The 4 Spiritual Hungers of Our Time

Image result for hungry baby birds

By Joe LaGuardia

Writing as far back as 1947, O. O. Boggess hits on four spiritual hungers in his article “Your Body, The Temple of the Holy Ghost” that resonate today. Although the article is a bit dated, these hungers still drive us to find meaning and belonging in community; they engage us and create a yearning that leads us to the spiritual; these four hungers drive us to do things that sometimes defy reason–often at our peril.

If we can articulate them, and then focus on fulfilling them in a healthy way, then perhaps these spiritual hungers can make us more effective in fulfilling God’s purpose for our lives. If churches can meet all four needs in equal measure, perhaps our pews may fill too!

The first spiritual hunger is for safety and security. This hunger begins at the very start of life, as our parents nurture us and create a sanctuary within a loving environment. This carries into our adulthood, and we continue to crave stability and predictability. I used to tell people in ministry that I, as a pastor, seek to be predictable, if not perfect — because people find solace in predictability from their leaders!

If trust in the institutions, norms, and surroundings in which we find ourselves diminishe, then fear increases and we begin to do and say things that are unhealthy. We see the world as a hostile, combative place in which we pit ourselves against others, winners and losers. We seek protection at the expense of urgent profession, and we spend more time looking over our shoulder than we do putting our arm around someone else’s shoulder to guide them to the care and love of Jesus Christ.

How many of our churches and institutions have given into fear by trying to satiate this hunger by placing their trust in the ways of worldly culture and weapons of war? Yes, we need to make our institutions and places of worship safe–to do otherwise is nearsighted and naive–but putting processes in place will not ultimately quench this instinctive hunger. Only placing our faith and hope in Christ–the only constant and certainty in our world–will fulfill this yearning.

The Bible warns us against putting a disproportionate amount of faith in our man-made systems. Psalm 44:6 says, “For not in my bow do I trust, nor can my sword save me; but thou hast saved us from our foes.” And the prophets warn Israel against making alliances with other nations. God is our source of strength, and the Holy Spirit our source of power. We should not give into the politics of fear.

The second hunger is for companionship. How many of us fall in love with the wrong people because we are searching so diligently for a sense of belonging? Again, we place our trust in each other, as if our love for others will somehow bring a relief to our beating heart once and for all. The old adage is true: There is a Jesus-shaped hole in our heart that only Jesus can fill!

Do not look for love in all the wrong places, and submit to the Holy Spirit so that you’re empowered to live your life so you don’t become the subject of a country song. God makes us for friendship, companionship and love, but only within the bounds of kindred spirits. Set boundaries, create healthy relationships, and communicate with honesty. Trust that the closer you draw to Christ, then the more healthy your relationships with others will prove to be.

The third hunger is for knowledge. God put in us a drive to learn about the world around us, and curiosity should drive us to experience life with a sense of wonder, humility, and awe. We should be open to the Spirit’s movement in the world, and we should anticipate that God will surprise us as we seek to learn new things.

My wife and I are educators, so we commonly tell people that we are life-long learners. We learn in the things we experience, whether they result in blessings or failures. My greatest lessons came about when I saw circumstances as opportunities to grow, and when I’ve been open to learning something new about myself.

Of course, learning something new means being open to changing our minds and our hearts about things–this is critical in growing in knowledge; we cannot remain unchanged throughout our life. Stagnation hinders spiritual growth!

The last hunger is to know God personally. I’ve met countless individuals who know about God, know of God, and have studied a lot about God–but they do not know God personally. They see God as an idea or a worldview or as a lofty, inaccessible ethereal Being who has no time for us as individuals.

If there is one thing that has sustained my faith through the years, it hasn’t been from intense studies of scripture or time spent with other believers at church (though both are life-giving), but with regular, daily time spent abiding in Jesus Christ.

Christ calls us to be his family, and the Holy Spirit indwells within each of us so that we can walk with God on a personal level. Jesus said, “As the father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love…that your joy may be complete” (John 15:9-10, 11b).

As I reflect on these four hungers, I can’t help but think of how lopsided we’ve treated some of them. We are gaunt and malnourished in some areas, and we are too fat on others. We teeter too much to one, and neglect others so that we walk around like zombies, half-dead roaming the earth.

Churches would also do well to attend to each hunger, and provide balance in meeting each hunger in community. Its not a matter of having gifts to fill one or two of these hungers, but approaching God so that Jesus nourishes us completely, in the abundance of life he has promised so long ago.

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Source: O. O. Boggess, “Your Body, The Temple of the Holy Ghost,” in The Holy Spirit (Anderson IN: Warner Press, 1947), pp. 109-115.

Faith and Film (prt. 1): House

House (1985)

By Joe LaGuardia

I took a course on faith and film years ago in college. The conundrum is this: does film reflect society, or does film shape society? Same can be said of faith: How much does media, whether film or otherwise, shape or inform our faith?

This series intends to reflect on the films that may have contributed to my faith. I can’t cover all of them, of course; but there are enough movies that stand out to create a fun blog for now.

The film that’s been on my mind is an unlikely one for a pastor: House, the 1985 horror comedy directed by Steve Miner.

I remember the first time I watched it–at my uncle’s house in Homestead, around 1988, on HBO. It made an impression because it was both scary and quirky; I found myself covering my eyes, but laughing too. No wonder the director once mentioned that if parents wanted to introduce their children to horror, House was a good place to start.

