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I’ve caught myself telling my daughters to be kind to each other as I holler at them for being unkind. How embarrassing. Can anyone relate?
What’s the matter Tim, can’t practice what you preach? Well, many days, no. But I do my best. I suppose the point is pursuing the characteristics that so elude us with relentless vigour.
And so, I am pursuing—always pursuing.
And here’s a quick thought on the act of pursuing. It comes from none other than Augustine, my fifth-century soul-mate. In one of his sermons he writes this:
If, though, you say, ‘That’s enough, that’s the lot,’ then you have perished. ... Always keep on walking, always forge ahead. …
“Let us walk by faith as long as we are in pilgrimage from the Lord, till we come to sight where we shall see face to face.
Augustine challenges those who claim to be Christ-followers to be continually taking inventory of their lives, to be pursuing a life worthy of the cross.
This isn’t some legalistic yoke he’s dolling out. No. It’s an encouragement to pursue Christ and his holiness. He’s not giving us a checklist. He’s saying what Kierkegaard says in one of his upbuilding discourses: our wills must seek one thing—to be totally Christ’s.
Similarly, the Chinese church leader Watchmen Nee sums up the Christian life with this statement from the Apostle Paul: “It is no longer I, but Christ.” This is the pursuit of the Christian.
Some think that when they come to faith in Christ, their pursuit of meaning has reached its end. But this is only the beginning. Coming to Christ is like finding the door to the New Narnia at the end of the final book in C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle. Narnia opens up in a never-ending and all-consuming landscape that bids them come “further up and further in.”
This is how it is when we pursue God. It is a journey that only intensifies but never ends. A.W. Tozer writes, in The Pursuit of God: “To have found God and still to pursue Him is the soul’s paradox of love.”
Okay, so that wasn’t the quickest thought on pursuing ever recorded, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me, and I hope the point was made as it relates to being kind to one another: if you fail, try, try again. And try by deepening your resolve to pursue Christ, and him only.
And now, back to kindness.
If you allow me, I’d like to ask a five-year-old’s question and attempt to answer it: Where does kindness come from?
Kindness does not come from busy-ness, that’s for sure. I think we can also rule out kindness stemming from self-centeredness.
When do you find yourself most kind?
I find myself most kind when I’m figuring out what someone else needs or giving of myself in some way—time, resources, insight. While being kind, I find myself evaluating my action.
“Oh, this is what it is to be kind,” I say to myself. “Things are slower in this world. Things are more at ease. Why am I so hasty? For in my haste, kindness leaves me.”
When I search my New Oxford Dictionary, I find kindness and compassion to be synonyms. Compassionate and kindness say the same thing: “I will meet you where you are weakest and not judge you, but join you, hold your hand and walk with you.”
“But Tim,” you say, “are you meaning to say that for kindness to rule in our hearts, we need to slow down a bit so that we can see the needs of others and offer ourselves to that need?”
“That is precisely what I’m saying, ole boy! Well done!” I say.
Here’s a quick hack for cultivating kindness in your days: seek solitude.
Henri Nouwen said for compassion to grow in an individual, he or she must dive into the discipline of solitude. “Compassion is the fruit of solitude,” he says, “and the fruit of all ministry.”
Solitude, in our modern culture, does not come easy or without a healthy dose of intentionality. It’s tough to escape. If you’re anything like me, you crave it more than once during your week.
You crave it at work when things begin to go sideways.
You crave it when the kids are hanging all over you, and you feel trapped.
You crave it when the stress and demands of everyday life feel as if they’re blaring at you at the highest decibels possible.
I feel you, my friend. How about right now, take a moment and breathe in. Just breathe. Let your shoulders relax and close your eyes. Ask God to water your spirit with the nourishing goodness of solitude—a solitude only he can give you right now.
“In solitude,” continues Nouwen “our heart of stone can be turned into a heart of flesh, a rebellious heart into a contrite heart, and a closed heart into a heart that can open itself to all suffering people in a gesture of solidarity.”
When I am most stressed, I am most unkind, and compassion wanes. To unlock the vault of kindness within, I must release those things that tie my mind and spirit to stress: provision issues, calendar issues, relational issues, and so much more.
It turns out that kindness needs space to breathe. But when it does breathe, it comes into your heart with the strength of heaven, invited by your broken and contrite heart.
“My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit,” writes the Psalmist. “A broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.” (Psalm 51:17, NIV)
When faced with a tense situation, ask yourself, “What would kindness say here?”
If the answer doesn’t come, seek the life-giving balm of solitude for a spell and seek the wisdom of the Lord with your whole heart. It was his love that compelled him to give himself up for us. And it should be our love for him that spurs us on in our pilgrimage and uncover the treasures of a contrite and kind heart.
Stay stoked my friends!
Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash
The Saturday Stoke #23