Speaking of quotes, I got out of the habit of checking the Rev. Dr. Ray Ortlund’s blog, Christ Is Deeper Still, when he took a couple weeks off to go hunting; which means I have a lot to catch up with, since he puts up a lot of great material. In his recent posts, I particularly appreciate two, which seem to me to stand in striking juxtaposition (though no one seems to have commented on this). The first is this quote from Thomas Oden:
I am doggedly sworn to irrelevance, insofar as relevance implies a corrupt indebtedness to modernity. . . . My deepest desire as a theologian is to be permitted to study the unchanging God without some pragmatic reason. I simply want to enjoy the study of God—not write about it, not view it in relation to its political residue, or pretentiously imagine it will have some social effect. The joy of inquiry into God is a sufficient end in itself. . . .
I relish those times when there are no responsibilities but to engage in this quiet dialogue that is my vocation. Then, I readpray, studypray, workpray, thinkpray, because there is nothing I more want to do.
So when old activist friends ask why I’m not out there on the street working to change the world, I answer that I am out on the street in the most serious way by being here with my books, and if you see no connection there, you have not understood my vocation. I do not love the suffering poor less by offering them what they need more.
The second is this one, from the next day:
In this provocative blog post, C. J. Mahaney helps me ask a change-conducive question: “Am I deploying my daily life fruitfully or just racing through it busily?” I am drawn back to Psalm 1.
The psalm bristles with contrasts. Not nuances. Stark contrasts. And not because the psalm is simplistic but because it is so profound. In this world’s Gadarene rush of ever-expanding options we need that blunt clarity. Psalm 1 calls us back to the one choice we all face every day: good versus evil. It’s that profound. It’s a choice between simple confidence in the Spirit-filled ways of God versus nervous, hyper-active, carnal worldliness. . . .
It’s a picture of impotent restlessness versus fruitful quietness. Wasn’t it Pascal who said that all the world’s troubles are due to men’s inability to sit quietly in a room and read a book? Couldn’t we make that case for The Book?
Busyness can be a drug. It makes us feel important and needed. Fruitfulness is another matter. It is a miracle of God’s grace through his Word, imparted to a heart that stays quiet and low before him, set upon doing his will only.
It seems to me that there’s an important truth here: often, fruitfulness only comes by setting aside the activity that the world deems relevant. True fruitfulness comes from being rooted in God, and that requires time spent, not “doing something,” but sitting quietly in his presence. It requires time given over to “readpray, studypray, workpray, thinkpray,” that we may come to better know our God and draw more deeply from his life.
This means two things. First, as Mahaney says in the post Ortlund references, it’s very easy to avoid the truly important things by keeping ourselves very busy with the urgent things, because the world around us will see our busyness and approve; indeed, one difficulty in seeking to do the opposite can be that people will think we’re unproductive, and judge us accordingly. (Of course, that’s not without some reason, since one can always fall off into laziness this way as well, and actually become unproductive.) To be fruitful requires us to buckle down and identify what really matters, and then to focus on that; and thus it requires most of all that we devote ourselves to seeking God’s face, which we cannot effectively do in the midst of our busyness (though he can always interrupt our busyness, if he wills). For that, we need the spiritual disciplines of solitude and silence, “unproductive” though they may seem to be; and we need to be open to confront all the things about ourselves and our lives that we do not wish to confront.
Second, this means that we have to accept that our fruitfulness does not in the end arise out of our own strength. Certainly, we won’t be fruitful if we truly do nothing, but the sheer expenditure of energy won’t produce any fruit, either, if it’s merely our own. As Psalm 1 points out, the tree produces fruit not by frantic effort, but because it’s planted in good soil beside a river; it has sent its roots deep and is drinking deeply of the water, and drawing out the nutrients from that good soil. That is the effort from which the fruit comes, and no other.