A Sermon for
Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
Sunday 16th
June 2024
Revelation 8.1-6
This morning, as we come to the third sermon in our short series on prayer,
I want us to think for a few minutes about spiritual disciplines.
The Baptist Minister John Colwell has rightly suggested,
if a rhythm of prayer doesn’t give shape to our life and service,
then something else surely will. [1]
And whilst a carefully prepared and well-structured hour
on a Sunday morning each week,
reflecting on who we are before God,
is certainly a good place to start;
the question that haunts me,
both personally and for us as a congregation,
is that of what is shaping us
as we go through each week from Sunday to Sunday?
And so I’m interested in what the Spiritual Disciplines might be
that form a person throughout their lives, day by day,
and what these might look like
at both a personal and congregational level.
I want to start today by turning our attention
to the classic spiritual disciplines of the Christian tradition,
which many people of faith down the centuries
have found to be places of solace and growth.
The ancient practice of Lectio Divina
is based on silent contemplative reflection upon the text of scripture.
It originates in the early Christian monastic tradition
and was popularised in the 6th Century
by St Benedict ‘the Father of Western Monasticism’.
In Lectio Divina, a deeper understanding and connection with God’s word
is achieved through the slow and prayerful reading of the Bible,
leading to spiritual growth and transformation.
It’s a beautiful way to engage with the written word of scripture,
and to deepen our faith,
and we’ve been exploring this with great benefit
in one of our small groups here at Bloomsbury.
A thousand years after St Benedict,
Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross,
two prominent mystics and Carmelite reformers from 16th-century Spain,
were similarly focused on the inner journey undertaken in solitude,
writing extensively about the practice of contemplation.
They both emphasised the importance
of solitude and silence in the spiritual life,
as well as the need for deep prayer and union with God.
A third 16th-century Spanish priest, St. Ignatius of Loyola
promoted the concept of retreat.
And one of the key features of so-called ‘Ignatian spirituality’,
is to go on retreats that are silent, guided experiences
lasting anywhere from a few days to a full month.
Well, fast forward with me to the early 1980s,
when I was growing up in a Baptist Chapel in Sevenoaks in Kent.
In my youth group I was taught the importance
of prioritising my Quiet Time,
a daily silent place to reflect on scripture and meet God in solitude;
little realising that this daily discipline
came from the ancient practices of the church,
mediated via Puritanism,
and popularised by the American evangelical revivalism
of the late nineteenth century.
In my adult life, I've done a fair bit of reading on Christian spirituality;
but truth be told, I’ve frequently been left feeling rather inadequate.
Let me explain.
I've done the Myers-Briggs personality type indicator a few times over the years,
and I consistently report as a strong 'E' -
that is, I am an Extrovert, rather than an Introvert.
This means I am energised by being with people,
but I am drained when I spend time alone.
And having been on many ‘retreats’ and ‘quiet days’ over the years,
my experience has been that of finding them either draining or challenging,
but never really refreshing.
A friend of mine, the Baptist Minister Ian Green,
has suggested that we ‘tailor make our retreats for introverts’,
and he provocatively wondered
what a ‘retreat for extroverts’ might look like?
And I think he might be onto something,
because the question I have frequently found myself asking
is whether a person with a more ‘Extroverted’ nature
means that they are inherently somehow less 'spiritual'
than those who report as strong 'Introverted' types?
Another friend commented to me recently
that in their opinion, spiritual disciplines
are an introverted conspiracy against extroverts!
I think we need to acknowledge something important here,
which is that church culture is often extroverted,
and often dominated by a particularly annoying kind of extrovert!
But the culture of Christian spirituality is usually, in my experience, the opposite,
and is dominated by those who are more introverted.
In their book 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' (SPCK, 2003),
Malcolm Goldsmith and Martin Wharton comment that:
'Extraverts... often feel that they are unable to pray,
and they feel uneasy when prayer is being discussed...
and they probably need help in realizing
that their thinking and action might well be a form of prayer...
Retreats and Quiet Days can leave them feeling 'outsider',
and somehow 'second class' when it comes to spirituality.' (p.158)
This is compounded because those to whom the church typically looks
as 'spiritual' people, the great 'spiritual' writers of the past and present,
so often seem to advocate pathways to God
which are predominantly Introverted, rather than Extroverted.
And all of this is fine, up to a point.
And the point is this:
For some of us, this is all a lot of hard work.
I'm not denying its value:
I do indeed take quiet days, engage in silent reflection and meditation,
and spend time alone in prayer.
But, and it's a big but,
this is not my naturally preferred place to be.
For me, and I suspect for other extroverts as well,
it is tiring, draining, hard work.
And it's not that I'm afraid of a bit of hard work from time to time:
we all have to work hard at things.
But I'm not sure I want to locate my primary place of divine encounter
in that place which also drains and exhausts me.
Because if I do, when I am tired and stressed from the rest of my life,
the last thing I'll want to do is go and meet God.
The tradition of personal and individual spiritual disciplines
tends to draw its biblical examples
by focussing on the stories of Jesus spending time alone.
But my question, in the context of extroverted spirituality,
is what does Jesus look like when he is with others?
After all, the Gospels depict Jesus spending time
with a wide variety of people throughout his ministry,
both in large crowds and intimate settings.
So, we see Jesus spending time with his close friends,
with the twelve disciples and in family settings.
Here we find Jesus teaching, but also sharing meals, and travelling together.
For instance, in Mark 4:34-41, Jesus is out in a boat with his friends
when he calms the storm.
We also find Jesus spending time with the marginalized,
interacting with people on the fringes of society,
and showing compassion and acceptance.
So in Luke 19:1-10, Jesus visits the home of Zacchaeus,
a tax collector ostracized by many.
Jesus also spends time with women,
including them in his teachings and healings,
in contravention of the customs of the time.
For example, in John 4:7-42 he has a profound conversation
with a Samaritan woman at a well.
And Jesus spends time with mourners,
showing empathy and care for those in grief,
such as Mary and Martha
mourning their brother’s death in John 11:1-44.
In all of these examples, and I could have given many more,
there is something deeply spiritual
about each moment of encounter
between Jesus and the other person.
These are not chance interactions,
they are intentional moments;
and whilst we must give due credit to the gospel authors
for the way they frame these stories,
I think there is an authentic Jesus-tradition coming through here,
of the extroverted spiritual moment
of divine-human encounter.
And so I'm starting to wonder,
what an Extroverted Spirituality might look like?
I’m starting to wonder what spiritual disciplines could look like
that offer a sustainable and nourishing challenge for extroverts,
in the same way that more introverted disciplines
function for more naturally introverted people.
And I also wonder whether an exploration of extroverted disciplines
might pose a helpful challenge
to those among us of a more introverted disposition,
in an analogous manner to how the introverted disciplines
can helpfully challenge the extroverts?
Are extroverts any less 'spiritual'?
I think not.
But the spirituality they embody is different.
In today's world, we are bombarded with a cacophony of distractions,
from the relentless stream of news and social media
to the confusion of fake news and misinformation.
This constant noise can make it difficult for us
to find clarity, discern truth, and connect with God.
Sometimes it takes collective effort
to hear the beat of God’s heart
among the competing rhythms of our lives.
And while Christians often seek solace in the "still small voice of calm,"
I think it's important to recognize that God's presence can be found
amidst the chaos as well.
So instead of always searching for peace and quiet,
my conviction is that we must also learn to hear God's voice
and experience the divine presence
even in the middle of life's turmoil.
This morning, as we come to the third sermon in our short series on prayer,
I want us to think for a few minutes about spiritual disciplines.
The Baptist Minister John Colwell has rightly suggested,
if a rhythm of prayer doesn’t give shape to our life and service,
then something else surely will. [1]
And whilst a carefully prepared and well-structured hour
on a Sunday morning each week,
reflecting on who we are before God,
is certainly a good place to start;
the question that haunts me,
both personally and for us as a congregation,
is that of what is shaping us
as we go through each week from Sunday to Sunday?
