5-minute read
John Ortberg begins his wonderful book Soul Keeping with this allegory—
There once was a town high in the Alps that straddled the banks of a beautiful stream. The stream was fed by springs that were old as the earth and deep as the sea.
The water was clear like crystal. Children laughed and played beside it, swans and geese swam on it. You could see the rocks and the sand and the rainbow trout that swarmed at the bottom of the stream.
High in the hills, far beyond anyone’s sight, lived an old man who served as Keeper of the Springs. He had been hired so long ago that now no one could remember a time when he wasn’t there. He would travel from one spring to another in the hills, removing branches or fallen leaves or debris that might pollute the water. But his work was unseen.
One year the town council decided they had better things to do with their money. No one supervised the old man anyway. They had roads to repair and taxes to collect and services to offer, and giving money to an unseen stream-cleaner had become a luxury they could no longer afford.
So the old man left his post. High in the mountains, the springs went untended; twigs and branches and worse muddied the liquid flow. Mud and silt compacted the creek bed; farm wastes turned parts of the stream into stagnant bogs.
For a time no one in the village noticed. But after a while, the water was not the same. It began to look brackish. The swans flew away to live elsewhere. The water no longer had a crisp scent that drew children to play by it. Some people in the town began to grow ill. All noticed the loss of sparkling beauty that used to flow between the banks of the streams that fed the town. The life of the village depended on the stream, and the life of the streams depended on the keeper.
The city council reconvened, the money was found, the old man was rehired. After yet another time, the springs were cleaned, the stream was pure, children played again on its banks, illness was replaced by health, the swans came home, and the village came back to life.
The life of the village depends on the health of the stream.
The stream is your soul. And you are the keeper.
*****
How is this season for you?
Sure, it’s weird. Real weird.
And probably challenging. Lots you can’t do. Sure.
But is there anything in this season that’s… kind of… okay?
Something you’re doing—or not doing—that feels like it’s giving you some life?
Something you’re doing—or not doing—that gives you a bit of relief?
Something you’re doing—or not doing—that makes your soul… feel… a little… bit… more… alive?
I’m feeling that. It’s hard to explain—especially considering the chaos and cacophony of this season.
But, somehow, by God’s grace, I’m finding my soul feel a little bit refreshed.
It’s like the stream’s being tended to.
And I like that feeling.
*****
I hear from people not having to do their 2+ hour commute every day in this season bringing them a bit of relief and life.
I hear from people that they’re connecting with their kids in ways they never expected.
I hear from people they’re feeling more physically healthy because they actually have the time (and space) to exercise… and eat better because they’re cooking their own food at home.
I hear from people they feel more rested because they’re not rushing from home to work to home to soccer games and birthday parties and constant social gatherings.
I hear from people that after an initial gluttony streak of streaming shows, they’re feeling “entertainment sick” and… not… watching… as much.
I hear from people they’re reading books they’ve been meaning to read.
I hear from people they have the time and space to sit… and read Scripture… and pray… and listen… and even meditate on what God’s saying to them.
This season is nuts and odd and dangerous-feeling…
But it’s also a time when many of us are having our soul-streams tended to.
(For some of us, it’s the first time in many, many years.)
How about you?
*****
This season will end.
All seasons do.
Yes, “our world will be forever changed” (as we’re constantly told in some form or another)…
But things will kind of go back to normal.
They will.
We won’t wear masks to the grocery store.
We won’t beat a hasty rush to the market to beat the hoarders.
We’ll sit in restaurants.
We’ll shake hands.
We’ll hug. (Both side hugs and regular.)
We’ll go back to offices.
We’ll fly on planes.
We’ll take vacations and go to kids’ soccer games and professional sports games and movies and concerts.
Things will go back to the way they were, in some form or fashion.
That’s good news, right?
Kind of.
Here’s what I think comes back with the return of all that other stuff—
The junk that clogs up our streams.
It’s like it’s waiting there, off on the bank of the stream, piled up behind a bulldozer whose driver is just waiting for the signal.
The rush will return.
The commutes will return.
The very un-Sabbath way of living will return.
The razor thin interactions with our kids will return.
The fly-bys we do with our spouses will return.
The busy-busy-busyness will return.
The sound and fury of a world ready to go back at it will return.
And the quiet will go away.
And the space will go away.
And those pure, real moments that are more likely to happen in that space will go away.
And that margin that more easily allows for God connections will go away.
And that’s sad.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
*****
We can fight for our souls.
Scratch that.
We have to fight for our souls.
We’ve tasted and seen what it takes to clean out our souls…
We can’t go back to the way things were.
It’ll take work and effort and intention.
But it’s possible.
We just have to grab onto some of the great (forgive me if that’s offensive) things about this season…
And bring them into the season to come.
Why?
Because they’re our souls.
They’re worth more to us that anything.
Jesus said—I imagine Him saying it with almost desperate, pleading, tears in His eyes—“What good is it if someone gains the whole world… but loses their soul?”
What good is it if you gain everything—with speed and ferocity and aggression and busyness and go-go-go—but lose… your soul?
It’s not good. It’s no good.
So what do we do?
We remind ourselves.
*****
What’s great, to you, about this season?
What’s one—maybe two—things you don’t want to lose?
Stop. Seriously, stop. Stop and think. Stop and think hard. And pray. And get quiet. And get those things. Get ‘em in your mind.
Then write ‘em down.
Don’t leave it to your brain to remember—we’re all terrible at remembering.
Write those things down.
Then make a plan to make more of those things a reality once this season is over.
Here’s an idea: look out on your calendar three months from know, pick a random day, make a big appointment or reminder on that day. In the notes of that appointment or reminder, list out those things you want to be doing after this season is over. End the note with, “Are you doing this? You need to be. It’s good for you soul.”
The worst tragedy for most of us would be to experience “soul keeping” (as John Ortberg calls it) during this season… and then… give that up once things are “back to normal.”
God forbid it.
Please, God… forbid it.
Our soul is like a stream of water, which gives strength, direction, and harmony to every other area of our life. When that stream is as it should be, we are constantly refreshed and exuberant in all we do, because our soul itself is then profusely rooted in the vastness of God and His kingdom, including nature: an all else within us is enlivened and directed by that stream. Therefore we are in harmony with God, reality, and the rest of human nature and nature at large.
Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart