Lately, I’ve been attending to fitness more often than in the past. On days when I bring my less than perfect physique to the gym, I am surrounded by many specimens of humanity, quite a few displaying bodily forms closer to the ideal of fitness than mine. Occasionally I note with regret how much catching up I have to do, and even feel a pang of guilt over my neglect of bodily needs.
But lately I’ve found a better frame of mind, one more suitable for any effort at self-improvement – the past is behind me and I am starting anew. Most importantly, I am here to compete with myself and myself alone.
Fortified by this sensible attitude, I quickly scan the long rows of ellipticals and stationary bikes, weight machines and treadmills, looking for an open spot. After finding an empty machine I clamber aboard, settle into place, and start off, joining the gathered assembly as we pedal, pump, and perspire, all of us struggling, as one, toward the pinnacle of bodily perfection.
We are not alone in this aspiration. Taking care of the body has long been a preoccupation, perhaps even an obsession, for many people in our culture. Any gym, and there are countless thousands to choose from, offers not only fitness machines and fitness classes, but also fitness experts who offer counsel and guidance as we struggle to stay on the straight and narrow in our quest for bodily self-improvement.
Regular attendance at a gym is a great way to tend to our physical selves – to the outer shell, so to speak – but what about the inner self? How much care do we lavish on the soul, the spirit?
It’s tempting to picture nurture of the soul as an other-worldly counterpart to nurture of the body. Each endeavor seems to take us on a separate path, each using its own set of techniques, one bodily, the other spiritual. Aren’t the followers of both engaged in serious efforts at self-improvement, just to different aspects of the self?
Soon after I returned to Christianity a number of years ago and began to explore the spiritual dimension of my new faith, I learned how misleading this notion is.
I had joined a group in my church that was gathering weekly to discuss the subject and found that the book used was ideal for a beginner like me – Richard Foster’s classic Celebration of Discipline. Foster discusses twelve spiritual practices. Several, like prayer, worship, and study of scripture, are familiar to anyone who has dipped their toe into Christianity or even observed it from the outside. Others, like solitude, simplicity, and service to others, may be less familiar.
Even a cursory reading of Foster’s deliberations on the disciplines will make clear the first of three ways in which Christian spiritual growth differs from physical exercise. Each practice must arise out of a core of belief and commitment. These beliefs and practices bring us into deep connection – with one another, with the meaning of scripture, and ultimately with God.
Second, the disciplines should not be seen as isolated techniques. Church historian Jerry Sittser warns that in our modern culture we tend to believe that with the right method we can master anything – even the inner self. In the introduction to his history of Christian spirituality, Water From a Deep Well, he advises that the disciplines must be embedded in a deeper and broader spiritual effort – to seek, know, and experience God.
Finally, the spiritual disciplines are not a means of self-improvement. We do not make ourselves spiritually fit. Rather it is the hand of God that shapes us, in the same way that a sculptor shapes a block of stone. The disciplines are the means by which we make ourselves available to God so that He can shape and guide us toward the ideal of the Christian life.
This never-ending spiritual seeking is what has allowed Christianity along with the other major religions to stand for so long. Like great trees, they tower above the more mundane affairs of life, offering inspiration and shelter to their believers.
Can a spirituality cut off from rich sources of understanding like these sustain us? Without deep roots like those offered by the traditional faiths, isn’t there a risk of wandering aimlessly, untethered from any coherent set of beliefs?
Won’t we end up adrift, lost in the wilderness without map and compass, unable to find our way home?
Suggested Reading
Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster
Water From a Deep Well – A History of Christian Spirituality by Jerry Sittse