And so I’m interested in what the Spiritual Disciplines might be
that form a person throughout their lives, day by day,
and what these might look like
at both a personal and congregational level.
I want to start today by turning our attention
to the classic spiritual disciplines of the Christian tradition,
which many people of faith down the centuries
have found to be places of solace and growth.
The ancient practice of Lectio Divina
is based on silent contemplative reflection upon the text of scripture.
It originates in the early Christian monastic tradition
and was popularised in the 6th Century
by St Benedict ‘the Father of Western Monasticism’.
In Lectio Divina, a deeper understanding and connection with God’s word
is achieved through the slow and prayerful reading of the Bible,
leading to spiritual growth and transformation.
It’s a beautiful way to engage with the written word of scripture,
and to deepen our faith,
and we’ve been exploring this with great benefit
in one of our small groups here at Bloomsbury.
A thousand years after St Benedict,
Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross,
two prominent mystics and Carmelite reformers from 16th-century Spain,
were similarly focused on the inner journey undertaken in solitude,
writing extensively about the practice of contemplation.
They both emphasised the importance
of solitude and silence in the spiritual life,
as well as the need for deep prayer and union with God.
A third 16th-century Spanish priest, St. Ignatius of Loyola
promoted the concept of retreat.
And one of the key features of so-called ‘Ignatian spirituality’,
is to go on retreats that are silent, guided experiences
lasting anywhere from a few days to a full month.
Well, fast forward with me to the early 1980s,
when I was growing up in a Baptist Chapel in Sevenoaks in Kent.
In my youth group I was taught the importance
of prioritising my Quiet Time,
a daily silent place to reflect on scripture and meet God in solitude;
little realising that this daily discipline
came from the ancient practices of the church,
mediated via Puritanism,
and popularised by the American evangelical revivalism
of the late nineteenth century.
In my adult life, I've done a fair bit of reading on Christian spirituality;
but truth be told, I’ve frequently been left feeling rather inadequate.
Let me explain.
I've done the Myers-Briggs personality type indicator a few times over the years,
and I consistently report as a strong 'E' -
that is, I am an Extrovert, rather than an Introvert.
This means I am energised by being with people,
but I am drained when I spend time alone.
And having been on many ‘retreats’ and ‘quiet days’ over the years,
my experience has been that of finding them either draining or challenging,
but never really refreshing.
A friend of mine, the Baptist Minister Ian Green,
has suggested that we ‘tailor make our retreats for introverts’,
and he provocatively wondered
what a ‘retreat for extroverts’ might look like?
And I think he might be onto something,
because the question I have frequently found myself asking
is whether a person with a more ‘Extroverted’ nature
means that they are inherently somehow less 'spiritual'
than those who report as strong 'Introverted' types?
Another friend commented to me recently
that in their opinion, spiritual disciplines
are an introverted conspiracy against extroverts!
I think we need to acknowledge something important here,
which is that church culture is often extroverted,
and often dominated by a particularly annoying kind of extrovert!
But the culture of Christian spirituality is usually, in my experience, the opposite,
and is dominated by those who are more introverted.
In their book 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' (SPCK, 2003),
Malcolm Goldsmith and Martin Wharton comment that:
'Extraverts... often feel that they are unable to pray,
and they feel uneasy when prayer is being discussed...
and they probably need help in realizing
that their thinking and action might well be a form of prayer...
Retreats and Quiet Days can leave them feeling 'outsider',
and somehow 'second class' when it comes to spirituality.' (p.158)
This is compounded because those to whom the church typically looks
as 'spiritual' people, the great 'spiritual' writers of the past and present,
so often seem to advocate pathways to God
which are predominantly Introverted, rather than Extroverted.
And all of this is fine, up to a point.
And the point is this:
For some of us, this is all a lot of hard work.
I'm not denying its value:
I do indeed take quiet days, engage in silent reflection and meditation,
and spend time alone in prayer.
But, and it's a big but,
this is not my naturally preferred place to be.
For me, and I suspect for other extroverts as well,
it is tiring, draining, hard work.
And it's not that I'm afraid of a bit of hard work from time to time:
we all have to work hard at things.
But I'm not sure I want to locate my primary place of divine encounter
in that place which also drains and exhausts me.
Because if I do, when I am tired and stressed from the rest of my life,
the last thing I'll want to do is go and meet God.
The tradition of personal and individual spiritual disciplines
tends to draw its biblical examples
by focussing on the stories of Jesus spending time alone.
But my question, in the context of extroverted spirituality,
is what does Jesus look like when he is with others?
After all, the Gospels depict Jesus spending time
with a wide variety of people throughout his ministry,
both in large crowds and intimate settings.
So, we see Jesus spending time with his close friends,
with the twelve disciples and in family settings.
Here we find Jesus teaching, but also sharing meals, and travelling together.
For instance, in Mark 4:34-41, Jesus is out in a boat with his friends
when he calms the storm.
We also find Jesus spending time with the marginalized,
interacting with people on the fringes of society,
and showing compassion and acceptance.
So in Luke 19:1-10, Jesus visits the home of Zacchaeus,
a tax collector ostracized by many.
Jesus also spends time with women,
including them in his teachings and healings,
in contravention of the customs of the time.
For example, in John 4:7-42 he has a profound conversation
with a Samaritan woman at a well.
And Jesus spends time with mourners,
showing empathy and care for those in grief,
such as Mary and Martha
mourning their brother’s death in John 11:1-44.
In all of these examples, and I could have given many more,
there is something deeply spiritual
about each moment of encounter
between Jesus and the other person.
These are not chance interactions,
they are intentional moments;
and whilst we must give due credit to the gospel authors
for the way they frame these stories,
I think there is an authentic Jesus-tradition coming through here,
of the extroverted spiritual moment
of divine-human encounter.
And so I'm starting to wonder,
what an Extroverted Spirituality might look like?
I’m starting to wonder what spiritual disciplines could look like
that offer a sustainable and nourishing challenge for extroverts,
in the same way that more introverted disciplines
function for more naturally introverted people.
And I also wonder whether an exploration of extroverted disciplines
might pose a helpful challenge
to those among us of a more introverted disposition,
in an analogous manner to how the introverted disciplines
can helpfully challenge the extroverts?
Are extroverts any less 'spiritual'?
I think not.
But the spirituality they embody is different.
In today's world, we are bombarded with a cacophony of distractions,
from the relentless stream of news and social media
to the confusion of fake news and misinformation.
This constant noise can make it difficult for us
to find clarity, discern truth, and connect with God.
Sometimes it takes collective effort
to hear the beat of God’s heart
among the competing rhythms of our lives.
And while Christians often seek solace in the "still small voice of calm,"
I think it's important to recognize that God's presence can be found
amidst the chaos as well.
So instead of always searching for peace and quiet,
my conviction is that we must also learn to hear God's voice
and experience the divine presence
even in the middle of life's turmoil.
You may not have noticed this, but the book of Revelation
is one of the noisiest books in the Bible.
As well as being filled with vivid imagery and symbolic language,
the descriptions it gives of various forms of noise
all contribute to the apocalyptic vision presented in the text.
So if we read through we are greeted by the sound of Trumpets (Revelation 8-9)
as a series of seven trumpets are sounded by angels,
each heralding a specific judgement or event,
bringing loud noises that signify impending doom.
These are set against the Shouts and acclamations (Revelation 5:12; 7:10)
of a multitude of angels and people
who are heard shouting and praising God with loud voices.
Then from the heavens we get Thunder and lightning (Revelation 4:5; 8:5)
heralding the throne of God,
emphasizing the awe-inspiring power of the divine.
The opening of the seven seals (Revelation 6:1-8)
is accompanied by the loud roars and rumblings of the four living creatures,
further amplifying the dramatic events unfolding in the vision,
and against these we get the heavenly choir singing a new song
before the throne of God, (Revelation 14:2-3)
representing the joyful worship of the redeemed;
while the voices of martyrs cry out to God for justice and vindication (Revelation 6:9-10),
as their suffering and prayers reach for the divine presence.
