Because I'm such a cheap ass bastard, I didn't come up with anything to send all of you for Easter. Today, however, it hit me. I should have gotten you copies of John Ortberg's book, God is Closer Than You Think. It's a pretty short book (less than 200 pages) that I have been reading over the course of the last few months. (That tells you how infrequently I get around to reading, I guess.) I read a chapter this morning that I really liked and thought I'd pass along a few thoughts that were really meaningful for me.
A Beautiful Mind
"A mystic is anyone who believes that, when you talk to God, God talks back." - Frank Laubach
In the movie, A Beautiful Mind, John Nash (a Nobel Prize winner and distinguished professor) suffered a breakdown. He interrupted a lecture to announce he was on the cover of Life magazine disguised as the pope. He claimed foreign governments were communicating with him through the media and he turned down a prestigious post at the University of Chicago because, he said, he was about to be named Emperor of Antarctica.
What makes John Nash's story so remarkable is that he was actually able to learn, over time, the art of discernment. He learned to test the voices, to find out which ones were false and which ones were true.
He had to learn to not listen to the ones that lead to death. He learned not to dwell on what they said. He learned not to do what they requested. And while never completely freed from his illness, he discovered that over time their hold on his mind could be greatly weakened. He experienced, in a sense, a revolution of the mind.
Nash speaks at one point in the film about how, in a way, his battle is the battle of all of us. "I'm not so different from you," he says to his friend. "We all hear voices. We just have to decide which ones we are going to listen to.
"We all hear voices . . ." At least I do. Some of them are distorted and destructive; they speak to me thoughts of envy and resentment and fear. Some of them are healthy and strong; they speak words of love and truth. The ones I listen to shape my life.
But there's one Voice above all to which we're called to listen. Jesus said that he is the Good Shepherd and that "his sheep follow him because they know his voice. But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger's voice."
Throughout history, those who have practiced God's presence most have insisted they hear his voice. They have learned, so to speak, to program their minds to be constantly receiving the divine channel.
Every thought holds the promise of carrying me into God's presence.
In the painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, God and the man he created are just a hairbreadth apart. How far apart is that? Closer than you think. God is never more than a single thought away. Even if you haven't thought about him for days. Even when I have been immersed in selfishness and sin.
The reality is that your mind is never still. You are having thoughts, observations, perceptions, and ideas at such a staggering rate that you don't even remember the vast majority of them.
In reality, each thought we have carries with it a little spiritual power, a tug toward or away from God. No thought is purely neutral.
But there is a role for us to play. We can, by choice and by our actions, invite God to be present in our mind. Or we can close the door to him. It all depends on what kind of mind we want to cultivate.
To make my mind a home for Jesus, I deliberately fill my mind with the kinds of things God says are important. Paul puts it like this: "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things."
Jenna works with a choir of kindergarten kids at our church. One member, a little older than the others, is a boy who has Down syndrome. When the boy first started attending, he would generally observe, but not sing. He liked the rhythm of the music and the energy of the other children, but he was mostly a spectator.
Then one day the kids sang a song based on a statement by the apostle Paul: "He who began a good work will not give up on me . . ." Jenna taught the choir hand motions - pointing toward the sky for "He who began," crossing their hands like an umpire signaling safe when they sang "will not give up," pointing to themselves at the word "me." It wasn't until they had run through the song several times that she looked over at the Down syndrome boy and say that this time he wasn't just watching. He looked Jenna in the eye as his little finger shot up in the air and out of the overflow of his heart his little mouth spoke, "He who began a good work will not give up on me."
When I was young, I wanted badly to be smart. I didn't like it when other kids in my class got better grades than I did. I wanted to be the one with the answers.
Now I'd like to have a mind that stores up good things. The way that boy does. I'd like a beautiful mind.
I love both Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Good Friday is a powerful reminder of the sacrifice Jesus made for me. Easter Sunday is the glorious celebration of the news that because Christ lives, I will live also. If there's anything I should focus on, dwell on, fill my mind with - it should be that. "We all hear voices. We just have to decide which ones we're going to listen to."
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