Icons are created to point us toward God and help us be drawn into God’s reality. They are works of faith and prayer first, artistic endeavors second. They are created with a reverse perspective. The colors, poses, and objects are all part of a faith language designed to deepen the prayer life of the one who gazes upon it. We come before an icon with the expectation that God will meet us. The icon that we pray before drops away, and the Spirit comes to envelop us. Icons tell a deep truth and encourage us to participate in it: God’s reality is much larger than our own, and the Spirit draws us into it.

Iconographers don’t sign their icons. Their creations are meant to point to God, not indicate who created the icon. Putting a name on an icon may lead the faithful to concentrate on the artist rather than God. An icon that doesn’t lead to a deeper experience of God is pointless – literally! Iconographers create them with prayer and for prayer, not to be admired for their own sake.

Vainglory is seeking credit and admiration, wanting our name in lights. It is a hunger to be seen and admired by others, to make a mark on the world never to be forgotten. All activities and talents are self-referential, pointing to us and going no farther. But all the fame and credit in the world won’t create a satisfying, meaningful life, and we won’t meet God through them.

Perhaps iconographers know a truth about fame and recognition that is easily forgotten: If your life wasn’t enough beforehand, it won’t be enough after.

The thought of vainglory is especially subtle and it easily infiltrates those whose lives are going well – wanting to publish their efforts, and go hunting for glory among [men] people; it raises up a fantasy of demons shouting, and women being healed, and a crowd of people wanting to touch the monk’s clothes. It prophesies priesthood for him, and sets the stage with people thronging at his door, calling for him, and, even though he resists he will be carried off under constraint. Then, having raised him up with empty hopes like this, it suddenly leaps away and leaves him… (The Eight Bad Thoughts, Evagrius of Pontus, 345-399. Found on public pages of Early Church Texts, earlychurchtexts.com)

Forbearance: the quality of someone who is patient and able to deal with a difficult person or situation without becoming angry. (merriam-webster.com/dictionary)

In Law: the action of refraining from exercising a legal right, esp. enforcing the payment of a debt. (New Oxford American Dictionary)

In this age of litigation, forbearance in general and in legal matters is rare. No one wants to get taken advantage of, and getting less than is due is seen more as a failure of judgement than an act of virtue or wisdom.

I know two men whose lives reveal this action of the Spirit. Bob, a small town lawyer, and Bill, a businessman. Bob developed a piece of property with three of his friends, and Bill brought a partner into his growing business. Bob’s three friends pulled out of the deal, leaving Bob to pay off the debt. Bill’s friend took money from the business, leaving him with little to show for years of work.

I didn’t know Bob or Bill when these things happened, but I’ve had the privilege of knowing them both for many years. Neither one is bitter, and anger doesn’t rule them. Whatever the cost of betrayal and bad behavior, they paid it in full.

Why is forbearance possible for them when it seems out of reach for so many others? Maybe they live a truth many have forgotten: we act with generosity and forbearance not because someone else is worthy of it, but because it is how God acts with us.

When we face a grievous loss – of a loved one, a job, a marriage, or health – depression can be an inevitable and appropriate response, providing a time-out to allow for healing. But what if one responded to such a loss with a casual yawn, as if none of it had mattered in the first place? That is the horror of acedia…

(Kathleen Norris, Acedia & me: New York, Riverhead Books, 2008, pp.23-24)

Acedia is the noonday demon, the soul on novocain. The clock seems to stop, the day stretches out forever as a vast wasteland of boredom. Work is a waste of time, other people uncaring, and everything good is somewhere else. Why bother with any of it? Listlessness sets in. This demon is subtle, bringing with it the delusion that vacating the present life situation isn’t only desirable, but noble. The question then arises: don’t I owe it to myself to leave behind this meaningless life?

Sometimes, things need to change. A harmful situation should be left immediately, but acedia isn’t about that. Acedia is throwing away the good and holy life God has provided. Acedia is not moving toward something good, it’s seeing everything good in the here and now as useless and boring. The “if only” thoughts arrive: if only I had a more caring spouse, if only others recognized my gifts, if only this place had a better view and congenial neighbors…A change of scenery won’t help because acedia lives in the discontented soul, not in the external location.

Cullen Story, professor and extraordinary pastor, used to give students and ministers a way to distinguish between acedia’s temptation to leave a life situation and God’s call to move forward: Until you love the location and people God has given you, you aren’t ready to leave.

A few years back, my husband Dave and I attended a party where I worked. Dave is a great listener, so I wasn’t surprised others talked to him about their lives, including my friend and co-teacher, Bill. The next morning, Bill said about Dave, “I felt worthwhile in his presence.”

My friend Heidi creates a welcoming space for youth at church and on mission trips. Young people tell her about their dreams and their hurts, and they share their questions about God and life with her – something they don’t do with many people. Knowing someone’s life story is a gift, and not everyone is worthy of that gift.