These noisy elements in the book of Revelation
contribute to the overall sense of urgency and intensity
as the narrative builds towards its climactic end
and the loud proclamation of God's kingdom on earth.
So it is something of a surprise, and an encouragement,
to read in Revelation 8:1
that ‘when the Lamb opened the seventh seal,
there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.’
And I say this only partially tongue-in cheek,
but I think, as an extrovert, that that’s about right.
Half an hour of silence is fine.
Not a quiet morning, or a quiet day, or a week, or a month…
I’m not trying to be trivial here,
rather I want to make the point
that in the midst of the noise and bustle of our lives,
so vividly evoked in the text of the apocalypse,
the call to silence and introversion can legitimately, for some of us at least,
be the exception rather than the rule.
My challenge here is that the divine presence
is often to be found as much in the earthquake, wind, and fire,
in the thunder and the whirlwind,
as it is in the sound of sheer silence,
or the still small voice of calm. (cf. 1 Kings 19.11-12)
The rhythm of energy and stillness,
of individuality and community,
of introversion and extroversion,
is not a rhythm of entering and leaving the presence of God.
The question, I think, is how do we discern God’s presence,
how do we encounter the resurrected Christ,
in the loudness as well as the quietness,
in the other as well as in the solitude?
Many times, holiness is viewed
as maintaining a separation from the impurities of the world,
including the often murky realm of politics.
But I’d rather we asked the question
of how Christians can engage spiritually with the world of politics
interacting with holiness and with discipline
alongside those who navigate its complexities?
A crucial point here, I think, is to recognize the connection
between holiness and the pursuit of justice.
When people of faith actively engage in works of justice,
they cultivate a profound spirituality
that extends into the public sphere.
This active pursuit of justice shapes individuals
and their relationship with the world,
fostering spiritual growth and transformation.
Engaging in justice work is, in essence,
spiritual formation on the front line of societal challenge and change.
This is why as a church we often find ourselves involved in acts of public politics,
whether through our involvement
in the Community Organising network of Citizens UK,
or through the partnerships with have with, for example,
the Racial Justice Advocacy Forum.
At a personal level, the times I am most often moved to tears
are when I see people of faith taking action
to bring justice and equity to the lives of those
who are excluded and oppressed.
These are deeply spiritual acts.
A few weeks ago we hosted an event
entitled ‘Unapologetically Faithful in the Public Sphere’,
and this was co-led by people
from the Jewish, Muslim and Christian traditions.
At this event, we shared how our diverse faith traditions
led us to the common ground of taking action, as people of faith,
for the betterment of the common good.
This is public spirituality in action, in community,
and as such it is deeply rooted in the traditions of our faith.
So, as we draw towards a close, I have a few parting thoughts
on what spiritual disciplines for extroverts might look like.
At the heart of these is the question of where you get your energy.
Where can the extroverted person go
to encounter the Spirit of Christ
in ways that nurture and challenge,
but are also sustainable?
And how can these challenge each of us,
whether we are ourselves Extroverted or Introverted,
to meet God in new ways in our daily living?
My first suggestion is that we:
1. Intentionally seek to encounter God through interaction with others.
When acknowledge that God is not only found in solitude
or quiet contemplation
but also in the rich tapestry of human connections and relationships,
we rediscover that each person we encounter is a unique creation,
bearing the image of God,
and that through authentic engagement with them, whoever they are,
we experience the incarnation of God's love and grace
in new and profound ways.
2. Listen for the voice of Christ when talking with others.
What would it do for the quality of our relationships, I wonder,
if we intentionally went into each conversation, each encounter,
expecting to hear words from Christ,
spoken through the words of the other?
3. Seek the counsel of others when engaging in discernment.
Both at a personal and communal level,
we need each other in our decision-making.
One rather challenging example is issued Stuart Murray Williams,
in his book ‘Beyond Tithing’,
where he encourages people to create communities of financial accountability,
where decisions about what we do with our money
are taken in dialogue with trusted fellow-disciples.
As we seek counsel from friends, mentors, or spiritual leaders,
we open ourselves to new perspectives and opportunities for growth
that may not have been apparent
when considering our situation in isolation.
