“Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is set on earthly things.” Philippians 3:19.
John Pritchard writes in The life and work of a Priest, that as the head of a sunflower stays turned towards the sun, so we ought to keep our hearts and minds always fixed upon God.
Today is Ash Wednesday, and as I sit here, my forehead recently smeared with oily ash, I’m pondering how much this is true of me. The question I want to ask of myself this Lent is: What do I keep my attention fixed upon most often? What dominates my thoughts and my desires? What are my priorities? What do I care too much for that it's stopping me from lifting my head up and keeping my eyes fixed upon God? Which makes me want to ask the question: who or what is my God?
Who is our God?
Is our iPad our God? Our tablet, or our mobile phone? Does it claim our attention in the evenings; something we disappear into, and zone out, so we don't interact with the people around us? How often do we check it? Are the “push notifications” which buzz and ping perhaps drowning out the quiet, whispering voice of God?
Is food our God? Is it more to us than just sustenance and fuel? Food is, of course, a pleasure and meant to be enjoyed, but has overindulgence become a habit? Has the mentality of “treating yourself” and “deserving it” become a well-worn mantra; over used, and over-done. Do we eat to fill a void inside us that God ought to be filling? Or do we deny ourselves food in an attempt to wrestle back control of a body that we sometimes feel powerless over? Is denying ourselves food the only thing we can control, in a world where we feel out of control, and disempowered, and ignored?
Is coffee our God? Can't get up in the morning without having it, right? Can't do without it.
What about chocolate? Or wine? Are Friday nights just not worth living through if we can't kick back and relax, without a glass of Shiraz or Chardonnay, or whatever our poison is?
Is the gym our God? Do we live for the adrenaline rush that only comes after we’ve done 10k on the treadmill, or 50 lengths of the pool? Do we need the addictive endorphin rush that comes from knowing we’ve smashed our personal best, or we’ve beaten our latest target. Is winning our God?
Is work our God? Do we live to work, rather than working to live, despite that this keeps us out of the house and away from our family. Or are we just addicted to being busy, all the time, and are unable to just sit still, and be?
Is our mirror our God? Are we obsessed by our own image, and scrutinise it incessantly for any flaw? Do we take – and re-take – endless selfies, which we painstakingly apply the most flattering filter to, in order to upload onto our social media so we can bask in the number of “likes” that we get? Is our own image our God?
Take a quick leaf through the Old Testament, and you'll quickly learn that nothing ticks off God more than His people worshipping false idols. We might not be burning children, or engaging in orgies (well, not all of us) but I'm certain that our modern preoccupations with worshipping ourselves, celebrities, and the all-mighty dollar, aren't going to impress Him either.
Give it up. Give it all up. Give up trying to be in control and let God take the wheel for once. Give up all those things – all that stuff – that you think you need and that you consider essential for your daily happiness. Strip back the over-reliance on the iPad, or the caffeine, or whatever you rely on to get through the day. Make yourself vulnerable, and allow yourself to rely on God instead. When you deliberately punch holes in your daily life, in your routine or your habits, then you create space for God to move in.
“From dust we came, and to dust we shall return. Repent of sin, and turn towards Christ.”
Sin encompasses those things which separate us from God; in fact, you could argue that this is the very definition of sin. During this Lenten-tide I'm going to give up my over reliance on comfort and all the many crutches that I think I depend on. I'm going to allow that hollow place deep within me to remain empty for once, rather than stuffing food into it, or endless cups of coffee, or whatever I do in order to fill it, and I'm going to allow God to address it instead. It is a God-shaped space, after all.
And like the sunflower following the light of the sun, I will turn towards Christ.