Before I start, let me say that I think one easy mistake for us moderns to commit is to dismiss writers of antiquity. One of our common western cultural beliefs is that humanity is growing smarter and more conscious of their place in the universe. The Enlightenment is seen as an emergence from the Dark Ages that saved the western mind from its own dark ignorance. And indeed, over the centuries we have seen the wheels of progress roll forward in all fields like literacy and education, health, technology, and government. Seen in this light, ancient knowledge might only be appreciated as a look back to where we came from, and not an indicator of where we still are. Even Christians who are steeped in the writings and brilliance of Paul may be more comfortable reading the contemporary commentaries rather than the older texts of the Christian fathers (I'm guilty as charged here). But all of this advancement should not cover up the fact that when we ask the bigger questions of the spirit, we find that there are really no new problems and solutions that moderns have come up with. The spiritual questions, troubles, desires, traps, and joys remain constant over the ages. The zeitgeist might determine the language we use to discuss the idea of the soul and the approaches we undertake to find fulfillment, but the zeitgeist has never been able to radically redefine what our soul is and what is essentially wrong with all of us. Philosophy, modern psychology, social movements, and new-age theologies all couch our situations in new language, but essentially they are all re-hashings of the oldest questions and answers. In reading Confessions, it doesn't take long to see that Augustine is seeking God in a way that is as familiar to moderns as it has been through all of the ages. The entire book can be seen as an honest prayer, an emptying of the soul-- at once a cry for help and an outpouring of gratitude to God. The lines in the book are written by Augustine of Hippo in 397-398 AD, but they are the confessions of all thinking and feeling souls that are just as relevant now as they have been in any age.
Entry 1: "Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee." (Book I).
This line doesn't only pertain to the prodigals in our church family, i.e. the ones who meandered back to faith after years of searching in other places (I am in this camp). Nor does it only pertain to those who never knew God until their twenties, thirties, forties, etc. This line pertains to everyone, even those who have been in the folds of faith since they were children. I say this because we all struggle with finding repose, or rest, in God. Repose means rest, or inactivity. But it also implies harmony and comfort. A simple illustration is our home. Nothing feels better for many than to arrive at home after a long day of work, or even a long vacation. Home draws us back, it allows us to release our breath, to drop our pretenses, and be ourselves completely for a while. It is a place of deep comfort and relaxation. In English we say, "Home, sweet, home," to imply that deep sense of serenity that comes with arriving at a place where we can truly rest.
We also know that "home" is not an impenetrable fortress. The worries and the stresses of the outside world make their way into the home, into our families, and into our lives. If home is used as an illustration for what Augustine means when he says repose, it is a shabby illustration at best.
We have to remember the first line of what Augustine says here: "Thou madest us for Thyself". As much as we make our homes here on earth conform to what we want and what relaxes us, we are not made for our homes. We make our homes, much like we try and make our own lives to our exact specifications. But as Augustine says, we are made for Thou.
Modern thought has a problem with this line of thinking. If you find yourself in a bookstore these days, or channel flipping through the ever-expanding television universe, you will not have to look hard to find out what culture says about life: take control of it. Exercise, eat better, meditate, take vacations, get a new hobby, read this or read that and it will change your life, get your finances in order, go back to school... all of these things, which in themselves may be healthy and perfectly good, are sold to the public as, ultimately, life savers. Indeed, positive changes can reap positive benefits in your life. But it is still much like arranging your home-- you can get it near perfect, but there will always be something to come disrupt the harmony, the feng shui, as it were, of your life. There is no harmony outside of the harmony of worship of the Most High, whom we are made to be in relationship with. All of the other facets of life, while important, are mere housekeeping in light of of our relationship with the Lord.
Augustine goes on in Book I to say, "Narrow is the mansion of my soul; enlarge Thou it, that Thou mayest enter in. It is ruinous; repair Thou it. It has that within which must offend Thine eyes; I confess and know it. But who shall cleanse it? or to whom should I cry, save Thee?" Augustine recognizes that without God, our attempts at finding fulfillment are in vain. Without the work of the Holy Spirit, life becomes the tedious and losing battle of trying to retain order of our "ruinous" souls. Many of us have experienced this tiresome way of life, moving on to the next thing, trying desperately to have control over our lives, growing frustrated at the obstacles and emotional roller-coasters along the way. We compartmentalize our jobs, our homes, our relationships, seeking to perfect our lives and find that chimera of modern psychology-- self actualization. In other words, we are trying to be lords of our own lives. We want the fruits of the kingdom of God-- wholeness, relationship, love, community-- but we don't want God to have anything to do with it. We don't honestly assess that there is something deeply wrong with us. We refuse to take a candid look at our own corruption. If we are lord of our soul, that mansion will surely fall to ruin. In our own little mansions, we will never find that repose that Augustine speaks of.
One of the great illustrations that Jesus uses to demonstrate the dichotomy between living our lives in relationship or out of relationship with God is found in the Gospel of John, chapter 4. Jesus was sitting at Jacob's well when a Samaritan woman appeared. When Jesus asked her for a drink of water, she is surprised because no good Jew would have any dealings with a Samaritan. She asks, "How can you do this?" Jesus responds, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water" (John 4:10). In this passage we see three things happening: First, we see Jesus himself inviting this woman into relationship. The fact that she is a Samaritan is of no consequence to God. The fact that we are all sinners is of no consequence to God. God engages us. He doesn't just leave it up to us to meet him. Many believers can describe moments in their lives where God was knocking on the door, and He kept knocking. If God is knocking around the periphery of your life, open the door and in the least let Him engage you. For the Samaritan woman, this was the first step on the road to belief. She heard and she responded.
The second point is that according to the gospel, it is not about what we can bring or give to God. Jesus starts the discussion by asking for water. Many of us may wonder what we need to give to God in the beginning in order to enter into relationship with Him. But Jesus goes on to tell the woman that if she knew who he was, she would have asked him for living water, and not the other way around. Many religions and new-age philosophies try to hone in on what we can do to become better people, more holy, more self-fulfilled. But Jesus says that the correct response to him is not to give, but to ask. We needn't give our best attributes to God, or try and make ourselves holy before God will accept us. There are no steps to take or formulas to follow to become acceptable to God. There are no levels of holiness that we may climb before we reach the height of God. We simply ask, and in the asking is recognition, reverence, and worship. In the asking, we really give everything that is required.
The third point of this passage comes a few lines later when Christ says, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (4:13-14). Jesus illustrates that the water from the well dug by Jacob, while good and momentarily slaking thirst, will not eradicate it. Those who drink from the well will again be thirsty. And this cycle will continue, and continue, and continue. Jesus offers living water, a kind of water that not only slakes thirst, but itself becomes a source within that very person. What a shift in circumstances! What Jesus offers is more than a substance to be consumed and then sought out again and again. He offers a renewable resource that continually provides. It is not something that we must go to and buy each time with money or our own merits, but it is something given to us through our asking, through our desire for relationship with the One who gives the only truly renewable resource in the universe, His Grace, Love, and Mercy.
Augustine had discovered this when he said, "Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee." He confesses that much of his life up until his conversion was in his pursuit of what we might call the "good life"-- education and knowledge, arts and entertainment, food and pleasure. But what Augustine found was that these goals were not renewable. He had to continuously go back to the well, and yet his restless heart would always be thirsty. Augustine was busy trying to engineer his own life, but he found that what he could make and create could never give him the fulfillment and rest that he craved and that we all long after. When he inverted the question, "What can I make?" to the ultimate question-- "What am I made for?", Augustine found God, and in Him, he found fulfillment and repose.
God calls us first to repose in Him. To ask for his living water. This is the first step of relationship. God invites us to rest in Him. We don't need to work frantically to make ourselves better for Him. We don't need to complete a long check-list before we can enter his mansion. He invites us in, and invites us to rest.
Surely there is work to be done-- certainly there is housekeeping that we must do. God gives us room and encouragement to work, to order, and to create in our own lives. But he invites us to do so from a place of relationship with Him. From this place, our salvation doesn't lie in us being better people, or in our discipline; nor is it in our motivation or energy. These things are important, but they can never be our salvation. We needn't frantically and restlessly try and restore the crumbling mansions of our soul, but ask Him to enlarge it and enter in, and cleanse it. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 16 that we are the temple of God and that His Spirit dwells there, within us! We no longer need to be restless arbiters over our increasingly messy lives, but restful children living in Him. We no longer need to depend on our own pursuits and our designs to bring us that fulfillment that never quite comes, that will always continue to leave us as thirsty consumers. We can repose in Him who gives us living water that will always satisfy. In God, we will find our only true home, the only place a restless heart may repose.
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