Book Reviews: Brother Lawrence and A.W. Tozer

Back in July, I betook myself to the woods in pursuit of a Walden Weekend, of sorts.

It was an awesome time alone with God, creepy vault toilet notwithstanding, and during that time I read two books:

The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence
and
The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer

These were excellent books and they contributed a huge part to the success of that weekend. But I realize now that I never did anything more than mention that I read them. Personally, I hate to read a great book and "lose it" by not having some kind of formal response or review so I am in the process of putting together a review of each of these.

Until then, here are a few some thoughts:

Brother Lawrence, a 17th century monk, receives quite a bit of hype in my circles. I've even heard it said that a Christian needs nothing more than the bible and Brother Lawrence. With that in mind, let me suggest that he was certainly NOT a wise philosopher in the guise of a humble man. He was truly a humble man touched by wisdom.

This may seem like a subtle or even undefinable distinction but, let me assure, there can be no mistake about what Brother Lawrence was. He was not great by any standard we set: humble in life and skill, simple in thought and word. He was meek and, it seems to me, a shy man. A nice guy, sure, but not the monster of a spiritual warrior that I expected.

Now that you hate me, let me redeem myself. I believe this man was a hero of epic proportions by God's standard. His unwavering faith and pure devotion to God are far beyond admirable. They seem to be very close to the perfect example of Christlike love and submission: life lived fully in the presence of God, there can be no great aspiration. Brother Lawrence did not disappoint my expectations, in his unassuming way, he made them into a bit of a joke.

I came expecting ambrosia and got manna instead.

I won't sat much about The Pursuit of God other than it was named perfectly. It is a well written, easy to understand, short, and engaging book that presents the reader with the opportunity to live a life not only in God's presence, as with the Practice of the Presence of God, but in active constant pursuit of Him. This is a big idea with proportionate implications, don't let my lack of description belittle it.

But for now, know that the two taken collectively will shake you down, inspire you, and equip you to start that relationship with God that you really hope exists.

An Ogre Layer Cake

"Ogres are like...onions!"  

"They stink?"  

"Yes... No!" 

"Oh, they make you cry?"  

"No!"  

"Oh, you leave 'em out in the sun, they get all brown, start sproutin' little white hairs..."

"NO! Layers. Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. Onions have layers. You get it? We both have layers." 

"Oh, you both have LAYERS. Oh. You know, not everybody like onions. What about cake? Everybody loves cake!"

"I don't care what everyone else likes! Ogres are not like cakes."

"You know what ELSE everybody likes? Parfaits! Have you ever met a person, you say, 'Let's get some parfait,' they say, 'Hell no, I don't like no parfait'? Parfaits are delicious!" 

"NO! You dense, irritating, miniature beast of burden! Ogres are like onions! End of story! Bye-bye! See ya later."  

"Parfait's gotta be the most delicious thing on the whole damn planet!"
-----------

 

This conversation between Shrek and Donkey is one of my favorite moments in animated cinematic history. It always makes me laugh, which is why I allow such a weak transition:

 

Sometimes, I am like an ogre.

 

I have layers, and, I would argue, they are more like an onion than a parfait. Not a nice, caramelized, Walla-Walla sweet onion. No, I am one of the stinky, foul, yellow onions that absolute destroy my mucus membranes. My peeled-back layers stink up my house and make me cry.

 

I am not sure what He is hoping to find at the center of me, but God keeps peeling back my layers. Just when the pain begins to subside, He digs in again, stripping back layers and layers of pride, fear, mistrust, and weakness. Honestly, I would have been fine if He hadn't started on this last layer. I was feeling pretty good: sufficiently humble to know that I wasn't perfect but successful enough to be free of self-doubt and conviction.

And then the peeling.

 

"Growth" is something of a misnomer. It implies methodical progression from juvenile to adult; the process is fairly unidirectional. I feel like what we call "growth" is more like exploration or revelation. I dig into myself, revealing sin and weakness, and sift through the dirt, trying to cull out the impurities. But just when I feel like I have accomplished something, God rolls up in his backhoe and tears up the earth, revealing another layer of filth. I feel like I am excavating my soul.

So about those layers...

 

Lest you think that I exaggerate the naughtiness of my sin-nature, let me share with you a bit of the stinky onion layer currently under His fingernails:

 

I am dishonest.

Not impressively, though. I suppose that's probably a good thing; if I was dishonest about something impressive, like grand theft auto or my loyalties to the Russian Mafia, I might not be so ashamed of it. Instead, I am dishonest about stupid things, things that make me look foolish, ignorant, or naive.

For example:

• I am ashamed to admit that I only recently read Blue Like Jazz, because I know that this puts me about 6 years behind the cool curve.
• I am scared to death that by the time I read Crazy Love, I won't have anyone to talk to about it. "Crazy Love," they'll say, "What is this, 2008? More like 2,000-and-late."
• I am afraid that people will one day find out that my vast and profound knowledge is really just a cleverly disguised knack for googling.
• I'm scared to admit that I have no idea what you're talking about so I just nod along until I can steal a moment alone with my smartphone.
• I'm afraid that, like Mr. Inman in the 12th grade, you'll actually ask me to support my vociferous opinions with facts.
• I'm afraid that you'll look up "vociferous" and discover that I've used it incorrectly.

These are all relatively silly, the really nasty stuff is more insidious because it disguises itself as honesty. I talk about authenticity and even admit that I'm a sinner, but the only sin I confess is that which I have already prepackaged and separated from myself. This is not real honesty because it doesn't cost me anything; there is no vulnerability. I am willing to admit my sinfulness but I'm not willing to feel it. I'm not willing to wear it in the present. 

This is a stubborn layer but I do think it can be torn away. The trouble is that there is stuff in the way.

In carrying with the tradition of the "Walden Weekend," I'd like to start pulling up the weeds that are sucking nutrients from the good things planted in me so that this excavation process is a little easier or to "drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms." See, I keep coming back to this idea that it is possibly to live differently, free from the empty expectations of a Culture of Affluence.

I can't help but think that, maybe, if we, if I, weren't so heavily rooted in the peripheral things, it'd be a whole lot easier to actually do the Christ-ish things, things like being loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, gentle, faithful, temperate, and honest. If these "unseen" things are real and eternal and the visible "stuff" is temporary, wouldn't it be a whole lot easier to be "authentic" without so much stuff?

Isn't that something we all want but never seem to actually pursue? It's not just an idea, it is vital and I'm so tired of just talking about it.

Here's to living stuffless.

Hold the wheel and drive...

I love driving, it's meditative, cathartic. My car becomes a prayer closet and my dashboard an altar (sans the little plastic Jesus figurine). One of these days I'll have to share with you my revelation about predestination that occured on Highway 84 (More Road to Portland than Damascus). I do my best thinking when I'm driving, though writing things down is somewhat difficult.

Since I had my Walden Weekend, I've been jonesing for some more thinking time. And I do love thinking, maybe I should have been a monk. Then I could hang out with Brother Lawrence and he could clue me in on The Practice of The Presence of God thing. But more on that at a later date...

This is why I'm so very excited that tonight I am headed out for a 23 hour roadtrip to sunny SoCal to pick up my friend Whitney for a 5 day road trip up Highway 101.

Aren't we a happy couple of rainsoaked bedraggled beauties?

Whitney rocks. Lest you think I exaggerate, check her out.

If you have a moment this coming week, think of Whit and I, wending our way up the coast as we add another 3K miles to my Nissan. Then go call a friend. Friends are awesome.

Have a great week, friends! I know I will.
For fun, let's flashback to 2001 and listen to some driving music.

God 1: Sarah...1?

There are some bible verses that I absolutely hate.

I know, I'm a Christian and I'm supposed to love the whole of the word of God. I think, underneath, perhaps I really do, but, frequently, I hate pieces of it.

"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." Matthew 5:5

I hate this verse.

I hate it because, in 10 words, it describes exactly what I am not. It is the "antonym of me," if you want to get all David Crowder.

I hate it because I find my security in my self-sufficiency. I survive failure and weakness by ducking my head and then systematically digging myself out of my circumstances. Do whatever it takes; lie, cheat, or steal, whatever you have to do, just so long as you don't have to ask for help.

There is only one situation where in I am meek, and this is the worst part. I am meek only when I am utterly humiliated. When I am laid bare, stripped of my pretense, when my inability is made painfully obvious and I am left desperate and empty handed.

When my insufficiency drives me to the grace of God, instead of longing for His aid, like the prodigal son, I begin to resent it. I hate that He has driven me to nothing, or rather to admit my nothingness. I hide my face from the world, come before my creditors shame-faced begging that they will not look at me.

I hate this place of humility, of painful meekness, with a passion and I avoid it like a deadly infectious disease.

You see, the very reason that I don't like meekness is that meek people are tamed. I think of a benign placid cow or a sheep, who wants to be a cow or a sheep? Where is the honor in that? Stupid. Weak. Unable to care for itself. These are characteristics that, whatever I may say about loving the bible, I do not respect and never want to be.

But what about a wild ox or ram? They may be majestic and powerful, but can you use them? How can God use a person who refuses gentling, who doesn't trust a Master and instead insists on doing this is own way? Would I rather be honorable and proud or useful?

"But the fruit of the spirit is...meekness" Galatians 5:23
"Any tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire." Luke 3:9

I learned something when I went into the woods. I learned that until I can love the humiliation of God, until I can love my meekness and insufficiency, I'm useless. Hopelessly handicapped. I prayed with a truly fearful heart, that God would humble me, that he would do whatever He needed to do to make me useful. That was not a prayer that ended in serenity.

It didn't take long.

I was humiliated today. I faced an impossible situation, nothing too dramatic, but definitely something I couldn't overcome. It became obvious that I needed to ask for help, and this tore me apart inside. What was, initially, a very insignificant problem swelled to life-crushing proportions simply because I knew I needed help. Still I desperately searched for a way to help myself, knowing in the back of my mind that I was very close to having a serious breakdown over a ridiculously small issue.

Now for the good news.

As desperation tied my guts in to tighter and tighter knots of nausea, I heard the voice. The one that said there was a bigger issue here, that my pride and self-sufficiency were doing a dangerous thing in my heart and needed to be disabled quickly. Instead of looking for a way out, I needed to admit my weakness and not just to God. So I did the impossible: I called for help.

Because, as I said, it really was not much of an issue, the help was there before I even asked. I chafed over the ready-grace. I cried tears of shame and the sick feeling in my guts remained as my pride rejected the act of meekness.

But the beautiful paradox is that the reason I am so sickened by this outcome is that I lost this fight, and, if I lose...

...God wins.

"For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weakness...for when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:10

Camp Showers and What I Learned in the Woods

This weekend I was looking for a Walden experience, to clear out the chaos and "front only the essential facts of life." For a technology/social addict like myself, that necessarily meant unplugging, going into zero-bar territory, and looking at some trees.

So, early Saturday morning, I loaded my kindle with The Practice of the Presence of God the Best Rule of a Holy Life by Brother Lawrence and The Pursuit of God: The Human Thirst for the Divine by A.W. Tozer; packed my Sentra with my little Coleman 4-man, a sleeping bag, a notebook, my EasyMac and 4 gallons of water; and headed up to a free campsite that I found on Boondocking.org.

View Larger Map

Nothing special. I wasn't looking for a "camping experience" I was just looking for a cheap place to sit for a few days and spend some time reading and praying. The campsite above was perfect because it was free and, because it is a "primitive" or undeveloped site, it wasn't very crowded. "Primitive" means that the facilities aren't really maintained which actually means there are no toilets. The lack of a potty was unsettling, but I figured I could make it work.

I'm a fairly hardy girl, so I like to think, I'm not afraid to go out into the woods by myself for a few days, I even climb rocks on occasion. In the past, I've written off my many complaints with camping or other outdoor sports as an acceptable amount for the average civilized human. But I finally had to admit this weekend that I'm really not much for roughing it. I don't like sleeping on the ground, I don't like being cold, I don't think it's magical to wake up at 4 a.m. I don't like smelling like campfire smoke, I don't like being dirty and I love indoor plumbing.

This may throw a wrench into my van-gypsy plans.

But, the good news is that, of the things I learned this weekend, my tenderfootedness doesn't even make the top ten. I learned so many things that I need another weekend to sort through them all, preferably one including a cot and a flush toilet.

I learned that God is love, no really He actually is love, and love is God.
I learned that, even though we cannot please God without faith, without love, faith means nothing.
I learned that God loves people, and he makes a way for them to come to him.
I learned that God's glory shows up in surprising places, like sinners.
I learned that people are not black and white and, sometimes, God doesn't make sense. And that's good.
I learned that, when we see God, it changes us irrevocably.
I learned that we were made in His image and, if you really look, you can see His mark on everyone. Yes, everyone.
I learned that we cannot evaluate life through snapshots, because the moment we freeze it, it has changed.

And many more, not the least of which is that God actually likes me. He likes all 5 feet 7 inches of tenderfooted, prideful, chaotic, broken, conflicted, desperate Me.

And because He loves me, I'm not even going to feel bad that I snuck into a state park without a permit to use the coin-operated shower.

I went to the woods...

 "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,"
-Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Thoreau was one of those crazies who we all admire, so crazy, in fact that he actually lived out the philosophies that he espoused. He was not willing to live a life that was not life at all, but rather a collection of pretension and social obligations. He was determined to life his life in the hottest part of the fire so that all the dross would melt away.

Can I tell you how freaking awesome that is? Imagine if you could for a few days, heck a few moments let go of all of the "stuff" and catch ahold of that thing that you are really chasing?

In Walden, Thoreau talks about living in the "nick of time," that exact moment when two eternities, the past and future, meet. I imagine it like the crest of a wave, that place where all of the energy of the past just begins to break and drives you, with breathtaking speed, toward the future. That elusive, razor-thin moment? That is life, and it is incredibly difficult to catch.

Thoreau said that he wanted to "put to rout all that was not life," driving life into a corner and reducing it to its lowest terms. My pastor calls it "contending for simplicity."

But I fear, lest somehow, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, so your minds may be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ. 2nd Corinthians 11:3

 May I be honest? I have a secret desire to live in a van. I don't know if I could ever do it, though I have a notebook filled with diagrams and supply lists as well as instructions on how to install electrical system in a cargo van using a deep-cycle marine battery. If my gypsy heart ever wins out over my fear of stavation and auto-maintenance, then I may just go off-grid one of these days.

In the meantime I'm Walden-ing it for the next few days.

Happy Independence Day!