Online Archives

BY MELISSA LAUBER

With the election and pageantry surrounding the new pope, my heart flutters with a bit of Roman Catholicism. There's something fascinating about the line of faith that stretches directly back to Christ, the liturgy that draws all the people of the earth together, and the ins-and-outs of some of the theology that United Methodists relegate to the church's darker corners.

I find myself pondering things like obedience, transubstantiation, and cardinal sins and virtues. Of these sins, it is acedia that strikes home with me lately. Acedia is Latin for 'sloth,' a decidedly ugly-sounding sin. It definitely lacks the zest of others like lust and pride, but one muddles through.

At first glance, it's easy to make acedia into laziness, a kind of nap-fetish that glorifies boredom. But if one goes a little deeper, this sin becomes more like a willingness to move through our days like we're half asleep. The urgency of being a resurrected people, a disciple-making people, fades. Our light dims under bushels of mediocrity.

I confess, this is my sin. But I think sometimes it can be some churches' sin, too. We put our God, our faith and our lives into neat little baskets and tend them well. We settle for being nice. We revel in opinions that don't stir the water. We celebrate the beige.

Not long ago, I attended a lecture on the divine feminine by author Sue Monk Kidd, who thoughtfully explained that God is 'much more than two men and a bird.'

She spoke about the Black Madonnas, sacred statues that exist throughout the world and harken back to a Mary who had dark skin and 'held open the back door of heaven.'

These Marys do not look down in humility or heavenward in submission. The Black Madonna looks right back at you. She's willing to see you face to face ? whole and broken.

The church has 'scrubbed the interesting stuff out of Mary,' Monk Kidd contends. I think the church has also sometimes done that to itself. If you have just a few short conversations with United Methodists, almost any group of random Methodists, you'll immediately discover that we are a people brimming with amazing riches that want to come forth. We are all so very capable of lives of great joy and meaning. So why aren't we more audacious? How does our meekness serve us, and at what point does it become sin?

Often, where acedia sneaks in is in that place where we box off our spirituality, making it a Sunday morning ritual rather than a life-shaping Alleluia.

Last month, Gerald May, a fellow at Shalem Institute in Bethesda, died. Shalem is an ecumenical Christian community dedicated to the support of contemplative living and leadership.

In a piece on Shalem's Web site, May wrote, 'Spirituality has to do with the fundamental propelling forces of our lives, our most profound loves, passions and concerns. As such, it is the wellspring of our sense of meaning and of our will to live, the source of our deepest desires, values and dreams. Spirituality, then, is not a thing apart from our daily lives, but rather a part of all our emotions, relationships, work, and everything else we consider meaningful.'

May understood that if we let our spirits become lukewarm, it will have consequences. Life won't be the same. 'Grace threatens all my normalities,' he wrote.

I'm not sure what it will take to threaten all of mine. I consider being more faithful about offering thanks and praise, relating at a heart level with other people of faith, Bible study, doing things for others in need and sharing God's story with others.

I also find myself considering Mohandas Gandhi's list of seven sins, which are much more contemporary and, maybe, even more relevant. The things he believed separate us from God are: wealth without work; pleasure without conscience; science without humanity; knowledge without character; politics without principle; commerce without morality; and worship without sacrifice.

It's quite a list and if a short pondering of those doesn't provoke a person out of their spiritual doldrums, I'm not sure what will.

But what's the first step? Where does one begin? I'm reminded of Virginia Wolfe, who said, 'Arrange whatever pieces come your way.' It sounds like as good a place as any to start.

And I remember too, a quote shared in a sermon at Glen Mar UMC: 'There is no box made by God, nor us, but that the sides can be flattened out and the top blown off to make a dance floor on which to celebrate life.'

The time for dancing has come. Maybe this time, I'll let God lead.