This is an abridged version of a post that first appeared on Spring Arbor University’s Master of Arts in Spiritual Formation and Leadership blog site.
In a conversation with Gandalf the Grey, Bilbo Baggins, elder statesman of Bag-end in Hobbiton, anxiously complains that he is feeling “thin, like butter spread over too much bread.” Uncharacteristically, Bilbo had been the first hobbit ever to venture outside the safe, recognizable confines of the Shire. There, life was well planned, neatly cropped and decently fitted to those more inclined to an afternoon of tea and scones than giants, goblins and dragons. How distasteful.
“Butter spread over too much bread”, I quite relish cryptic statements like this. There are any number of ways to parse his meaning. Bilbo might just have easily said that he needed less bread upon which to spread his limited butter. It means basically the same thing, doesn’t it?
Maybe.
His original statement suggests that there isn’t enough of Bilbo to accommodate all that life throws at him. He was verbalizing the fact that, under any circumstances, he was always the same person; a hobbit of limited emotional and physical resources (the latter being especially true of Shire folk). For hobbits, adventures are unsightly, unnecessary inconveniences. What had changed were the additional demands his world imposed upon those limitations. Sound familiar?
As we consider Pentecost, this should invite the question, “is the Spirit-empowered life intended to prep us for a world that makes no allowances for the spiritual needs of its inhabitants? In other words, do we, by God’s strength, bend to suit the frenetic nature of the world around us? Conversely, is the Christian life designed to provide us with the tools necessary for us to discern such demands and, in response, live counter-culturally? That is, do we, by that same grace and power, embrace a just-say-no policy to insane living?
Mindy Caliguire, founder of Soul Care, a spiritual formation ministry, (and committed non-hobbit) places we Pentecost people into two broad categories: jet-fuel drinkers and candle lighters. At first glance, I envision those type-A, scale the world with bare hands types to be drawn to the former option. Pentecost to them means that we are given more than adequate resources to meet the challenges imposed by a frenetic culture. More butter to meet the demands of much bread.
The second scenario might be considered more the domain of the candle lighters. They are those who see the inherent dangers to an integrated wholeness of the prevailing culture and risk either apathy or antipathy in their subversive, counter-cultural response to that same milieu. They seek freedom from the imposed insanities rather than power over them. In this ideology, Pentecost provides the inner sensitivity that allows for careful discernment of our crazy predicament. Less bread given our limited butter.
What then is the biblical alternative for he or she who seeks to live as a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ? As I read the scriptures I am forced to concede that the best answer is, both and neither. From the Bible’s earliest pages, one discovers jet-fuel drinkers and candle lighters dwelling together in a veritable stew of divergent sojourners.
An example of a few jet-fuel drinkers: Matthew, Rome’s corporate yes-man; Gideon, the mama’s boy turned warrior; Samson, Mr. Testosterone of the Old Testament; Peter, the man with a mouth as big as his heart, and Elijah, a candle lighter in a jet-fuel drinker’s body.
The apostle, John, Anna and Mary, sister of Martha might best be described as candle lighters.
So, what does all of this have to do with Pentecost? How might Jesus’ example help us interpret Bilbo’s complaint? Does Jesus, by the Spirit, primarily present the victorious life of the jet-fuel drinker, thereby modeling the ideal spiritual life as the power-to-rise-above? Conversely, is Jesus, by that same Spirit, to be viewed more as the perfect version of Martha’s whimsical sister, whose strength for service came at the feet of her Savior and friend, the candle lighter? Was Jesus drinking jet fuel or hot wax?
Yes. Any questions?
To follow the Pentecost road with Jesus is to live rightly and well. It guarantees that our butter will last and that the constant stream of toast demanding our butter will never be more than our butter can manage. Let us rise to thank Bilbo Baggins for his good, but unintended, spiritual counsel.
I need a sandwich.
Wow Rob, you have my head spinning. Or shall I say, my cream churning? You are aiming at a serious threat to our faith tradition (and others) that for me could become a tipping point in Christendom. I love your stance that in the words of Richard Rohr, “everything belongs”. We for far too long have choked on the toxins of jet fuel as much as we now might be in danger of becoming to engrossed in our pietistic forms of fluffy-duffy monk-hood. Oddly for me, I see God in both of them. Where shall God flee? One thing that I am challenged to see as I read your post is the idea that the butter is not just plentiful, it is harvested to the degree that we are intentional on our inner journey. In that sense, we can say the butter is like the mustard seed that keeps on growing. For me, the challenge is to make sure I am gleaning on the butter and not the Crisco (looks similar, taste doesn’t even compare). I heard Rohr recently say that us introverts often think we are contemplative when really we are just finding ways to escape the messiness of relationships by going off into the silence. The contemplative life is just as arduous as it is redeeming. Another thought is that we might be more attentive on making less bread…. Have you read the book by the Linns called “Making Heart Bread”. Written very simply, it conveys a deep spirituality of growing love within. “Making bread” (money, shelter, bigger church barns) is one thing- and we often need less. But more so, is what we truly feed off of is a bread that comes from our deepest selves where God waits for us. In that true inner journey lies what it means to transcend the false self by grace and the true self by honing it. Or, shall I say by kneading it. Oh wow..all this talk of bread is making me hungry for it and I am on a gluten free diet. Thanks Rob, for your good insight.
Val, I am solidly two things: a contemplative introvert, and a chicken. Often enough those two things feed off one another to the degree that I merely become, as you suggest, escapist in my contemplations. I am often lazy and use as my excuse that I’m in Shabbat or am releasing from the world to rediscover my soul. In actual fact, I can often be neglectful and even negligent of those needing my love and care. Robert Mulholland in Invitation to a Journey warns us against such lopsided spirituality and advocates instead toward a more integrated, holistic understanding. My growth edge isn’t merely to deepen in my contemplative life (although that is always my/our calling), but it is to learn how to manage the craziness of contemporary life from an inner place. The Spirit came to help us do both. Contemplation – Action – Contemplation – Action…