Escape From The Island Of Spiritual Sloth
Sermon
Sermons On The Gospel Readings
Series I, Cycle C
I was noodling around on the internet not long ago, doing some research on the "Seven Deadly Sins," and came upon what has surely been an overlooked theological resource in explaining the mysteries of what Gregory the Great, in the sixth century, called "a classification of the normal perils of the soul in the ordinary conditions of life."
There is quite a bit of material out there referring to the deadly list of seven but by far the most intriguing theological website was one I discovered titled, "The Seven Deadly Sins of Gilligan's Island." I am not making this up. Seven characters on the island. Seven sins. You're welcome to look it up for yourself.
The Professor obviously represents the sin of pride. What else are you going to feel after rigging up a ham radio with wire and two coconuts? Mary Ann? Oh, she's an easy one. Envy. Always envying the glamorous Ginger. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to discern that Ginger is the living embodiment of lust on the island. (I still have dreams about Ginger after all these years.) Thurston Howell, III, is an easy candidate for greed. After all, asks the webmaster of this site, "What kind of person takes a trunk-full of money on a three-hour cruise?" The Skipper merits two deadly sins, anger and gluttony. He always seems to be furious with Gilligan, forever whacking his "little buddy" with his hat, not to mention gorging himself with papayas.
Gilligan himself is not assigned a deadly sin. He plays the role of Satan who forever keeps the other six trapped on the island. And that leaves sloth to Mrs. Thurston Howell, III. According to the same webmaster, "She did jack (expletive) during her many years on the island and everybody knows it." Well, I hope that's helpful for you. There are many fine books describing the theological mechanics of the seven deadly sins, but you might discover how sin really works by watching a few re-runs.
And so we come to "sloth." There are many proverbial sayings in the King James Version that warn of slothfulness and its outward aftermath. "By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through" (Ecclesiastes 10:18). "Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep" (Proverbs 19:15). "Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not and gather where I have not strawed" (Matthew 25:26). But "sloth" is largely an archaic-sounding word we no longer use. To my knowledge it appears only once in the NRSV. But even in the newer translations there are delightful allusions to slothfulness. One of my favorites is from Proverbs: "Go to the ant, you lazybones; consider its ways and be wise ... How long will you lie there, O lazybones? When will you rise from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want, like an armed warrior" (6:6, 9-11).1
As the seven deadly sins took shape in the early Middle Ages, the Greek word acedia came to describe what we refer to as "sloth." And acedia could certainly describe someone who was just plain lazy. But, more accurately, it came to describe a person who was spiritually lazy. The Greek word literally means "I don't care." So what forms can this spiritual laziness take in our churches today?
Well, spiritual laziness might mean coming to worship services on Sunday, listening to what a priest or pastor tells you week after week, but never really taking time to reflect upon and study the teachings of the church for yourself. Spiritual laziness might mean giving lip-service to the importance of the Bible in our common life together but really never reading the Bible on a regular basis. Spiritual laziness might mean that a person sings "What A Friend We Have In Jesus" but really never spends enough time with Jesus so that a friendship with the man is truly constituted.
"Sloth," in the original list of seven deadly sins, describes the state of a Christian who remains in an embryonic, beginning state of discipleship, year after year after year. The leaders of the early church assumed that one's eternal life was a gift from God. They also assumed that one's internal life required discipline, study, commitment, and a lot of hard work. Acedia, sloth, spiritual laziness, whatever you want to call it, is a crippling problem for the modern church in America. As Peter Gomes, chaplain at Harvard University and an Episcopalian, puts it: "It's startling how many adult Christians walk through life with a second-rate second grade Sunday school education." So how do we move away from sloth, from spiritual laziness? (And it afflicts all of us, even the clergy, by the way.)
After pulling a muscle on a bike ride, I once jokingly complained to a doctor friend that I was getting older. My friend replied, ever the clinician, "You're not getting older, you're rotting." A nice, comforting thought, don't you agree? But, in truth, a helpful thought if taken seriously. As is this: Remember that you are dust. That's why we're here tonight, isn't it? To remind each other that the worms will go in and out soon enough. Remember that. Even have somebody rub your nose in it, smudge a black cross on your brow with a couple cups of ashy flakes vacuumed from last year's palms. That's why we're here. So, all together now: How do we, Christ's church, who all exhibit from time to time the spiritual slothfulness of Mrs. Thurston Howell, III, on our little congregational island, keep a faithful Lent? Here's the truth: We cannot keep a faithful Lent and we cannot even begin to rid ourselves of spiritual slothfulness.
