Six months ago, I moved back to America after a year of living overseas. While the transition back has been smooth, life in the States has certainly had a different rhythm. Overseas, I felt like every day awaited an adventure: new foods, new friends, new insights and reflections on life. Most importantly, undergirding it all was the sense that I was truly engaged in God’s mission. Now back in the States, most days go like this: I head to work, spend most of the day at the office, come back home, cook dinner, maybe meet up with a friend (maybe not), read, then sleep. In a word, compared to last year, life feels rather ordinary.
In the midst of mundane life, I have found myself often praying, “God, I feel like I’m doing nothing for you.” Ordinary life has caused me to question—am I not being “productive" enough for the Kingdom? Do I need to be more proactive in inviting new friends over for dinner? Should I be more involved in the church, reading more, praying more? Should I stop wasting time taking violin lessons and instead swap them for Chinese lessons in order to better equip myself for future ministry overseas? Ultimately, was the decision to come back to the States really the right choice?
In many senses, these questions have been good questions to reflect upon. But I realize that the temptation for me in asking these questions has been to prove my Christian identity. Our culture demands that we perform and have something to show for it, and somehow, this same line of thinking has crept into my mind: unless I am doing productive or extraordinary things for the Kingdom, I am not really living a life pleasing to God.
Recently, I have been reminded of the temptation of Jesus. When the devil asks Jesus to change stones into bread and to throw himself off the temple, he is challenging the core of Jesus’ identity (after all, “if you are the Son of God,” you should be able to do extraordinary things!). Jesus, however, combats all temptation to prove his sonship and thus disown the Father’s blessing already spoken over Him during His baptism. Before Jesus has accomplished anything, the Father declares His great love for His son: “You are my beloved son, in You I am well pleased.” I have greatly needed to hear these words recently, especially in the midst of ordinary life. Without truly knowing I am already beloved, I will always feel the need to do more to earn this identity. This is lifelong struggle of being a Christian: to believe, deeply, that we are a loved and accepted people, and to let the way that Father speaks about us define who we really are.
Bearing fruit is a mark of the Christian life, but I must allow God to do what He wants with my obedience—even if it is ordinary. And maybe this season hasn’t looked like what I had expected it would look like, but I am slowly learning that all of life is spiritual: practicing the violin, commuting, watching the Super Bowl over beers, cooking, working. All of life is God’s work and God’s mission. If remain trapped in a dualist understanding of the secular and spiritual, I find myself constantly asking “Am I doing enough?" and falling into escapist tendencies. Perhaps truly radical living may be living an ordinary life in Christ, stewarding what He has put in front of me today, and doing small things with gratitude, integrity, and love.
Henri Nouwen was well-regarded as a world-class contemplative, so it gives me some solace to hear that prayer was often a struggle for him. I resonate greatly with his following bit on “useless prayer.” I often feel the same when I pray, and in life more generally during this season. But as he writes, “useless" time might actually not be useless:
“WHY should I spend an hour in prayer when I do nothing during that time but think about people I am angry with, people who are angry with me, books I should read and books I should write, and thousands of other silly things that happen to grab my mind for a moment?
The answer is: because God is greater than my mind and my heart, and what is really happening in the house of prayer is not measurable in terms of human success and failure.
What I must do first of all is be faithful. If I believe that the first commandment is to love God with my whole heart, mind, and soul, then I should at least be able to spend one hour a day with nobody else but God. The question as to whether it is helpful, useful, practical, or fruitful is completely irrelevant, since the only reason to love is love itself. Everything else is secondary.
The remarkable thing, however, is that sitting in the presence of God for one hour each morning — day after day, week after week, month after month — in total confusion and with myriad distractions radically changes my life. God, who loves me so much that He sent His only son not to condemn me but to save me, does not leave me waiting in the dark too long.
I might think that each hour is useless, but after thirty or sixty or ninety such useless hours, I gradually realize that I was not as alone as I thought; a very small gentle voice has been speaking to me far beyond my noisy place.
So: Be confident and trust in the Lord.”
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