Church people may get what that means, but it's not the most easily decipherable concept. He's pretty much saying that rules exist to help people live better, not to restrict them or make things more difficult. Sometimes the rules make our lives more difficult in the short term, but prove important for our long term ease of life. This wasn't one of those instances. In this case, the rules were incongruous with common sense and reality.
It's easy for some of us to become obsessed with the rules. We get this notion that if something is codified in law or rule, then it's morally impeachable. Yes, there is moral value in following the rules and getting along with one another. This isn't necessarily an anarchist sentiment, but we do have to recognize that context matters. Rules are made for people, not people for rules. No one gets pulled over for going 66 in a 65 - they certainly could - it's a violation of the law - but reality gives us some leeway there, especially if the car is already going slower than the speed of traffic. Rules are made for people, not people for rules.
I was thinking about a real life situation where this comes up and I came up with this:
Let's say there's a midweek day game at Tropicana Field, home of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (capacity 40,473) in early May. We're just starting the second inning and Steve is camped out with his three year old son along the third base line. They've got hot dogs half eaten and frosty lemonades in the cupholders. They've also got the section to themselves (attendance for this game is about 4,500). It's a great day until Jim arrives. He stands over Steve and waves his ticket, "I've got Section 119, Row E, seat 2 - you're in my spot." Steve motions around to his kid and their food. "Sorry man, I figured it didn't matter today, can you just sit somewhere else?" "No way. I want my seat." "We've got all our stuff out, it'll be difficult to move everything - there's four empty rows between us and the field, you'll have a great view anywhere." "Sorry. Get out. My ticket says Section 119, Row E, seat 2, and that's where I want to sit."
The exchange catches the attention of an usher who hurries down to ask if she can help. Hearing the situation, she also encourages Jim to pick a different seat. He refuses even more vociferously. Reluctantly the usher sighs and asks Steve and his son to move, helping them with their food and setting them up two rows back.
Obviously the rules are the rules. The guy has a right to sit in the seat he purchased, but common sense and the interests of human decency dictate that the guy just pick a different seat. Rules are made for people, not people for rules. We really need to be sure we're not so committed to getting everything "right" by some objective standard that we miss the real opportunity for human interaction and care. No one is really right in this story, and no one is really wrong. In these moments it becomes an issue of discernment - figuring out what makes the most sense for calm and peace and order to proceed.
(And for those of you following the sports news recently, Tom Brady is Steve, the NFL is Jim, and Ryan Grigson is the guy sitting by himself in the top row of upper deck section 322 complaining that the whole thing's unfair.)
This week I was privileged to take part in a prayer retreat at the beautiful St. Mary of Providence Center in the rolling, farm-covered hills of southeastern Pennsylvania. It was the second year I participated in this event. It is a group event, but quite unstructured, so as to allow the participants to find the appropriate retreat for themselves.
As I did last year, upon arrival, I unpacked the few belonging I brought with me, some clothes, a number of books, my toothbrush – and then immediately emptied my pockets. The freedom of walking around with limited attachments is quite breathtaking. Especially important is the forsaking of my phone. I don’t get or make a lot of calls, but my phone serves as my timekeeper; I haven’t worn a watch in years. The act of leaving it beside my bed as I spent the next two days apart from it was both scary and hopeful.
I am a slave of the clock. I have had trouble ridding myself of this learned US obsession with time and efficiency. I always feel like I should be doing more and doing it faster. I am always aware of the next thing on the agenda and working to get to it faster. The whole idea is to build this mythical reserve of time, which never materializes. Rest is a non-existent motivation.
Retreat allows for rest. I intentionally spurn the clock. If I oversleep and miss a meal, it won’t kill me. If I get lost in prayer or reading, the time doesn’t matter. I have often stated that one of the main purposes for our corporate worship gatherings is for us to escape the business and constraints of the world. A retreat is designed, at least for me, to expand that escape to a long enough period of time that it feels like a lifestyle.
There was no computer; I took only two calls with my wife, short ones at that – she is wonderful in understanding the purpose of such a retreat – there was no real agenda. I participated in group sessions for sharing and prayer, but most of my effort was focused on simply forgetting the schedule.
As I returned home yesterday afternoon, I immediately turned on my computer – I am sure there is much to catch up on. As it began to boot and load, I realized that there was no immediate need to interact what that world just yet. I took the evening off to sit in the living room with my wife, watch some TV and gradually re-immerse myself into the world, the escape from which was so soothing to my soul.
It began to dawn on me that the purpose of retreat this year was not simply to escape the cycle of efficiency and business for two days, but perhaps to reimagine that very cycle in my own life. I was to bring retreat back to my world in some way. We cannot be completely disconnected from the cycle – it is an inherent part of life – but it can be managed and corralled with discipline, focus and intentionality.
So I write this entry before checking my email. I write it before checking the news of the week or the sports scores, before posting on a message board or playing a game. I find this almost too good to be true. Can I really engage differently with the world?
That, in and of itself, is the question of the gospel. If Jesus Christ came to show us a different way, is that really something that makes sense in a world that shapes and forms us for the opposite. I have banked my life on the idea that the answer is yes, now it is time to see how well that bears out in practice.
