Inward Simplicity: The Divine Center, Part II

The Principle of Contentment

One of the most profound effects of inward simplicity is the rise of an amazing spirit of contentment. Gone is the need to strain and pull to get ahead. In rushes a glorious indifference to position, status, or possession. Living out of this wonderful Center causes all other concerns to fade into insignificance. So utterly immersed was St. Paul in this reality that from a Roman prison he could write, “I have learned, in whatever state I am, to be content” (Phil. 4.11). To be abased or to abound was a matter of indifference to him. Plenty and hunger, abundance and want were immaterial to this little Jew with the Titan soul. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” he said, and so he lived (Phil. 4:13, NEW KJV).

How cleverly Paul turned the tables on all those who taught that “godliness is a means of gain” by replying that “there is great gain in godliness with contentment” (I Tim. 6:5, 6). He saw that the problem with material gain is its inability to bring contentment. John D. Rockefeller was once asked how much money it would take to be really satisfied. He answered, “Just a little bit more!” And that is precisely our problem—it always takes a little more; contentment always remains elusive.

But the wonderful thing about simplicity is its ability to give us contentment. Do you understand what a freedom this is? To live in contentment means we can opt out of the status race and the maddening pace that is its necessary partner. We can shout “No!” to the insanity which chants, “More, more, more!” we can rest contented in the gracious provision of God.

I still remember the day this reality struck me with unusual force. I was passing by some very expensive homes, and began pondering our perennial tendency to want something bigger, better, and more plush, At the same time, I was monitoring the rise of covetousness in my spirit as I admired those homes. I carried on a little inward dialogue. Was it possible, I wondered, to come to the place where you do not desire more house even if you can afford it? Couldn’t you decide on a particular economic livability level and rest contented with that, even if your income exceeded it considerably? The response was swift: “Oh yes! It is not necessary to always crave more. You can live contented with what you have, with no further desire to accumulate more.” I’m quite sure I have not attained this holy contentment, but from time to time I have known a measure of its liberating graces and have found it a wonderful resting place.

Think of the misery that comes into our lives by our restless gnawing greed. We plunge ourselves into enormous debt and then take two and three jobs to stay afloat. We uproot our families with unnecessary moves just so we can have a more prestigious house. We grasp and grab and never have enough. And most destructive of all, our flashy cars and sports spectaculars and backyard pools have a way of crowding out much interest in civil rights or inner city poverty or the starved masses of India. Greed has a way of severing the cords of compassion. How clearly the Apostle Paul saw this when he warned that our lust for wealth causes us to fall into “many senseless and hurtful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction” (I Tim. 6:9).

But we do not need to be imprisoned to avarice. We can be ushered into a life of peace and serenity. With Paul we can say, “If we have food and clothing, with these we shall be content” (I Tim. 6:8). I wish I could end our discussion of contentment on this high note. But as you have probably already realized, contentment has certain difficulties. The great problem with a principle of contentment is its tendency to baptize the status quo, to give religious sanction to present conditions. It is the kind of counsel that the powerful enjoy giving to the poor and defenseless. Often it is the very spirit of discontent that has prompted wonderful changes for good. There is a kind of holy restlessness that inspires important social advances. And so we are faced with the practical issue of knowing when our disquiet stems from a God-given concern to improve conditions, and when it is the result of self-serving greed. There are, of course, no foolproof answers, but I share the following guidelines in the hope that they may at least turn us in the right direction.

First, we can share the concern with other brothers and sisters whose discernment we respect. Second, if our restlessness has its root in anguish over the plight of those whose condition is clearly desperate, most likely it is of the Lord. Third, if the concern involves the well-being of our children, it is often right. Fourth, if we are wanting to improve our own state, we should not automatically assume that it is wrong. Fifth, let us consider if our discontent has its source in a lack of inward peace with Christ. Sixth, we need to learn to distinguish a genuine psychological need, such as cheerful surroundings, from an obsession. Seventh, we must grow in our discernment between desires that spring from Heavenly Love and those arising from the love of money. Eighth, by an act of the will we must still every motion that is centered in greed.

Moving Up and In

The inner integration I have described is the longing of many. We weary of competing commitments and exhausting schedules. We desire to be obedient to God in all things, and have a growing knowledge that this frantic scramble is not his will. We yearn to enter the deep silences that give unity and force to our service.

Desire, however, is not enough. If we expect to enter the inward simplicity for which we were created, we will need to order our lives in specific ways. The things we do will not give us simplicity of heart, but they will put us in the place where we can receive it.

One way to nurture simplicity is through the discipline of silence. Society is dominated by the inane notion that action is the only reality. Please, for God’s sake and your own, don’t just do something, stand there! Come in and enjoy his presence. Sink down into the light of Christ and become comfortable in that posture. Open the subterranean sanctuary of your soul and listen for the Kol Yahweh, the voice of the Lord. To do so gives us focus, unity, purpose. We discover serenity, unshakableness, firmness of life orientation.

At first we will hesitate to do this. It is strange territory and, as Blaise Pascal said, “The eternal silence of the infinite spaces terrifies me.” But if we will once overcome our fear and quiet ourselves we will discover that Christ is our Friend who desires our company. Our fear comes from our unfamiliarity with centering down our lives. In his book Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart, Wayne Oates says, “Silence is not native to my world. Silence, more than likely, is a stranger to your world, too. If you and I ever have silence in our noisy hearts, we are going to have to grow it. . . . You can nurture silence in your noisy heart if you value it, cherish it, and are eager to nourish it.”

