To Be Or Not To Be
Excerpt from Invitation to a Journey - M. Robert Mulholland Jr.
"Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before." - C.S. Lewis
Spiritual formation is not an option. The inescapable conclusion is that life itself is a process of spiritual development. The only choice we have is whether that growth moves us toward wholeness in Christ or toward an increasingly dehumanized and destructive mode of being.
The Christian journey, therefore, is an intentional and continual commitment to a lifelong process of growth toward wholeness in Christ. It's a process of "growing up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ" (Eph 4:15), until we "attain to ....mature personhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ" (Eph 4:13). It is for this purpose that God is present and active in every moment of our lives.
This passage from Shakespeare came to mind...
From Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act III, scene I- William Shakespeare
To be or not to be, that is the question —
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep —
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep —To sleep,
perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch[1] and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.[2]
"Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before." - C.S. Lewis
Spiritual formation is not an option. The inescapable conclusion is that life itself is a process of spiritual development. The only choice we have is whether that growth moves us toward wholeness in Christ or toward an increasingly dehumanized and destructive mode of being.
The Christian journey, therefore, is an intentional and continual commitment to a lifelong process of growth toward wholeness in Christ. It's a process of "growing up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ" (Eph 4:15), until we "attain to ....mature personhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ" (Eph 4:13). It is for this purpose that God is present and active in every moment of our lives.
This passage from Shakespeare came to mind...
From Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act III, scene I- William Shakespeare
To be or not to be, that is the question —
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep —
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep —To sleep,
perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch[1] and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.[2]
posted by Michelle Coder | 9:44 PM
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