Sabbaticals Work!

Time to get back to one of my callings. And replacing Jesus with joy.

As you may recall, last fall I announced that I was putting this newsletter on hold.  I thought it was time to re-evaluate my writing and decide whether to continue in the years ahead.  Naturally, I’ve learned a few things these many months.

One was ironic.  A newsletter writer likes to think that subscriptions are based on his quality of prose, startling insights, and so forth.  The better the writing, the more subscribers.  Over the last few months, however, I noticed a disturbing trend: when I wasn’t offering anything new, the number of my subscribers grew!  To be sure, it was very slow growth as the newsletter was discovered by curious readers, but no decline. Made me wonder if I should keep a low profile.

I took a sabbatical from writing, in part, because I thought I was starting to repeat myself. I was hoping that a break would refresh my creative capacities and allow me to explore new themes.  When I mentioned this to a seasoned book editor, he said that every writer repeats certain themes—it’s those themes that define what a writer has to offer the world.  It’s those themes that resonate with certain readers, and which prompt them to continue reading that author.  Makes sense.  If I want to read a novel that explores the intricacies of human psychology, I read Dostoyevsky.  If I want a fast-paced legal thriller, I read John Grisham.

The theme that fascinates me, of course, is the startling, disturbing, mysterious grace of God. I’ve often been tempted to dabble in social commentary in the past, but I’m going to do my best to refrain from that.  There are plenty of writers doing that with great insight. I’ve also done some religious commentary, especially on the state of evangelicalism in America since I spent half a century embedded in the movement.  But the longer I’ve been a Catholic, the more I think that inappropriate.  I’ll let evangelicals sort themselves out, and if I have religious commentary to make, it will be about Christianity in general or things Catholic, a church that has many things to sort out as well.

The last few months, I’ve been reading more deeply in Catholic spirituality, especially Benedictine, and that will no doubt find its way into this newsletter. When I was a card-carrying evangelical, I certainly found Catholic and Orthodox writings of great benefit. So I aim to write as a Catholic, yes, but in a way that can be of benefit to a larger readership.  If nothing else, I want this newsletter to point readers to other writers of great insight- insights that inform my life and I trust will shape yours as well.

Replacing Christ with Joy?
As a nod in that direction: I encourage you to take a look at, “C. S. Lewis on Meaning and Joy” in Jacob Prahlow’s blog, Pursuing Veritas. . Prahlow has many fine insights into Lewis’ thoughts on the topic. For example:

As important as Joy was in pushing Lewis towards Christianity, he later writes that “the subject has lost nearly all interest for me since I became a Christian” (Joy, 276). For Lewis, experiences of Joy are simply signposts along the main road, pointing us ever onward towards the greatest Joy that we will ever experience – life with Jesus Christ. He occasionally would ‘stop by the side of the road’ to ponder Joy as a part of his Christian faith, though he also often wondered if he was attempting to replace Christ with Joy even after his conversion.

“Attempting to replace Christ with Joy” is a temptation American Christians face, given the therapeutic envelope our culture finds itself sealed in.  As has been noted by many, the ideals of therapy (happiness, self-fulfillment, positivity, and so forth) have become for many Christians and churches the essence of the gospel. This presents itself in many disguises.

This past Lent, I was made ever more aware of the depth and ubiquity of self-centeredness over the course of my life.  This sort of thing happens as we age, and yet each time it is more shocking and disheartening than ever! It left me in a funk for many weeks.  During this period, I heard a talk in which the speaker suggested that despite the depth of our sin and shame, we can joyfully bask in the knowledge of God’s grace, so we shouldn’t go around in a funk--not a good witness to our faith, he suggested.

There is some truth to that.  What applies to fasting applies to mourning our sins: we shouldn’t go around making sure everyone knows how much we’re suffering for God!

Even so, funks such as these speak to a profound and necessary truth. The gravity of sin ought to make us feel profoundly sad. Not forever—for indeed, “joy comes in the morning”--but there is a time and season to let this grief do its work in us.

But today the popular vision of psychological health (which might be called “gain with no pain”) and the hard edges of Christian discipleship are often blurred so that, like frogs in the proverbial kettle, our souls are boiled away in the therapeutic soup. Pity the poor pastor or priest who ends a sermon and/or service that prompts deep and troubling introspection. To be sure, in worship we’re often encouraged to regret our sin, but like those old half-hour situation comedies, it is expected that all will be resolved by the end of the service and that we will be sent forth on an uplifting note.

Jesus says: Blessed are these periods of grief—when we recognize our spiritual poverty and mourn it. They help us see our desperate need of grace and our utter dependence on God’s mercy.  They prompt us to take steps–baby steps for most of us–åto get out of the darkness of self-absorption and give ourselves to others. They remind us of our ultimate hope, that the kingdom of heaven belongs to such sufferers.

And they help us realize afresh that for the disciple of Jesus, life is a crucifixion, in which we regularly carry one cross or another. Again, the hard sayings of Jesus come with the promise of healing and restoration, glimpses of which we experience in this life, which in turn point to unending joy in the next. And yes, St. Paul says, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice.” But he can’t mean, “Feel joy in the Lord always.”  He certainly didn’t—just read the opening lines of 2 Corinthians.  When our souls are deeply troubled for good reason, it seems to me enough to refuse despair and to live with a sober and contrite “joy” that rests in the promise of God’s abiding mercy.

This almost seems commonplace once it is stated, but given our times, it requires some effort for us to see it. At least it does for me.

Grace and peace,

Mark Galli

Photo by Maria Teneva on Unsplash

PS: I now have very limited Facebook and Twitter accounts. If you appreciate what I’m doing, I’d appreciate it if you’d share these posts with others!