Obsessed With Being Holy

I worry that we are sometimes too obsessed with being holy. So focused we lose sight of what's happening day to day, and who's around in the here and now. 

I know I have fallen into the trap of seeking extreme spiritual edification and enlightenment all the time. And at times I found it. Or I thought I did. At least a set of actions that told me I felt holy. Actions that became more and more performative. So it led not to being but to appearing holy all the time. And all too often appearing or attempting to appear holier than thou.

It was fake. And I wasn't feeling awe. I was going through a set of motions. And I worry when we make the pursuit of holiness and worship a checklist instead of an authentic lived experience.

The insincerity is especially visible in our interactions with others. And we can't hide it. 

What exactly am I talking about? And what do we do about it?

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I'm writing this a week removed from Easter, Holy week. I think that should tell you where I am at. Or maybe it doesn't. But let me try to clear it up a little.

In my later teens I was chasing spiritual highs. I wish I could say I was chasing spiritual experiences but that doesn't quite describe it properly. I was chasing not catharsis, not existentialism, but those revival style highs that only come in certain situations. Big spiritual highs.

I had finally developed a testimony. I had spent some time at some youth conferences with some wonderful experiences. And at time I saw some wonderful people that seemed so spiritual. People that I wanted to emulate. And one thing I kept hearing along with the primary answers (scriptures, prayer, sacrament) was to be in holy places. 

As a teen I took that literally and I don't think I was alone. In fact I'm sure of it now. I looked at how I could "always stand in holy places" and be more holy myself. 

What did that look like? 

I was in high school. I was an absolute minority in my school. What was a boy to do. I went to church every Sunday (at that point there was weeks I went alone), I attended Seminary every school day (or at least 80% of them), tried to read them scriptures as regularly as possible, volunteered for every service opportunity, and went to the temple as much as I humanly could. 

What did that get me?

A lot of grinding. A lot of checklists. And a lot of struggle. At first. Then it got easier, then it got really hard again. I was more focused on doing the steps, checking off the checklist, than I was about what the outcome of those actions was supposed to be. 

I was anything but perfect. But I was "good enough" I suppose. Righteous enough to often be pretentious. Luckily I had some people to check me (more on that later). 

Eventually I found myself as the first missionary to leave my ward, my congregation, in three years. That's when the pretensions of holiness became apparent. 

I found myself questioning a lot on my mission. First, why did I have to change missions when I was supposed to be blessed for my efforts? Why did some of the missionaries with the most success (read baptism numbers) not follow the rules at all? Why did my health crash out physically and mentally at this time? How was it fair? I was doing the right things in the right sequence. And struggling.

I wasn't a perfect missionary. But I tried damn hard. And I found myself digging even deeper in my ponderings and wonderings. 

Questions rang through my head. Why were some of the kindest people the least holy? Why did nature bring me feelings of the spirit more than church at times? Why did the "holy" music not move me like others, why did other music move me more? The people who cared the most, they were the people I didn't always expect. 

I came home from my mission thinking, more muddling, through that all. I kept up the effort. Like I was supposed to, right?

Then the next step changed things. I enlisted. 

Boot camp is the opposite place of holy, but it wasn't the first place where I found the peace I had been searching for. Just not where I was looking for it.

I was alone. Missing my wife. Struggling. Yet the days moved faster than any day on my mission. And prayer became more real. And then I got hurt. Literally. And I knew I wasn't going to get healed up. Wasn't going to happen. Physically impossible. Yet I felt peace about that I had never felt in my life. In a place full of stress, profanity, and struggle. The peace came from the people in my platoon. Those who cared. In their own words, gave a shit. In more ways that one. 

See before I got hurt. When I was trying to attend services, I found people to go with. When I was trying to focus on my faith, I found support. Then the injury came. Knee almost blown out. A ruck march. One more PT test to go. How was I going to do that. I did it through the pain. With massive help. 

Through that experience and the mission before that, a couple realizations came crashing in.

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First Our standards do not have to alienate. People who truly care about us or know we care about them aren't going to abandon us. Those friends that used to check me. They were (are) the most supportive in my doubting moments. They knew I meant it. I'd passed that test. Sincerity matters. People know if we are earnest in our belief or just performing. People's respect will reflect that. 

Appearances don't matter as much as we often think they do. If we are striving people will help us meet our goals. If they think we are just being performative, an we don't mean it. They're going somewhere else.

Someone who truly cares won't compromise your standards when they are different than yours. They'll help you meet them.

Thank goodness for those in my life who did. 

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Second, we can't always have equivalent spiritual highs. Let me explain. There was a time I looked down on Easter Christmas attendees. Not anymore. Some of them may be the purest pursuers of holiness I know. Recognizing the uniqueness of some moments over others. Savoring it.  

We have emotional capacities as humans. Any event with high emotions will drain us regardless of if the emotion is good or bad.

Need versus wants comes into play even in our spirituality and faith in this regard. Feeling we constantly need a spiritual high can numb us to the smaller (albeit more common) moments of wonder and awe waiting for us. Those subtler reinforcements and contentment in our daily life we could miss.

Seeking peace. Seeking catharsis. Contentment over excitement can open us up to those emotions and feelings more completely.

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Third and finally, holiness can be communal but like most spirituality it's usually personal. Yes there is wonder to be found in communal worship. There is a heightened sense of spirituality and emotionality in a crowd of like minded individuals. Often with similar outcomes but not always. 

What's needed and what matters varies from person to person, family to family, culture to culture. That should be fairly obvious. Even in the same faith with the same sources. What resonates depends on so many factors. Even when people share a worship space they will often gravitate to different parts of the same sermon, elicit different emotions and meaning from sacraments. That's the way I've grown to think it should be. And it's beautiful.

That uniqueness of need, want, and purpose should drive our faith in our personal life. How we read scripture. How we live our life. The values we hold. And most importantly our personal commitments should be reflect in our how treat and interact with those around us.

Recognizing how personal these things are allows us to both recognize the little moments, and hopefully, be more authentic and engaged with those around us.

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I hope through all of this that we lose a little of our obsession with holiness and build a relationship with that which we find holy. 

There is holiness everywhere if we open ourselves to see it. 

There was a time when my single minded pursuit for all things holy all the time left me both feel like I couldn't be along while simultaneously ignoring people who cared about me. 

Life requires balance and will reveal our priorities. I'm not giving up on having pursuing holiness. No it's the opposite. I've learned that removing my existence and attention from places where holiness isn't obvious robs me. I miss out on finding people and relationships. I miss out on formative experiences. And there's often a subtle sense of peace and holy is the least obvious of places. If we're open to experience it.