This is my practice

Once in a while, church feels like work.  Not extremely difficult or tedious work, but definitely work.  We need to go to committee meetings.  We need to help with Sunday School.  We need to write newsletter articles.  We need to help with fundraisers.  There are so many things we need to do.  Where is that easy yoke and light burden that Jesus promised us, after all?  People here are kind of tired.  We ask questions, "How can we do better?  What are we missing?  Why aren't we making progress in x, y, or z?"

During times like this, in moments of frustration or weariness, I think of one of my favorite stories, a parable of sorts.  There was a Zen archery instructor teaching in the U.S.  After he’s been here for a number of years, a reporter interviews him and asks, “How is your teaching going?”  The master replies, “Terrible!  These Americans just cannot learn the concept.  I try to teach them not to aim for the target, but to practice mindfully, and trust the process.  No matter how hard I try, they cannot get it.  They insist on trying to win.”  The reporter asked him, “Do you plan to return to Japan, then?”  The instructor replies, “No.  This is my practice.  Teaching Americans not to aim for the target is my practice.”

All these things, the counting heads and counting coins, the looking for validation from the world, are like the archery student trying to hit the target.  Of course, I want a full church with vibrant membership worshiping and discussing theology on Sunday mornings.  Of course I want a positive church bank account so we can serve our community.  Of course, the Zen archery instructor wants his students to understand the practice, not just the goal.  He has the wisdom, however, to make that HIS practice.  He has the wisdom to show up every day and give his very best, most mindful, most excellent effort, like the student pulling the arrow with the best technique, without focusing on winning.  He has the wisdom to focus on the practice, not the goal.

This has perhaps been the most important and most repeated lesson in my life.  Whenever I become caught up in producing results, I lose my perspective.  I become cranky, anxious, and selfish.  When I think of the Zen archery instructor, who made his practice teaching people something they may never understand, I regain my balance.  I can work with renewed dedication, focus, and joy.

To quote both Friedrich Nietzche and Eugene Peterson, a spiritual journey is “a long obedience in the same direction”.  That’s a difficult concept in this post-post-modern age of instant results.  As George Leonard explains in his book, Mastery, the path of learning and mastery is long, boring, and sometimes lonely.  Learning happens sporadically, in a series of sharp climbs and long plateaus.  In order to continue learning, to walk the path of the master, the student must learn to love the plateau.  The true student of mastery learns to love not just the exciting new skill or understanding, but the daily repetition, the drills, the scales, the practice.  (Leonard, 1991)  The learner must show up to do the work of worship, teaching, serving, just for the sake of doing it, with a glad heart and a joyful spirit.  If I want to walk the path, even without a glad heart and a joyful spirit, I should do it anyway.  Eventually, I will love the plateau, eventually I will become better at what I can already do, and eventually the next upswing occurs, opening up to another vista and another plateau.

 How do we know if we are continuing with our faithful practice, our long obedience, or if we are merely stagnant and stalled?  How do we know if we are honoring tradition or afraid of change?  How do we know if we are taking the long view towards the Kingdom of God, or if we are stuck in our ways?  Maybe the answer is in the love we give.  If we are reaching outside of ourselves for others, then we must be on the right track, no matter how it feels to us at the moment.  As Christians, loving and serving others is our call and our crusade.  This is not the reward or the target; this is my practice.  

Leonard, G. B.  1991.  Mastery:  The keys to long-term success and validation.  New York:  Dutton.