But Christ can in us. Not by magic. And not with a wiggle of his divine nose. Christ needs room to change us. "One of the greatest deceptions in the practice of the Christian religion," writes Dallas Willard, "is the idea that all that really matters is our internal feelings, ideas, beliefs, and intentions."2 Let me tell you something. We have bought into that hook, line, and sinker in the mainline church. "Faith is what I believe in my head," we say. And yet for my money one of the most devastating things Jesus ever said to would-be disciples was this: "Why do you call me 'Lord, Lord' and do not do what I tell you?" (Luke 6:46).
So if we are serious about moving from spiritual slothfulness towards Christian maturity then we will see the Christian life primarily lived through an old, old set of habits that do not "save" us (please don't confuse this) but rather give Jesus room to work. Things like almsgiving to the poor and regular prayer and even fasting, the very things Jesus mentions tonight, and a host of other habits. Churches of grace, wishing to avoid legalism, have usually perceived these disciplines as optional for Lent and life. But Jesus doesn't say, "If you choose to fast, pray, or give alms, be sure to do it this way." He doesn't say, "If you get around to it, this is the way it's done." No. Jesus says, "When." "When you fast ... When you pray ... When you give alms." Not "if." Spiritual disciplines are what disciples destined for death do to keep our inner lives in shape. Somehow we have accepted the notion that although it takes hours of sweat and discipline and hard work to maintain a healthy exterior, our interior lives need no such maintenance. We'll gladly pass out on the ThighMaster, we'll spend hours in search of washboard abs, but we squawk loud protests when the church suggests fasting or tithing as a means to mature spiritually. In so doing we betray an interest in health that is only skin deep.
We are rotting away, destined to become the ash that adorns our brows tonight. We will face suffering and crises and pain and horrible forks in the road, sooner or later. No one is exempt. It's part of what it means to be human. And in my mind there are only a couple ways to handle what's coming or even what you might be going through right now. There are two basic types of human response in my experience. First, we can ignore what's coming and be surprised and shocked when suffering arrives and ask, "Where is God? Surely my faith in God protects me from this."
Or, we can take another approach. Instead of asking, "Where is God?" we might reflect upon God asking a question of us: "Where are you?" It's the old question God asks of a wayward Adam and Eve in the garden. "Where are you? Where have you been? Where are you going?" It's hard to answer God's questions without a few spiritual habits that allow God to claim more and more of our interior lives until we are wholly and completely the Lord's. And when that happens it really will not rattle us if death occurs thirty years from now or tomorrow. Without disciplined spiritual habits, we face death with only our intellects and emotions. We'll get through it, but I can promise you it will be hellish.
I recently read a story of a father whose daughter, as a teenager, was plagued by terrible bouts of acne. Her face became so ravaged that at times she could not bring herself to leave the house. She was in such anguish. One day her father led her to the bathroom and asked her if he could teach her a new way to wash. He leaned over the sink and splashed water over his face, telling her, "On the first splash, say, 'In the name of the Father'; on the second, 'in the name of the Son'; and on the third, 'in the name of the Holy Spirit.' Then look up into the mirror and remember that you are a child of God, full of grace and beauty." It was a practice that the girl took into adulthood.3
Martin Luther once said, "You cannot stop the birds from flying over your head, but you can keep them from building a nest in your hair." Death will come to us all. In fifty years or so, less for some and more for others, it will seem like we've been vacuumed from the premises without a trace. How shall we face this reality? How shall we prepare?
In one of his classic tales of Narnia titled The Silver Chair, C. S. Lewis describes a young girl named Jill Pole who is about to undertake an arduous journey fraught with many perils. Aslan the lion, who serves as the Christ figure in these tales, appears to Jill before she departs. He says, "Remember, remember, remember the Signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the Signs ... know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the Signs and believe the Signs. Nothing else matters."4
____________
1. The first three biblical references in this paragraph are all from the King James Version. The fourth is from the NRSV.
2. Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding How God Changes Lives (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988), p. 152.