Yes, we can have a holy silence within, but we need to nurture it. And when we do, miracles occur. If we are assailed by temptation, all we need to do is quiet ourselves into the power of God and watch the good rise up and the evil dissipate. It is wonderful—this resting in God, this stilling of frantic activity, this seeking first his Kingdom.

At all times, but especially in the beginning, we need to find a specific time and place to nurture silence. As a teenager I used to go out behind the garage and sit on a wall with my feet on the trash cans. It was a quiet sanctuary there, and I learned to commune with the Father. One May day Frank Laubach wrote, “The day had been rich but strenuous, so I climbed Signal Hill back of my house talking and listening to God all the way up, all the way back, all the lovely half hour on the top.” Some draw near in the recreating silences of the early morning, others quiet themselves best in the deep quiet of the night, still others retreat from the blast of the day for a time of attentive, listening silence. We must have a time to still the churning, to quiet the restlessness, to meditate on the almighty God who dwells in our hearts.

Another important ingredient in opening the way for interior simplicity is to get in tune with the God-given cycles of life. There are cycles of eating, cycles of sleeping, cycles of work, cycles of play. And when these God-appointed cycles are broken, misery is the result. My students often suffer from a simple denial of the normal cycle of sleep. Large numbers of Americans endure immense heartache (and heartburn) from the failure to respond correctly to the cycle of eating. Finitude is a cycle, the cycle of growing old. And what a terrible burden we place upon ourselves and others in our desperate attempt to stay young. On the other end, of course, children struggle to be twenty-one and hence independent. People are in misery because they are not yet twenty-one, and people are in misery because they are past twenty-one, and that leaves most of us in misery most of the time.

Many of us would find great relief in discovering our own cycles of activity and quiet. For example, I function best when I alternate between periods of intense activity and of comparative solitude. When I understand this about myself I can order my life accordingly. After a certain amount of immersion in public life, I begin to burn out. And I have noticed that I burn out inwardly long before I do outwardly. Hence, I must be careful not to become a frantic bundle of hollow energy, busy among people but devoid of life. I must learn when to retreat, like Jesus, and experience the recreating power of God. We are told that Peter tarried in Joppa for many days with one Simon, a tanner (Acts 9:43). And along our journey we need to discover numerous “tarrying places” where we can receive heavenly manna.

This knowledge is a wonderful freedom. No longer do I rebuke myself that I am not giving enough attention to study and meditation in the days of intense activity among people. Nor do I any longer malign periods of quiet reflection or vacation as unproductive sloth. I can understand and value the hidden preparation through which God puts his ministers. I am free from desiring public gaze when I need hiddenness.

Still another step toward simplicity is to refuse to live beyond our means emotionally. In a culture where whirl is king, we must understand our emotional limits. Ulcers, migraines, nervous tension, and a dozen other symptoms mark our psychic overload. We are concerned not to live beyond our means financially; why do it emotionally? Let us repudiate the modern success image of the person “on the go,” whose workload is double what any single person can possibly accomplish. Let us reject the delusions of grandeur that say we are the only ones who can save the world. We must learn our emotional limits and respect them. Our children and spouses will love us for it.

Is there anything more we can do? Yes, much! We can keep a record of all our activities for one month. Then we should rank them in the following way: absolutely essential—number 1, important but not essential—number 2, helpful but not necessary—number 3, trivial—number 4. Next, we must ruthlessly eliminate all of the last two categories and 20 percent of the first two. We are too busy only because we want to be too busy. We could cut out a great deal of our activity and not seriously affect our productivity.

Purposefully, we can cultivate the life of reflection. We need not merely listen to the news or read the paper, we can ponder its significance. Let’s get the broad picture on the events of our time and evaluate them. The real prophets of our day are those who can perceive what is happening in modern society, see where it will lead us, and give a value judgment upon it. Let’s wrestle with “existence clarification”—who we are and what our purpose for being is. We can take a one-day retreat just to reflect on our direction in life. We should not just absorb facts, but think about their significance. When a brilliant philosopher friend of mine went on a one-year sabbatical, I asked him what he would do. “For the first three months I plan to do nothing but think,” was his reply. Most of us cannot be unencumbered for three months, but we can think. Thinking is the hardest work we can do, and among the most important.

Freedom of Simplicity

Another step that opens us to heart simplicity is the commitment to a previously agreed rule. The covenant of marriage is perhaps the clearest example of this. Think of the host of costly and painful decisions that are avoided by this commitment. No flirting with divorce, no casting about for better options—marriage becomes a decision to love and cherish each other until death. In our family we have decided how much per month we will spend on entertainment. That simple commitment greatly reduces the strain and stress of decision-making. I have set a limit on the number of speaking engagements I can accept that will allow me to maintain my other obligations with integrity. When that limit has been reached, I can decline even “wonderful opportunities” with amazing speed, because I feel God has called me to that limit. I have been saved enormous frustration and over-commitment by the simple rule of never accepting a speaking engagement over the telephone. By the time a letter has arrived, my enthusiasm has been tempered by realism. A mother or father who has decided to stay at home until the children are school age eliminates many wanderings and vacillations about this or that job. Patterns are, of course, not always perfect, and they sometimes need to be broken, but for the most part they economize greatly the frustration of numerous decisions.

Of all the virtues, simplicity is the most inviting because it brings such inward unity. François Fénelon put it most emphatically: “O, how amiable this simplicity is! Who will give it to me? I leave all for this. It is the pearl of the Gospel.”

Excerpted from: Foster, Richard J. Freedom of Simplicity: Finding Harmony in a Complex World. Dumore, PA: HarperCollins, 1997. “Chapter 5: Inward Simplicity: The Divine Center.” 97–117.