to incarnate spiritual principles.  As we continue to do this, our body remembers and begins to bring the heart and mind along with it.  As the discipline becomes a habit, our bodies yearn for prayer, for worship, for confession, for service. . .  for God.

We are broken people.  Sin has fractured our souls and the image of God which gives it shape.  The disciplines provide a cast which helps the shattered bones of our soul become re-aligned and grow into their proper strength and shape.  The setting of the soul-bones hurts.  The cast chafes and itches at times.  It becomes cumbersome.  But the process enables us to walk as we were intended to walk.  Soon the cast (here is where the analogy breaks down) becomes a part of us, growing INto us.  It is no longer a noticeable accessory, but our soul assimilates it as a part of our nature, much as the dancer slowly wears away the painted feet on the dance floor until the dance becomes incarnate.  He no longer dances.  He is a dancer.

This, too, is grace.  The grace of becoming what we could never have become by our own efforts.  As the Spirit wields the tools of these disciplines, we are made new again.  Christ is formed IN us (Galatians 4:19).

With renewed vigor, I surrender to the disciplines, recognizing them not as chains of law, but tethers of grace, lifting me to things above.