“Even though you say, ‘Oh, I can give up that habit whenever I like,’ you will know you can’t.” –Oswald Chambers

“Are you stuck?” Owl asked.  “No, no,” replied Pooh Bear.  “Just resting and thinking and humming to myself.”  “You, sir, are stuck,” Owl declared. 

“Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” –Galatians 5:25

    “Quierres Tabla?” I demanded.  Still the young boy remained obstinate, so I spanked him—hard.  Looking back I have no doubt that the spanking stemmed from sin.  The only problem, it was not from his sin but mine.  In that moment I gave in to my baser side, paddling a child to appease my rage.  Seven weeks earlier I never imagined that it could have come to that.    My friend and I had arrived at the Mexican orphanage ready to serve, and we did.  We took the garbage to the local dump, cleaned the bathrooms, and ran the kids to school.  The work was both challenging and humbling, but we were handling it.  That is, until one of the caretakers left. 

Suddenly, we were in charge of ten Mexican children between the ages of three and eight; each suffering from emotional or physical abuse.  The situation was difficult enough, but our struggles were magnified by the fact that we spoke very little Spanish.  Making things even worse, my friend and I felt uncomfortable with the orphanage’s discipline policy—which, essentially, was, “Spank first.  Ask questions later.”  I was not, and am not, against spanking, but it was done too often, and in the wrong spirit.  In fact, I hated the practice so much I thought that nothing could convince me to participate.  But I soon learned the persuasive powers of exhaustion and frustration. 

Unfortunately, the problems with my character did not end with one paddling.  As the stress and weariness grew, my attitude continued to deteriorate.  Anger and resentment became commonplace.  Really, for the first time in my life, I saw the depths of my heart, and what I discovered there frightened me.  I left Mexico both saddened and concerned.  No longer could I think of myself with the same self-righteousness.  The hardships of Mexico had revealed the true me.  Perhaps worst of all, it forced me to acknowledge that my faith had prompted very little meaningful change.  I spoke the religious language and obeyed spiritual rules, but I lacked deep heart transformation.   So after leaving Mexico, I began to reevaluate who I was—and who I wanted to be.  And I kept returning to a single question, “How do I become something more?”

The Problem of Life Change

    What I sought was the fruit of the spirit.  I longed for love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.[i]  Basically, I wanted to be like Jesus.  He had said, ““Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”[ii]  I knew that I could not obtain perfection on this side of heaven, but His words were a call to pursue holiness.  Before Mexico I believed that I had been heeding that call.  After Mexico any change in me seemed superficial.  I needed something more.  I needed a radical makeover, a makeover of the heart.

Nineteenth-century preacher Henry Ward Beecher once said, “A Christian is nothing but a sinful man who has put himself to school to Christ for the honest purpose of becoming better.”[iii]  I think Beecher’s words fail to capture the full scope of Christianity.  Still, “the honest purpose of becoming better” does play a central role in the life of the Christian.  But how does the school work?  How do we actually become better?   Mexico revealed that, so far, I had been a poor student.  In fact, my efforts seemed no better than Beecher's. 

One of the eighteenth century’s great speakers, Henry Ward Beecher helped Plymouth Church in Brooklyn grow into one of the largest churches of its day.  However, his legacy was tainted by the revelation that he had covered up his struggles with infidelity.  Apparently, Beecher had learned to polish the outside of the cup while failing to clean the inside.  I could relate.  Genuine transformation had not come easily to me either.  But, I could not accept that it was impossible.  So, again, I wondered, How do I grow?  Whatever the answer, I knew the problem did not lay with the school’s headmaster.  Jesus could change me; of that I was certain.  Therefore the problem must lay with me, the student.

In Search of the Drumbeat

Shortly after returning from Mexico I attended a Christian leadership conference with my college campus ministry.  With my failings still fresh, I went up to a speaker following a seminar and asked, “How do I change?”  His response was quite interesting.  First he pointed me to the passage about the fruit of the spirit.  Then he took me two verses further.  “Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”[iv]  “This is God’s plan for change,” he said.  “We must keep in step with the Spirit.”  He went on to explain that the word “step” means an orderly walk, like the march of a soldier.  “If we are to obtain the fruit of the spirit we must march with God, in the direction he is taking.  We must find his rhythm and match His steps.” 

