SPIRITUAL WITHOUT EMOTION [F, 3-21-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Musings of An Old Man—SPIRITUAL WITHOUT EMOTION [F, 3-21-25]

 

One hope of Lent is that by practicing “holy disciplines”—giving up meat or something else important to us, daily worship, etc—we shall grow spiritually, grow in relationship to God. I admire folks for whom that works, but discipline has never made me more spiritual. It has made me more disciplined.

The same is true with emotion, which is important to the spirituality of many people. Emotion has never made me more spiritual.

One of my life projects has been, and still is, being spiritual without being emotional. To many people, and in the culture in general, they are the same.

I, however, cannot be both spiritual and emotional, for I do not trust emotions, for the simple reason that they are not lasting. Emotions are ephemeral, fleeing. Spirit endures.

As a young person in a revivalistic church culture, I saw many people “get saved.” It was usually a highly emotional experience—crying, shouting, hugging. But the newly saved individual rarely changed their ways. Indeed, they were often back at the altar rail at the next revival, confessing the same old sins.

It seemed to me that if you became more spiritual, closer to God, “led by the Spirit,” you should become a better person.

Of course, my distrust of emotion started personally, not theologically. The basic emotions of my parents were sorrow and anger. Sorrow was a downer, and made me feel incompetent, because I could do nothing to lessen their sorrow. Anger was frightful. I could do nothing about their anger, either, except try to avoid it.

Fear, anger, sorrow… the great emotions were all states to be avoided. I did not become a stoic, though. I was able to empathize. I cried at movies, especially about the plight of dogs. I laughed at shows, especially at the antics of dogs. But emotions that overwhelmed, those I distrusted.

I’ll tell once again about Sandra. She grew up in a tiny town. There was one small, fundamentalist church in town. Her parents were mainstays there, so Sandra grew up in that church. It was all she knew.  A few miles outside of her town was a small a city that had a small state university, so even to go to college, Sandra didn’t leave home, or her church.

Then, though, she went to a neighboring state for grad school. Her first Sunday, she went off to the church she that had heard was just like her church at home. But she made a wrong turn. She ended up at the big university Methodist Church. She didn’t know it, though, because churches are rarely adequately signed.

She went in. It was huge. And high. A modern Gothic building. Many rows of pews. Some people were standing around inside the door, talking to one another, but not to her. One of them pushed a piece of paper at her. She wandered in, took a seat, looked at the paper. Good grief; they had decided ahead of time what they were going to do.

She said, “I didn’t know any of the hymns. The choir wore robes and they sang different words at different times. The preacher didn’t shout at us or tell us about our sins but just stood there and talked. They passed a plate for money but it was all in little envelopes. Nobody said anything to me. It was over. I went outside and looked up at that high cross spire on top and I said, ‘Thank God. I’m home!’”

For someone like me, and Sandra, that sort of church is home. That’s where we can grow spiritually, because emotion doesn’t get in the way. Please don’t misunderstand; I’m not opposed to emotion in church, or generally. I’m just saying we can’t rely on it. The dailyness of just being there, for one another, that is a way to grow toward God.

John Robert McFarland