This is a bit surprising considering the central importance of eschatology in the biblical text. Close to the center of biblical faith is the notion that history is not done yet, the final chapters have not yet been written. And the biblical text provides a particular perspective on this as yet unwritten history. I think it could be argued that one of the most common ‘bottom-lines’ of N.T. eschatological texts is “pay attention”. Consider for example:

“Be on guard! Be alert!. . .Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back. . .If he comes suddenly do not let him find you sleeping”. Mk 13:32f

“So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert. . .” 1 Thes 5:6

Eschatology of the N.T. variety is not just some collection of information about the future. The biblical texts assume that we are subject to boredom–to not finding anything in the present that is worthy of our attention. And so, it reminds us to wake up, to stay alert, to open our eyes, to not go to sleep. Why? Because when the really important things happen, they will not be happening in the future. They will be happening in the present. This is a fundamental assumption of the biblical text: God’s actions, interests and purposes do have a history and a future, but if you think they are not happening now, then you are likely to get bored, to become inattentive, to be lulled to sleep. And that is catastrophic for Christian faith.

Probably most of us first experience our boredom as being about something external to us. It is about our circumstances. We say “things are boring”. This is the same kind of tactic we use with anger. Most of us first experience anger as being about someone else. We say: “you made me angry.” We experience the anger as information about you and what you have done, not as information about ourselves. But this disowning of emotion is rarely very helpful. The same is true of our response to boredom. Most of the boredom we experience in life contains important information about us. Why am I bored in situations that are not objectively boring? How can life in a world that is full of the love and grace of God ever be boring? Why do we see ‘empty space’ when the universe is ‘full’?

A more helpful approach to understanding boredom is that taken by Thomas C. Oden in his book The Structure of Awareness–a very helpful book that takes boredom seriously as a theological category. Oden understands boredom to be a kind of anxiety. Just as guilt is a kind of anxiety which focuses on the past and fear is a kind of anxiety which focuses on the future, so boredom is a kind of anxiety that focuses on the present. Guilt, fear and boredom. . .those, for Oden, are the big three.  As with any kind of anxiety, boredom can be either a constructive or a destructive experience. Importantly, for Oden, destructive boredom is fundamentally a failure to see the most obvious of things–that God is active NOW in the world. Here’s just a bit of how Oden talks about the contrast between Jesus’ present-tense eschatological message and the past-tense or future-tense oriented eschatological messages which were more common in his day:

Against the prevailing trend of idealized messianic expectations, Jesus announced: The reign of God is at hand! In direct opposition to those who were bored with present history, Jesus announced: Now is the acceptable time! To those who expected God to change the very conditions of human existence, Jesus announced: God is now with us! To those whose thoughts were fixed upon a romanticized past or an idealized future, Jesus proclaimed, brutally and offensively: The kingdom of heaven is in your midst!

While Oden makes it clear that boredom can be dysfunctional, the dysfunction seems, for our purposes, a bit generic. The experience of boredom which is common during the recovery process, however, involves a very specific dysfunction. It has become increasingly clear to me over the years, for example, that boredom can be what craving feels like for work/ministry addicts. Every addiction involves the experience of craving. If we are addicted and we need our next ‘hit’, then we will be restless and irritable. A key component of restlessness and irritability is craving.  But what does craving feel like? For sex addicts, the experience of craving is closely connected with lust. For gambling addicts, the experience of craving is closely connected with irrational hope. But, for work addicts, the experience of craving is very closely connected with boredom. When not working, a work addict will be bored. Restlessly bored. Irritably bored. I’m not sure this is universally true for all work/ministry addicts, but it sure fits my experience. The adrenaline rush which work addicts experience when they ‘get back to work’ seems like a sure, if temporary, cure for boredom.

Seen in this light, boredom is not just a kind of anxiety. It is a symptom of the addictive process at work in us. At least for work addicts, boredom is part of an addictive cycle: using, consequences, regret, attempts to change, increasing boredom and, finally, using to combat the boredom. The intimate connection between boredom and craving in this cycle is an important feature of the process. Boredom increases craving. Craving increases boredom.

If this is part of the reality of boredom for us, then trying to ‘manage’ our boredom (e.g. by developing better time management skills or by trying to lead more ‘balanced’ lives) will never be an adequate solution to the problem. It will not make the boredom go away. Just as ‘lust management’ might be helpful for non-addicts, it is hopelessly counterproductive for sex addicts. In the same way ‘boredom management’ is rarely helpful for work addicts. Our problems are deeper than that. A solution must begin with the recognition that we are not more powerful than our craving. We will need something more powerful than our own good intentions, determination and will-power. The recognition that we are helpless to do what needs to be done is not usually a recognition that we welcome. But it can be the beginning of a remarkable transformation. . . a transformation that, while it may at times be painful and difficult, will definitely not be boring.

This particular addiction is what might be called approval addiction. It involves people living in bondage to what other people think about us. When you become an addict to approval, no matter how much of this drug of choice you get, you can never have enough. You’ve got to have more and more and more fixes and, like other junkies, you can go crazy when your drug of choice is withheld.

My personal experience with approval addiction began early. When I was in elementary school I used to talk a lot (for folks that know me that will be a real shocker!). There were all these rules about being quiet and studying, and listening that I had a difficult time with. I found the little folks around me fascinating and so I would talk to them all the time. My second grade teacher was not impressed by my social skills. Over time it became obvious that she had her favorites and I wasn’t one of them. I tried to make her like me but it was useless.