That made sense, but it left me with another question:  How do I hear the beat of God’s drum?  I would gladly start marching if only I could discover the direction in which I should go.  So I set out in pursuit of the drumbeat only to find that the search would not take long.  Later in the conference the tune began to grow audible, when I encountered the march of another.  At a seminar on Philippians I had my first contact with a living legend among campus ministers, a man named Roy Weiss. 

Thin and white-haired, Roy appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies, with a demeanor that oozed kindness.  Upon entering the room he immediately took a seat in the back.  He had come to learn not to teach.  I am sure the session was fine, even good, although I only recall what happened at the end.  As things wrapped up, the teacher, a younger man in his mid-thirties, asked timidly, “Roy, do you have anything to add?”  Roy politely said, “No.”  Then, after a closing prayer, the participants began to exit.  As I gathered my things I noticed Roy making his way towards the front.  He went over to our teacher and thanked him for his insights, specifically naming one or two points the younger man had made. 

Later, I learned the reason for the young teacher’s deferral to Roy.  My campus minister explained that Roy had the entire book of Philippians memorized, and the entire New Testament, apparently in multiple translations.  I thought back to the seminar.  Knowing the book by heart, Roy chose to listen politely and to say thanks.  Then I imagined how I would have acted if I had possessed Roy's knowledge.  It was not a pretty picture.  I could see my smug expression, the proud thoughts going through my head.  That point isn't true.  Uh, why would you say it like that?  Unfortunately, I could not imagine myself passing up the opportunity to share something, or going out of my way to express gratitude.  Clearly, Roy had something I did not.  He had found the drumbeat. 

Spiritual Disciplines: The Path to Transformation

My favorite Roy story seems impossible, but if you knew him you would never doubt it.  Once, a friend gave Roy the name and address of a man in need of spiritual help, and he asked him to talk to him.  Some time later, while praying, Roy felt God urging him to visit the man immediately.  It was a workday and Roy did not think the man would be home, but he responded to God’s prodding. 

Roy knocked on the front door, not expecting an answer.  But, to his surprise, the door soon opened.  “Hello, my name is Roy Weiss,” he began, “and I was wondering if I might take a few moments to talk to you about Jesus.” 

Astonishment swept over the man’s face.  “Uh, yes,” he answered, “come in.”  After Roy entered, the man told him the reason for his surprise.  “I have a loaded gun in the other room,” he explained, “and I was about to kill myself.  But as I sat there holding the gun, I prayed, ‘God, if you are real, send someone to talk to me about you.’  Just at that moment you knocked on my door.”  In response, Roy explained the gospel and the man began a relationship with Jesus. 

Somehow Roy had become a vessel for God.  Literally, he seemed so in-tune with God’s drumbeat that, at least on this occasion, he marched right into the miraculous.  So what was the secret to his transformation?  How did Roy Weiss genuinely find the fruit of the Spirit?  What had he discovered that I had not?  After the seminar on Philippians I attended one taught by Roy.  During that seminar the answers to my questions became clear. 

Roy taught on something he knew well, memorizing scripture.  And, to be honest, over a decade later I remember almost nothing he said.  But I do remember the way that he said it.  He talked with passion and firsthand knowledge and, more than anything, with humility.  Not once did he boast.  In fact, he went to great lengths to avoid mentioning his own feats of memorization, instead pointing out the impact it had had on others he knew.  During that seminar, Roy told us that memorizing the Bible would change us, and his life showed that it was true. 

Roy helped me understand that the secret to genuine transformation was not a secret at all.  Roy had been changed by memorization, but I knew that in a broader sense he had been changed by the spiritual disciplines.  For years I had been told about the importance of prayer and Bible study, and worship and fasting.  I heard of their value, but I spent little time practicing any of them.  It took a profound realization of my selfishness, a personal revelation, to open my eyes.  As G. K. Chesterton once said, “I am the man who with the utmost daring discovered what had been discovered before.”[v]  Like Chesterton, I set off in search of God’s mysterious drumbeat and found that I already knew the tune, if only I would choose to march to it. 

