soft hearts and sharp minds
Mar. 12th, 2006 02:22 pmWent to First Pres today, for the sake of something different. They're doing a series on Dallas Willard's Renovation of the Heart, a philosopher's take on Christian transformation. Interestingly, they're also observing Lent. Kind of an unusual combination. But we did get to sing "Let all mortal flesh keep silence," which is like the best Lent song ever, so that was cool.
The sermon was on Romans 12:1-4, which should be familiar to other Bible kids out there. But the pastor pointed out something about "the renewing of your mind" that I hadn't heard before. Your mind here includes your intellect, the intelligence given you as a gift. Now, I don't know where I got this impression but somewhere along the line I came to believe that my smarts were my own, that I earned my brain and it was mine to tend and keep. Those like myself who have a mania for knowledge are apt to guard our minds carefully, not allow others to influence them, and generally treat them like our responsibility. It had never really been conveyed that one's mind is a gift to be used in understanding and actively brought to bear in service for its Maker, rather than its master.
The story is told of a professor who came to the altar to confess, and was immediately told "Professor, you must lay your mind at the altar first." While the statement was probably meant to imply that his self-assuredness would obstruct confession, the professior took it differently. He understood that he must submit his mind and release it from his ownership. Immediately he found it blessed, and was given strong insight into the work he was doing.
The story hit me because I've struggled all quarter trying to understand chemistry. Granted, I hate chemistry. There's no compelling reason (graduation aside) for me to excel, and I don't exactly care to. But the fact remains I must pass the class, I must attain some level of competency to graduate like I'm supposed to. And it's been incredibly hard. I'm in a good class with two good teachers, most of the math is below me, and I just have struggled every day for 3 months. I'm intellectually exhausted from trying to scale this mountain, and I just want to roll right down.
The specifics of chem aside, it's been an enlightening experience to really hit the limits of my ability to learn about things I don't care about. Because I've so rarely been forced to, I haven't had to teach myself how to learn or understand how my mind works when it's not working for me. When learning material that interests me, I'll happily spend hours on minutae and new material, committing it to a clear and lucid understanding. I do it all the time, it's very freeing. But what about when that doesn't happen? Usually I:
Kathy Sierra writes, "most of us want to practice the things we're already good at, and avoid the things we suck at." I'm amazing at this, mostly because I'm good at an awful lot of things, enough so that I rarely have to incorporate more of them if I don't want to. But it's really important to acknowledge that that is neither an accident nor my creation. I don't really know why I was made this way, but it's becoming very clear that I must acknowledge that and swallow my pride about it.
There's so much focus on giving one's heart and life in God's service, and so little about giving our wonderful intelligence. It's treated like something we have to fight or ignore to accomplish the work of handing sandwiches to homeless people or something. Where is the gift and the glory? Why would I be given such a powerful mind only to use it knocking on doors and handing out pamphlets? There's something more here and somehow I've missed it.
Correct thinking is a moral act, not a selfish one. We are called to know one who has infinite knowledge and unlimited stories. We live in a world infused with the spirals of his handprints and it takes understanding to see them. I must place my mind on the altar as well as my heart.
The sermon was on Romans 12:1-4, which should be familiar to other Bible kids out there. But the pastor pointed out something about "the renewing of your mind" that I hadn't heard before. Your mind here includes your intellect, the intelligence given you as a gift. Now, I don't know where I got this impression but somewhere along the line I came to believe that my smarts were my own, that I earned my brain and it was mine to tend and keep. Those like myself who have a mania for knowledge are apt to guard our minds carefully, not allow others to influence them, and generally treat them like our responsibility. It had never really been conveyed that one's mind is a gift to be used in understanding and actively brought to bear in service for its Maker, rather than its master.
The story is told of a professor who came to the altar to confess, and was immediately told "Professor, you must lay your mind at the altar first." While the statement was probably meant to imply that his self-assuredness would obstruct confession, the professior took it differently. He understood that he must submit his mind and release it from his ownership. Immediately he found it blessed, and was given strong insight into the work he was doing.
The story hit me because I've struggled all quarter trying to understand chemistry. Granted, I hate chemistry. There's no compelling reason (graduation aside) for me to excel, and I don't exactly care to. But the fact remains I must pass the class, I must attain some level of competency to graduate like I'm supposed to. And it's been incredibly hard. I'm in a good class with two good teachers, most of the math is below me, and I just have struggled every day for 3 months. I'm intellectually exhausted from trying to scale this mountain, and I just want to roll right down.
The specifics of chem aside, it's been an enlightening experience to really hit the limits of my ability to learn about things I don't care about. Because I've so rarely been forced to, I haven't had to teach myself how to learn or understand how my mind works when it's not working for me. When learning material that interests me, I'll happily spend hours on minutae and new material, committing it to a clear and lucid understanding. I do it all the time, it's very freeing. But what about when that doesn't happen? Usually I:
- Abandon the topic
- discover ways I can use existing knowledge to succeed
- failing the above, struggle.
Kathy Sierra writes, "most of us want to practice the things we're already good at, and avoid the things we suck at." I'm amazing at this, mostly because I'm good at an awful lot of things, enough so that I rarely have to incorporate more of them if I don't want to. But it's really important to acknowledge that that is neither an accident nor my creation. I don't really know why I was made this way, but it's becoming very clear that I must acknowledge that and swallow my pride about it.
There's so much focus on giving one's heart and life in God's service, and so little about giving our wonderful intelligence. It's treated like something we have to fight or ignore to accomplish the work of handing sandwiches to homeless people or something. Where is the gift and the glory? Why would I be given such a powerful mind only to use it knocking on doors and handing out pamphlets? There's something more here and somehow I've missed it.
Correct thinking is a moral act, not a selfish one. We are called to know one who has infinite knowledge and unlimited stories. We live in a world infused with the spirals of his handprints and it takes understanding to see them. I must place my mind on the altar as well as my heart.