One day I was particularly fascinated by the folks around me—and so she pulled me out of class and spanked me. The next day I was determined to do better. By the end of the day she asked me to come forward and she pinned a note on my shirt and told me to make sure it got to my mother. I just knew that it was going to be a glowing report of how much progress I had made in that eight-hour period. I was sure that the note was going to enumerate how in all the years of teaching she had never seen a turn around so inspirational or dramatic. That is not what happened. When I got home I stuck my chest out and told my mom that I got a note from my teacher—I was confident, I was proud, I knew I was loved.

As my mom read the note and as her continence fell, so did mine. The note said that I was a very bad boy and it went on to inventory all my 7 year old character defects. Which, from the length of time it took my mom to read the note, was pretty long.

That is the first time I remember feeling significantly criticized and it crushed me. It took the air out of my sails. This sense of shame bubbled up from the bottom and it made me feel small and insignificant. Criticism still does that to me. I think that there was a part of me that day that determined never to feel that way again—to distance myself, to people please, to manipulate and lie—but to never feel that way again. In a lot of ways the structure and life of my addiction served to numb me from the shame of letting people down. Today I can see the insanity of this logic (doing shameful things to numb my shame)—but it made all the sense in the world to me at the time.

Those of us who struggle with this often have no capacity to hear criticism. We hide from it, balk at it, internalize it, and strike back at the originators of it. When other people’s opinion of me becomes the organizing principle of my life my entire identity is on the line. What happens is that I end up giving people access to my identity that should not have that access. I become what other people think of me. Whether I am a student, a businessman, a stay at home mom, a professional, or unemployed, whether I’m a recovering addict, a Christian, a Democrat or Republican, successful —it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is how I am perceived by my world. If being busy is important, then I must be busy. If having money is a sign of real freedom, then I must claim my money. If knowing people proves my importance, I will have to work my contacts and climb the ladders. What matters is how I am perceived by my world.

I have seen a spiritual principle at work in my sobriety in relationship to this: Living in the gracious acceptance and approval of God will liberate me from the approval addiction. The converse is true too. Living as an approval addict will keep me from living in the love of God.

One of the blessings of the 5th step is the profound experience of grace that is embedded within it. When you and I learn to live honestly before each other and God, when we are able to trust each other with our secrets and shame the grace of God begins to radically liberate us. We can take the criticism of others and instead of reacting to it or allowing it to define us we can place it before God and those that know and love us and see if it “fits”. If it “fits” we can take concrete steps in love to deal with our character defects, if it does not we can set it aside. In this whole process we can stay connected to the gracious acceptance and approval of God.

May you live in the overwhelming, saturating love and acceptance of God.

Like most people, I like speed. I tend to think that fast is better. A faster computer is a better computer. A faster internet connection is a better internet connection. Fast is better in lots of ways. I’d much rather go to a two week intensive to work on a personal problem than to slug it out for a year in therapy. Much rather.

But clearly fast is not always better. The example I often use is surgery for cancer. After surgery you don’t ask the doctor “Was it quick?”. No. You ask “Did you get it all?”. And that’s a whole different matter. Speed doesn’t matter that much in this context. What matters far more than speed is thoroughness. That means that speed is, at best, a conditional virtue. . it depends on the circumstances.

Just about everybody I know who is in recovery and who is a Christian struggles at one point or another in the process with the feeling that “this should be going faster.” Or “I should be better by now.” Sometimes people — even well-intentioned folks — will say this to us. Or will imply that if only we prayed more, were more sincere, were more something. . . that this would already be solved. It is, of course, only very, very rarely helpful to receive this kind of help with our inventory. . .and it can be very hurtful.

I admit speed is not a traditional theological category. Look at any of your standard three-volume-systematics and you won’t find a chapter entitled “Speed” in any of them. Speed seems, however, to be pretty important theologically for people in recovery. The point at which speed becomes interesting theologically seems to me to be the moment when (and the way in which) we connect speed with power. Isn’t speed a reflection of power? Forget cars and computers now — think about personal change. Isn’t the speed of personal change determined by the power we have available to us? And isn’t God all-powerful? So shouldn’t God be able to empower us to change quickly? For many people, this series of questions seems to lead to an unavoidable conclusion — if you have God’s power available to you, whatever change is needed should be taken care of quickly. Even instantly. Miraculously. Just. . . pray a little prayer, leave it at the foot of the cross, whatever. . it should be done by the time you have finished reading this sentence.

But is this biblical?

Well, that’s what I suggest talking about in this blog for a while. Of course, things sometimes do happen quickly. And we are usually grateful for those parts of the journey. But what about the slow parts? What about the stuff that takes longer than any of us want? What about those times? Here are a few questions:

1) Are miracles the only sure sign of the presence of God’s power?

2) Are some miracles slow ones?

3) What biblical resources might be useful in thinking about fast/slow? (e.g. How long did Moses tend goats? What, if anything, might that mean for us?)

4) What forms can God’s power take during times when the process is slow?

5) There may be theological issues other than ‘power’ that should inform how we think about speed. What are they?

6) Which biblical characters experienced ’slow’? How did they deal with it? What can we learn from their experiences?

Your two bits worth are welcome. All comments are moderated. Not all will be posted. Some that are posted will be edited. That’s just the deal here.