Gentleness is subtle, underrated and sometimes overlooked. Gentle spirits create a quiet, accepting space for others. They deepen the spiritual lives of others simply by being present. It’s hard to put into words, but here is my best attempt:

When someone affirms your true worth and honors your life story without saying a word, you are in the gracious presence of a gentle spirit. 

Joy is my spirit’s response when my eyes are opened. Seeing in the world the hand of God, the footprints of Christ, and the breath of the Spirit moves me into a reality so big and so full of love that every single atom in the universe is revealed as a holy gift. Each and every piece of the cosmos exists as a delight to God. Every living being is God’s beloved – people I don’t know, people I don’t like, people I love, animals, plants, rocks and water. With each new person, each new being that comes into the world, the entire universe is changed. When I see this truth, I know joy. When I live my life in joy, I offer this truth to others: the world we live in is the Kingdom of God.

Are there bad things in the world? Yes, and they must be faced. Are souls damaged every day through evil, abuse, and ignorance? Yes, and they ask us to be Christ’s healing presence. The void cannot be denied or explained away. But even the void carries us to our home in God. Living that truth is joy.

By contrast, the action of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Galatians 5:22-23

Sadness sometimes arises from frustrated desires… when desires are frustrated it arises…Evagrius Ponticus

My son Jared read Frost’s The Road Not Taken this week. It’s a good poem for any age; everyone old enough to read has chosen one path over another. Deeper life meaning is there, but like many of the things our grandparents tell us when we are young, it’s not important yet. It takes a certain amount of maturity to care whether the road not taken might have been a better one…

Sadness isn’t about what path is taken. It comes from not taking either path wholeheartedly. Looking back toward the fork in the road, staring into the woods in a vain attempt to see if the other road was the better one, not seeing the ground underfoot and the sky overhead – that’s what makes it a bad thought, something that will drain the soul of vitality and hope. The path chosen has more rocks, dull companions, and poorer weather. Clearly, the other path is easier and holier – It shows a different part of the woods, and the sun shines brighter on it. All that is good and desirable is on the other road, so who wouldn’t be frustrated? Frustration dulled over time becomes sadness – it takes a lot less energy to live in the grey shade of sadness than in the blazing red of angry frustration. All that is good is on the other path, and nothing of great value on the one chosen. If only the other path…

On the other path, others are staring into the woods in a vain attempt to see if another road was the better one, not seeing the ground underfoot and the sky overhead. The path chosen has more rocks, dull companions, and poorer weather. All that is good is on another path, and nothing of great value on the one chosen – just  frustration and sadness.

The refusal to see the blessing of the chosen present, forgetting that Jesus walks this path just as surely as any other – these are the fruits of sadness. Enjoyed often enough, it slows the feet and numbs the heart.

Frost looked back on life to see blessing in the road taken. The road less travelled made all the difference because it led to an extraordinary life. Had Frost taken the other path, I suspect he’d have found blessing there, too. Holy ground or hell bound? It takes a certain amount of maturity to know that the road not taken wasn’t a better one. Blessing and sadness are usually in the heart of the beholder – and the feet of the walker.

The Eight Bad Thoughts

Evagrius Ponticus (345-399AD) was a monk, an ascetic, and a writer. In his work, Praktikos, he names eight bad thoughts (logismoi) that tempted monks to abandon the monastic life: gluttony, sexual immorality, love of money, sadness, anger, acedia, vainglory, and pride. (early church texts, earlychurchtexts.com/public. For extensive research, readers may subscribe to this site.) These eight thoughts draw the believer away from a holy life and lead to a diminished awareness of God and self. These thoughts were later adapted and renamed the Seven Deadly Sins.

Peace

 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. John 14:27

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Phil. 4:7

As I write about peace this morning, the wind is driving snow sideways outside my window.

“Look at the birds on the feeder. It’s blowing all over the place and they’re still sitting on it.”

My husband Dave’s words get me over to the window. Outside, wind and snow push at the feeder, making it spin and swing.  Goldfinches and cardinals are hanging onto the slim perches, eating the seeds. Blackbirds are feasting on bread heels and crusts, undaunted by the storm. They are blown off course in their flights from tree and bush to feeder and ground. Still they fly.

“I’m amazed they’re on the feeder; look at it move,” Dave says.

“It’ll hold,” I say.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that.” He’s right, they don’t.

Birds come to eat in storm and in calm. The weather may make the flight an adventure, but it doesn’t stop them. With hearts untroubled, they cling to the perches and eat the seeds.

Do the birds know the feeder will hold? Maybe not, but they aren’t afraid. The weather may be unpredictable, but the supply of food isn’t. The storm can’t take away the food that sustains them.

The peace of God may surpass all understanding, but it reveals itself in feathers right outside my window. Storms may blow me off my path, but I’ll find the perch and the seeds that sustain me. In the Spirit, I know it.  Maybe that’s why peace is a dove.