RB 4.1: First Things

First of all, love the Lord God with your whole heart, your whole soul and all your strength.

I looked at this verse last week, and my immediate thought was "Ugh. Really? I have to write about that?" Yes, writing about chapter 4 of Benedict's Rule is a self-imposed assignment. And yes, I know that this chapter begins with a litany of biblical quotations. But part of me kind of wished that I could start with something else. Something, I don't know—exciting.

Isn't love of God a given? Don't we hear this preamble to the Golden Rule quite often? Isn't this ingrained in us?

But tonight I wonder if maybe the answer to each of these questions is no. Loving God isn't a given. We don't hear this command enough; nor do we hear the one to love our neighbor enough. And perhaps this love isn't ingrained in us precisely because we don't work at it.

A few years ago when I was discerning religious life, I knew that parts of it would be easy. The whole thing wouldn't be a cakewalk, but prayer, loving God, being contemplative—those bits were going to have a framework in which to grow, be challenged, and thrive. That's not to say there wouldn't be dry spells or problems. But on the whole, I knew I'd be surrounded by women who love God and who would be with me along that journey.

Since I decided not to join religious life, that framework of a relationship with God has, of course, shifted. My prayers are said on the car ride to work, or when I'm surprised by the beauty of a sunset, or when I give thanks for this life—this life I'm living right now that I had no idea could contain so much goodness.

God is not front and center; rather, she is the foundation. But saying that feels like the easy way out. I don't know how well I love God with my whole heart, my whole soul, and all my strength. I am reminded of the words of Toni Morrison in Paradise: "Love is divine only and difficult always. . . . It is a learned application without reason or motive except that it is God. . . . You can only earn—by practice and careful contemplation—the right to express it and you have to learn how to accept it. Which is to say you have to earn God. You have to practice God. You have to think God—carefully."

I can sense the hackles of some of my theologically trained friends rising at the idea of earning God. That's some dangerous territory there.

But what about this idea of practicing God? What might that look like? Is that what Jesus meant when he commanded us to love God with every fiber of our being? Are my hurried, mumbled prayers of request or thanks or praise enough practice? If I were to truly practice God, would I not be struck dumb damn near every moment of the day?

But maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe the call is to love God with all you've got in whatever moment you find yourself. Sometimes when I think about God I get lost in how big she is, how all-encompassing she is. But my whole heart and soul and strength aren't that big. They're quite small, sometimes petty, often wimpy. And that, for me, is where the practice comes in: to love God completely in the midst of my inadequacy.