House follows horror author Roger Cobb, played by William Katt, who moves into his late grandmother’s house. His grandmother, recently deceased, was said to have been playing with an alternative world beyond the grave. In a turn of events, Cobb’s newest novel, about his experiences in the Vietnam War, comes to life.

Although I was too young to appreciate all of the nuances that House had to offer–the subtext of post-traumatic stress and the unfolding of trauma in the Vietnam War generation– I caught the significance and fear of living in a house that had more to it than just a bunch of cold, empty rooms.

One scene, for instance, finds Cobb wrestling with monsters erupting from a bathroom vanity. The vanity, he later discovers, is a corridor to the netherworld.

In other scenes, we are not sure what is real and what is a figment of Cobb’s imagination. The movie plays with the idea of the house as a metaphor of the mind, especially those who suffer from trauma and the “demons” in the shadows of life.

House metaphors are familiar to Christians. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says that disciples who obey his teachings are like wise people who build houses on firm foundations. After healing a demoniac, he warned that a demon once expelled might return to the clean home of the soul with additional evil friends. In the first letter to the Corinthians, Paul uses a building as a metaphor for the church: Though ministers and parishioners build the house, it is Christ who is the unifying foundation. In later church history, St. Teresa of Avila wrote of faith as a journey into an “interior castle.”

After I watched House, I was afraid to go to bed alone. It wasn’t because the images of monsters kept flashing through my imagination, but because I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, I would lose myself in the dark corridors of the uncertainty and anxiety of my heart and body.

I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but of where the darkness might lead–and whether there was ever an end to it. To this day, the most frightening metaphor I have for hell is not of a fiery furnace, but from writer Jack London: Hell is being wrapped up in eternal darkness.

Darkness–especially the darkness of a corridor that descends into an abyss–is not scary because of its length or breadth, but because of the claustrophobia of the darkness itself. It is being “wrapped up” that gives me chills. (I’m severely claustrophobic, and I also have a fear of heights–which is probably why that bathroom vanity scene in House left such an impression!)

If the adage of “home is where you make it” is true, than a large part of our journey of faith is being able to call your life–your body, mind, and soul–home. It is about being comfortable with yourself and content with the life God has given you. Of course, as a Christian, I have the assurance that when I invite Jesus into my life (otherwise, he “stands at the door and knocks…”), Jesus will take up residency in my very being.

Christ becomes the sure foundation, a foundation which provides a boundary to the abyss and confines the darkness to God’s ever-mysterious presence. Jesus pierces darkness, and darkness cannot prevail.

To this day, I remain enamored by House, and I have yet to revisit the movie in my adulthood. I’m afraid to watch it, not because of the horror of the movie, but because I don’t want to lose the childlike innocence I had when I watched it long ago. If it holds a special place in my life, then let it be so. Who knew a horror film would make such an impact?

The Outdoors is for the Birds

Image result for st. francis of assisi

By Joe LaGuardia

St. Francis of Assisi is not my patron saint. You remember St. Francis? He was the 13th-century monk who preached to all of nature, including animals. He spoke of creation in moving prayers and poetry. He celebrated God’s care over all creation, including Brother Sun and Sister Moon. If you’re interested, you can purchase a statue of St. Francis at your local hardware or garden store.

But St. Francis is not for me. Don’t get me wrong, I like to garden. I spent several weekends this month working on my garden. When we have work days at church, the mulching is always my job.

For all that enjoyment, however, I have yet to make gardening the spiritual exercise it is for many Christians who echo the sentiments of St. Francis. When I weed, I curse the ground of my toil–namely, calling the weeds, “Idiots!” for being there in the first place. Some of the weeds look beautiful, actually, but they are stupid because they keep growing. And why do weeds grow so much better and faster than the things that I want to grow in the garden?

Today, when I was laying mulch in my front yard, there was a brief rain shower. This is what happens in a typical coastal Florida shower: It is a beautiful day that turns more beautiful when it becomes slightly overcast. A welcome breeze comes through for a few minutes, ushering in the clouds. It rains for a few minutes and stops as abruptly as it began.

Then things change. The beauty ceases, the breeze stops, and it turns deathly humid. You are drenched not from the rain, but from heavy moisture in the air. Your shirt clings to your body, and the mulch-stains on your shorts become mud stains, and you can’t wear your glasses because they become foggy, and you can’t wipe your brow because your arms are like slip-n-slides, and although the sun still isn’t out, the heat rises from concrete and from the damp, and you get a taste of what hell is like.

It is then that I realized I was not a Franciscan at heart. I do better with my nose in a book while in air-conditioned housing then in the beauty of nature that turns bleak and cranky.

St. Francis can guard other gardens, thank you very much. Instead, I’ll stick with a saint I fell in love with long ago, St. Ignatius of Loyola. Ignatius popularized using one’s imagination while reading the Bible, and his daily “spiritual exercises” include reflecting on the day as a contemplative form of prayer– a prayer best served indoors.

I had an email bearing Ignatius’s name at one point in my life, when Hotmail was all the rage. And although he is Spanish and I am Italian like St. Francis, I still think that the Jesuits have done more for the Catholic Church than most monastic movements in recent days.

So let St. Francis preach to the birds. I’d rather spend time asking where I find myself in scripture and reflecting on the face of Christ during long periods of solitude and silence. At least I won’t smell like a big, wet sock and have to bath seven times a day.

The weeds will have to contend with another nemesis for now, but at least they won’t face the verbal abuse that I hurl in their direction. Stupid weeds.