4. Believe that it is as we gather that we discern the mind of Christ.
Rooted in the conviction
that the collective wisdom and experience of the body of Christ
can serve as a conduit for divine insight,
this practice calls us to prioritize the fellowship we belong to
as an essential component of our spiritual journey.
The Baptist congregationalist conviction
is that the discernment of the mind of Christ happens in community.
Our practice of the Church Meeting as the place of spiritual encounter,
is one which locates the ultimate authority for decision making for a congregation,
in the realm of interpersonal interaction.
Such a meeting might well include, in fact should certainly include,
space for prayer and silence;
but as the Quakers have discovered,
silence held in community is of a different quality to silence held individually.
There is something profoundly and appropriately extroverted
about the Baptist spiritual practice of the church meeting.
5. Practice accountability with others.
I’ve already mentioned the idea of financial accountability groups,
as part of the discipline of seeking the counsel of others in discernment,
but by inviting trusted companions to hold us accountable more generally,
in our intentions, commitments, and spiritual practices,
we embrace vulnerability and acknowledge our need
for support and guidance along our faith journey.
For me, regular sessions with my Spiritual Director, and my Pastoral Supervisor,
are crucial in helping maintain a rhythm of accountability in my spiritual life.
6. Engage in introverted spiritual disciplines, but not daily.
For extroverts who thrive on social interaction,
and may find energy in the company of others,
intentionally setting aside time to engage in introverted spiritual practices
can build personal growth and spiritual maturity.
By embracing solitude and silence,
extroverts can connect with their inner selves
and discern the voice of God in a more intimate and profound way.
However, it is important for extroverts to strike a balance
between introverted and extroverted spiritual disciplines.
Engaging in introverted practices daily
might prove overwhelming or draining
for those who draw energy from external sources.
By incorporating these practices periodically, rather than daily,
extroverts can benefit from the rich insights gained through introspection
while maintaining a healthy balance in their spiritual journey.
7. When Christ is encountered, tell someone about it.
I’m one of those people who often doesn’t realise something
until I’ve told someone else about it.
And so the practice of sharing our testimonies and moments of divine connection
helps to create a vibrant and supportive faith community
where individuals can learn from one another
and grow in their relationship with God.
8. Seek the forgiveness of others, because it is often there that our own forgiveness by Christ will be encountered.
When we take the courageous step
of acknowledging our wrongdoings and asking for forgiveness,
we not only repair relationships
but also open ourselves to experience the healing power of forgiveness
in a more profound and tangible way.
This discipline encourages us to be vulnerable and honest,
recognizing that our actions have the potential to cause harm
and that genuine reconciliation requires humility
and a willingness to change.
9. Pay attention to what is encountered in the other,
because it is often there that we find our inner self.
By truly listening to and learning from
the stories, perspectives, and emotions of others,
we gain insights into our own thoughts, emotions, and motivations,
ultimately enriching our spiritual growth and self-discovery.
As we connect with others on a deeper level,
we begin to understand that our individual journeys
are part of a larger tapestry of human experience,
and we discover that our inner selves
are often reflected in the lives of those around us.
10.Recognise that works of justice are a form of prayer.
By actively working to address systemic injustices
and to promote equity, inclusion, and compassion,
we are engaging in a powerful form of prayer
that seeks to align our actions with the values and teachings of our faith.
Prayer is not limited
to quiet contemplation or spoken words
but can also be expressed through a shared commitment
to creating a more just and loving world.
Conclusion
My hope is that I’ve stimulated some thought,
and maybe challenged some preconceptions,
but I’m very aware that what I’ve offered today
is the beginnings of a journey of discovery.
It is, in essence, my own spiritual journey writ large,
and that journey is far from complete.
We’ll be discussing all this the Online Group
at the end of July,
and I’d love to invite you to come and be part of that
to share your thoughts, your insights,
your challenges, and your contributions,
as I continue trying to work out what it means
to be intentionally spiritual
in an extroverted personality.
[1] John Colwell, The Rhythm of Doctrine: A Liturgical Sketch of Christian Faith and Faithfulness.
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