3. Stephanie Paulsell, "Honoring the Body," in Practicing Our Faith: A Way of Life for a Searching People, edited by Dorothy C. Bass (San Francisco: Jossey Bass Publishers, 1997), p. 19.
4. C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1953), p. 21.
There is quite a bit of material out there referring to the deadly list of seven but by far the most intriguing theological website was one I discovered titled, "The Seven Deadly Sins of Gilligan's Island." I am not making this up. Seven characters on the island. Seven sins. You're welcome to look it up for yourself.
The Professor obviously represents the sin of pride. What else are you going to feel after rigging up a ham radio with wire and two coconuts? Mary Ann? Oh, she's an easy one. Envy. Always envying the glamorous Ginger. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to discern that Ginger is the living embodiment of lust on the island. (I still have dreams about Ginger after all these years.) Thurston Howell, III, is an easy candidate for greed. After all, asks the webmaster of this site, "What kind of person takes a trunk-full of money on a three-hour cruise?" The Skipper merits two deadly sins, anger and gluttony. He always seems to be furious with Gilligan, forever whacking his "little buddy" with his hat, not to mention gorging himself with papayas.
Gilligan himself is not assigned a deadly sin. He plays the role of Satan who forever keeps the other six trapped on the island. And that leaves sloth to Mrs. Thurston Howell, III. According to the same webmaster, "She did jack (expletive) during her many years on the island and everybody knows it." Well, I hope that's helpful for you. There are many fine books describing the theological mechanics of the seven deadly sins, but you might discover how sin really works by watching a few re-runs.
And so we come to "sloth." There are many proverbial sayings in the King James Version that warn of slothfulness and its outward aftermath. "By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through" (Ecclesiastes 10:18). "Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep" (Proverbs 19:15). "Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not and gather where I have not strawed" (Matthew 25:26). But "sloth" is largely an archaic-sounding word we no longer use. To my knowledge it appears only once in the NRSV. But even in the newer translations there are delightful allusions to slothfulness. One of my favorites is from Proverbs: "Go to the ant, you lazybones; consider its ways and be wise ... How long will you lie there, O lazybones? When will you rise from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want, like an armed warrior" (6:6, 9-11).1
As the seven deadly sins took shape in the early Middle Ages, the Greek word acedia came to describe what we refer to as "sloth." And acedia could certainly describe someone who was just plain lazy. But, more accurately, it came to describe a person who was spiritually lazy. The Greek word literally means "I don't care." So what forms can this spiritual laziness take in our churches today?
Well, spiritual laziness might mean coming to worship services on Sunday, listening to what a priest or pastor tells you week after week, but never really taking time to reflect upon and study the teachings of the church for yourself. Spiritual laziness might mean giving lip-service to the importance of the Bible in our common life together but really never reading the Bible on a regular basis. Spiritual laziness might mean that a person sings "What A Friend We Have In Jesus" but really never spends enough time with Jesus so that a friendship with the man is truly constituted.
"Sloth," in the original list of seven deadly sins, describes the state of a Christian who remains in an embryonic, beginning state of discipleship, year after year after year. The leaders of the early church assumed that one's eternal life was a gift from God. They also assumed that one's internal life required discipline, study, commitment, and a lot of hard work. Acedia, sloth, spiritual laziness, whatever you want to call it, is a crippling problem for the modern church in America. As Peter Gomes, chaplain at Harvard University and an Episcopalian, puts it: "It's startling how many adult Christians walk through life with a second-rate second grade Sunday school education." So how do we move away from sloth, from spiritual laziness? (And it afflicts all of us, even the clergy, by the way.)
After pulling a muscle on a bike ride, I once jokingly complained to a doctor friend that I was getting older. My friend replied, ever the clinician, "You're not getting older, you're rotting." A nice, comforting thought, don't you agree? But, in truth, a helpful thought if taken seriously. As is this: Remember that you are dust. That's why we're here tonight, isn't it? To remind each other that the worms will go in and out soon enough. Remember that. Even have somebody rub your nose in it, smudge a black cross on your brow with a couple cups of ashy flakes vacuumed from last year's palms. That's why we're here. So, all together now: How do we, Christ's church, who all exhibit from time to time the spiritual slothfulness of Mrs. Thurston Howell, III, on our little congregational island, keep a faithful Lent? Here's the truth: We cannot keep a faithful Lent and we cannot even begin to rid ourselves of spiritual slothfulness.