More Fruit Please

    Over the years that followed I have made a commitment to the spiritual disciplines.  Sometimes that commitment has been passionate, though more often not.  But I have studied and prayed and worshipped and fasted.  And, in spite of the meagerness of my efforts, I believe results have come.  When we practice the spiritual disciplines, we fall in step with God, for the disciplines train us to hear the cadence that the noise of life otherwise drowns out.  Then, when in step with God, we cannot help but grow.

Yet, despite some progress, I know that I need more.  I need greater character, for the demands of my life continue to mount.  My family’s recent camping trip serves as one example.  We rented a small cabin at a state park in Ohio and had aspirations of a quiet week away.  Our daughter, however, had other plans.  Only fourteen months old, she began getting one of her incisors, and she screamed all night.  Did I mention that the cabin was small?  Somehow my boys slept through the madness, but my wife and I were not so fortunate.  In the morning the third world war began.  My wife and I fought and fought, and fought some more, about whether or not to cancel the trip. 

Reviewing the aftermath, my lack of maturity frightened me.  If anyone saw me they would have been dumbfounded to learn that I am a Christian, no less a pastor.  I treated her as badly as I ever had.  Yet, unlike after Mexico, I knew what I needed to do—return to the drumbeat.  The book of Philippians says, “Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,”[vi]  Here, Paul does not contradict salvation by grace, but rather calls the believer to grow in “the obedience that comes from faith.”[vii]  In other words, he wants us to become increasingly like Jesus.  And, as the word “continue” implies, this involves a process. 

But Paul adds, “For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.”[viii]  So in this process God does the actual work of transformation.  We simply must decide if we will let him, by whether or not we will engage him through the disciplines.  John Ortberg likens the process of spiritual growth to sailing.  “Our task is to use these activities to create opportunities for God to work.  Then what happens is up to him.  We just put up sails: ‘The wind blows where it chooses….’”[ix]  The daily practice of the spiritual disciplines allows God to fill our sails.  New places of maturity await those willing to catch the wind. 

It’s More than Lazy

    “And the hundred acre wood grew floodier and floodier,” explains the Narrator.  Pooh and Tigger and their friends have become the latest craze at our house.  As a result, I have seen The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh a dozen times.  In one scene, heavy rains have overtaken the land and tiny Piglet awakens to a flooded room.  Jumping upon a floating chair, Piglet grabs a ladle and frantically begins bailing water into a pot.  But it too is floating, so after Piglet fills the pot it sinks beneath the waters.  Undaunted, Piglet continues bailing into the next pot and the next, always with the same result. 

Far too often, my pursuit of the spiritual disciplines resembles Piglet’s bailing.  I try hard, but my efforts seem futile.  When I say that I try hard, I do not mean that I try hard at the disciplines themselves, but rather that I try hard to care about them.  Knowing their importance, I want to make them a priority.  I think about strategies to do them better.  I set aside time at the beginning of my day.  I even read books about them.  Occasionally I am successful and I do the disciplines with passion.  But usually I just go through the motions, or do nothing at all.  Generally, my attempts to be disciplined amount to filling a pot in a flood—lots of exertion with little result. 

Some days I cannot overcome my busyness.  I know that I should.  I know that the spiritual disciplines would better prepare me for that busyness, but five minutes into prayer I am so anxious to begin my to-do list that I quit.  In those moments I have rushed ahead of God’s drumbeat. I hope to make my life better by my own efforts.  Other days I fall victim to distractions.  Sadly, I even know they are coming, trying to tear me away, but I succumb anyway.  Countless times I will start reading my Bible when I suddenly “need” to check something on the Internet or “need” to see what is on television.  At these times I fall behind God’s drumbeat.  For some reason I select mindless entertainment over spiritual growth.

By my nature I am driven.  For instance, fifteen years after college my friends still make fun of me because I would study on Friday nights.  One friend teases me because I once approached a professor to argue for additional points on a test.  I had already gotten a ninety-seven.  (Okay, perhaps anal might be a more apt description.)  Generally, when Christians talk about failing with the disciplines they blame it on laziness.  But as I reflect on the problem, I don’t think it’s that simple.   As I look inside myself, the issue appears much more complex. 

