This past week I finished a short book that was both challenging and convicting: This Sacred Moment: Becoming Holy Right Where You Are, by Albert Haase, O.F.M.

Haase writes that “Holiness is a selfless openness and response to God’s call in the duty or need of this sacred moment for the enrichment of another.  It is done in imitation of Jesus and is guided by the Spirit.”  Throughout the book, he emphasizes the point that personal holiness is connected to the choices we make.   Furthermore, he posits two questions that we should ask ourselves throughout our daily experiences: 1) What would Jesus do? 2) How would he do it?

The response to God’s call does not necessarily mean packing up my house and moving to the Ukraine.  Although, God could certainly call me to that course of action.

The following two paragraphs resonated with me, helping me to again undo some of the erroneous thinking I was once subject to as a new believer:

“For the vast majority of my life, I understood God’s will for me as something that had already been predetermined.  For example, I thought that on the day of my conception, God decided the role that I was going to play in the history of salvation.  And then I assumed I was supposed to spend the early part of my life ‘picking God’s brain’ in order to figure out what God wanted me to do.  I’d think, Hopefully, I correctly discerned the vocation in life God intended for me–though I won’t know if I got it right or not, of course, until the day I die and meet my Maker.

Over the years, I have gradually become uncomfortable with this understanding of God’s will.  The problem is that it smacks of the pagan notion of fate: Everything is predetermined for me.  My eternal happiness is not based upon my freely chosen response to the grace of God in my life but rather on whether or not I managed to correctly guess my vocation and role in God’s plan of salvation history.”

I know of people who have agonized over big and small decisions, waiting for some kind of clear signal that they should take path x or path y.  In other words, looking for God’s specific will about whether to go to College X or College Y, or even to go to McDonald’s or Hardee’s for dinner after church.  I’ve fallen into this trap, too.  And I think a lot of Christians suffer as a result of bizarre thinking: we can easily delude ourselves looking for “signs.”

Look, I got a parking spot three slots from the front entrance–obviously God wants me to buy a new 46″ TV here at Best Buy (for ministry purposes, of course–because the Rob Bell videos for small group will look so much better on the bigger screen, and our group will grow spiritually in proportion to the TV’s screen size).

We use the “sign” lingo to spiritualize the fact that we’re going to do this, buy that, or go there, regardless, but it’d sure be nice if, for example, the traffic lights would all be green on the drive to spend a bunch of money on something we don’t really need.  I’m not saying that God doesn’t (and can’t) use “signs” but only that oftentimes, we have to make decisions without a clear “leading.”  Or at least that’s the case for me.

My concern needs to be about following God’s will for my life, which I would sum up as follows:  1) Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength 2) Love my neighbor as myself 3) Continually have an attitude of prayer and openness to God, looking for opportunities to demonstrate my love for Christ through service to others.

So when I go to the grocery store, I’m not going to view the sale on frozen stuffed-crust pizzas as a sign that I’m supposed to buy three of them.  I already have three in the freezer.

These past few months I’ve been mulling over the notion of simplicity.  Our university chaplain has repeatedly mentioned this as a spiritual discipline, and at first, the notion of simplicity as a spiritual discipline seemed strange to me.   Previously, I had viewed simplicity as something that could be good for a number of reasons, but not necessarily spiritually: more time for my family, more time for the pursuits that truly engage me.

My adventures with simplicity began four years ago when I decided, rather on a whim, to stop watching TV altogether.  I had no set time frame for this moratorium, but before I realized it, I had gone a month without watching TV, and I didn’t miss it at all.  I was amazed by the amount of “extra” time I had.  I was able to read more, to write more, to spend more time with family and friends.  In short, it was liberating for me as someone who often watched 10+ hours of TV a week.  Since then, my TV watching has pretty much become non existent.  I don’t write this to sound pompous, but only to state that for me, this has been one of the best “simplifying” decisions I could have ever made.

Back in April, I read a “news story” on The Onion stating that Americans spend 90% of their time staring at glowing rectangles (TVs, phones, computers, etc.)  I shared it with my students, and they laughed, nodded, and agreed (while simultaneously texting, of course).  This story has, on numerous occasions, popped into my mind while I’m on campus, and specifically, in one place: chapel.

Faculty and staff typically sit up in the balcony, and as I stand or sit (depending on the moment of the chapel service), I have an unobstructed view of the mass of students below.  What do I see at any given moment?  Lots of glowing rectangles.  Mostly phones but also a few laptops scattered about.  While we are singing, while we are praying, while someone is preaching, while we are taking communion.  I confess I feel the urge to scream at the top of my lungs, “Can’t you leave your glowing rectangles alone for 50 minutes?”  I’ve not yet screamed in this manner.

What is this distractedness doing to our thinking, our communication skills, our spiritual growth?  These are questions I’m hoping that psychology, sociology, and theology are engaging.  Some disclaimers: I do have a cell phone.  It’s one of those prepaid phones, and I have something along the lines of 700 minutes.  I’ve also sent 1 text in my life–it took me 4 minutes to send a 40+ character text.  I’m way behind the average text output for teenager, which, according to one study, is over 3,000 texts per month.  Interesting side note, the average cell-phone call fell by almost 1 minute, from 4 to 3 minutes, primarily as a result of the texting revolution.

Can we slow down?  Can we simplify?  Can we put a higher priority on face-to-face interpersonal communication?  What can I do to simplify?

Ultimately, I want to simplify my life so that I can also be closer to God, to make room for him to work in and through me.  So I’d better quit typing on this glowing rectangle.

3 times a week, my university holds a chapel session for students, faculty, and staff.  Within this particular setting, students are very open about expressing themselves by dancing, clapping, raising their hands, and kneeling at the altar to pray.

During the music portion of chapel this morning, I spotted one of my students approach a kneeler to pray.  As the music continued, I noticed several other students come up front to pray with this student and to lay hands on him.  I recognized some of these other students as my own.

I ceased singing, instead almost losing my composure over this act of community and fellowship.  My throat tightened, and I could sense tears forming.

I thought about how my students lift one another up in prayer, how they encourage one another.  These actions give me hope for my students and for their peers who make up the next generation of the church.

I am so thankful to teach and learn at a place such as this.