But Christ can in us. Not by magic. And not with a wiggle of his divine nose. Christ needs room to change us. "One of the greatest deceptions in the practice of the Christian religion," writes Dallas Willard, "is the idea that all that really matters is our internal feelings, ideas, beliefs, and intentions."2 Let me tell you something. We have bought into that hook, line, and sinker in the mainline church. "Faith is what I believe in my head," we say. And yet for my money one of the most devastating things Jesus ever said to would-be disciples was this: "Why do you call me 'Lord, Lord' and do not do what I tell you?" (Luke 6:46).
So if we are serious about moving from spiritual slothfulness towards Christian maturity then we will see the Christian life primarily lived through an old, old set of habits that do not "save" us (please don't confuse this) but rather give Jesus room to work. Things like almsgiving to the poor and regular prayer and even fasting, the very things Jesus mentions tonight, and a host of other habits. Churches of grace, wishing to avoid legalism, have usually perceived these disciplines as optional for Lent and life. But Jesus doesn't say, "If you choose to fast, pray, or give alms, be sure to do it this way." He doesn't say, "If you get around to it, this is the way it's done." No. Jesus says, "When." "When you fast ... When you pray ... When you give alms." Not "if." Spiritual disciplines are what disciples destined for death do to keep our inner lives in shape. Somehow we have accepted the notion that although it takes hours of sweat and discipline and hard work to maintain a healthy exterior, our interior lives need no such maintenance. We'll gladly pass out on the ThighMaster, we'll spend hours in search of washboard abs, but we squawk loud protests when the church suggests fasting or tithing as a means to mature spiritually. In so doing we betray an interest in health that is only skin deep.
We are rotting away, destined to become the ash that adorns our brows tonight. We will face suffering and crises and pain and horrible forks in the road, sooner or later. No one is exempt. It's part of what it means to be human. And in my mind there are only a couple ways to handle what's coming or even what you might be going through right now. There are two basic types of human response in my experience. First, we can ignore what's coming and be surprised and shocked when suffering arrives and ask, "Where is God? Surely my faith in God protects me from this."
Or, we can take another approach. Instead of asking, "Where is God?" we might reflect upon God asking a question of us: "Where are you?" It's the old question God asks of a wayward Adam and Eve in the garden. "Where are you? Where have you been? Where are you going?" It's hard to answer God's questions without a few spiritual habits that allow God to claim more and more of our interior lives until we are wholly and completely the Lord's. And when that happens it really will not rattle us if death occurs thirty years from now or tomorrow. Without disciplined spiritual habits, we face death with only our intellects and emotions. We'll get through it, but I can promise you it will be hellish.
I recently read a story of a father whose daughter, as a teenager, was plagued by terrible bouts of acne. Her face became so ravaged that at times she could not bring herself to leave the house. She was in such anguish. One day her father led her to the bathroom and asked her if he could teach her a new way to wash. He leaned over the sink and splashed water over his face, telling her, "On the first splash, say, 'In the name of the Father'; on the second, 'in the name of the Son'; and on the third, 'in the name of the Holy Spirit.' Then look up into the mirror and remember that you are a child of God, full of grace and beauty." It was a practice that the girl took into adulthood.3
Martin Luther once said, "You cannot stop the birds from flying over your head, but you can keep them from building a nest in your hair." Death will come to us all. In fifty years or so, less for some and more for others, it will seem like we've been vacuumed from the premises without a trace. How shall we face this reality? How shall we prepare?
In one of his classic tales of Narnia titled The Silver Chair, C. S. Lewis describes a young girl named Jill Pole who is about to undertake an arduous journey fraught with many perils. Aslan the lion, who serves as the Christ figure in these tales, appears to Jill before she departs. He says, "Remember, remember, remember the Signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the Signs ... know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the Signs and believe the Signs. Nothing else matters."4
____________
1. The first three biblical references in this paragraph are all from the King James Version. The fourth is from the NRSV.
2. Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding How God Changes Lives (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988), p. 152.
3. Stephanie Paulsell, "Honoring the Body," in Practicing Our Faith: A Way of Life for a Searching People, edited by Dorothy C. Bass (San Francisco: Jossey Bass Publishers, 1997), p. 19.
4. C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1953), p. 21.