As I have said, I know discipline, sometimes to a fault.  Why then do I find it so difficult to be spiritually disciplined?  Sure, I can be lazy, but when it comes to spiritual discipline it almost seems like I am fighting something more sinister.  My best attempt to explain the problem invokes a single word—conflicted.  Paul perfectly captured the meaning of this word in the book of Romans.  “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”[x]  I am not simply lazy; I am conflicted.  Why do I find it so difficult to be spiritually disciplined?  I find it so difficult because a battle rages within me.  And the more I understand, the more I am convinced that it is a battle for my heart.

Proverbs explains the importance of the heart. “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.”[xi]  Wellspring means source.  So the Bible calls our hearts the source of our lives.  Author John Eldredge clarifies. “The Bible sees the heart as the source of all creativity, courage, and conviction.  It is the source of our faith, our hope, and of course, our love…There is no escaping the centrality of the heart.”[xii]  Everything begins with the heart, especially spiritual growth.  Jesus taught us that.

“What comes out of a man is what makes him ‘unclean,’” Jesus said, “For from within, out of men’s hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality…arrogance and folly.”[xiii]  If we want to be clean we must begin with our hearts.  Look closely at Jesus' interactions.  He always probed the heart, looking for fertile soil for growth.  Once, a young man came to Jesus.  Apparently with great sincerity, he asked, “Teacher, what good things must I do to get eternal life?”  In response, Jesus tells him to keep the commandments.  When the man says that he has, Jesus then goes for the heart.  “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”  The book of Matthew ends the story by saying, “When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth.”[xiv]

    In this exchange, Jesus asked the man to surrender his vast wealth, and by doing so revealed the man’s heart problem—greed.  Jesus confronted Nicodemus’ spiritual pride.[xv]  He forced the woman at the well to examine her real thirst.[xvi]   And he questioned the genuineness of an invalid’s desire to get well.[xvii]  Time and again, Jesus showed that the battle for spiritual growth takes place within.  Therefore, if I am to become unconflicted and begin doing what I want to do, I must address more than laziness.  I need to go deeper and discover what is happening inside my heart.  

The Broken Foundations

    The pain was excruciating.  It started in the middle of the night, and for the next six hours I wandered our apartment desperate for relief.  Nothing helped.  I have only had one cavity in my entire life.  The odds were remote that it should require a root canal.  Well, I guess I defied the odds.  If you have ever needed a root canal than you know that despite the intensity of the pain there is nothing to see.  You can look in your mouth all you want, but the problem remains hidden, lurking beneath the surface.  But if you desire to get healthy, you cannot ignore the roots. 

    Likewise, our spiritual pain cannot be seen.  So, if we want to get well, we must address the roots.  As I have said, I am convinced that our struggle for the spiritual disciplines begins in our hearts.  God has placed within our hearts the roots of a healthy spiritual life, roots like truth, mystery, and wonder.  They are what make us spiritual beings.  If these roots are not healthy we will feel the pain, particularly in our spiritual discipline.  For each spiritual discipline has a direct dependence upon one of these roots. 

A synonym for root is foundation, and so, changing the metaphor, each discipline stands upon one of these foundations.  When its foundation holds, the discipline stands tall.  But when the foundation breaks down the discipline falls, for nothing can stand without a foundation.  Therefore, perhaps my problem with the disciplines, and yours, is much deeper than simple laziness.  In fact, maybe focusing on laziness might actually hinder us from seeing the real problem. 

What if the real issue lies much deeper, down in the foundations of our heart?  What if our conflictedness actually reveals the true battle?  Could it be possible that our spiritual foundations are under attack, cracking and crumbling from the barrage?  I think so, and I think that for far too long we have been missing the fight.  I am often lazy.  You probably are too.  But there is much more going on here.  A battle rages, and we find ourselves in enemy territory.  Yet while our supply lines have been cut-off we continue to focus on fighting harder.  Perhaps we do need to fight harder, but it is hard to win a battle without ammunition.  It is time to refocus our efforts.  It is time to take back our hearts. 

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