How should we think of spiritual disciplines and their connection with spirituality as defined by Scripture?

By D. A. Carson

How shall we evaluate this popular approach to the spiritual disciplines? How should we think of spiritual disciplines and their connection with spirituality as defined by Scripture? Some introductory reflections:

(1) The pursuit of unmediated, mystical knowledge of God is unsanctioned by Scripture, and is dangerous in more than one way. It does not matter whether this pursuit is undertaken within the confines of, say, Buddhism (though informed Buddhists are unlikely to speak of "unmediated mystical knowledge of God"—the last two words are likely to be dropped) 3 or, in the Catholic tradition, by Julian of Norwich. Neither instance recognizes that our access to the knowledge of the living God is mediated exclusively through Christ, whose death and resurrection reconcile us to the living God. To pursue unmediated, mystical knowledge of God is to announce that the person of Christ and his sacrificial work on our behalf are not necessary for the knowledge of God. Sadly, it is easy to delight in mystical experiences, enjoyable and challenging in themselves, without knowing anything of the regenerating power of God, grounded in Christ's cross work.

(2) We ought to ask what warrants including any particular item on a list of spiritual disciplines. For Christians with any sense of the regulative function of Scripture, nothing, surely, can be deemed a spiritual discipline if it is not so much as mentioned in the NT. That rather eliminates not only self-flagellation but creation care. Doubtless the latter, at least, is a good thing to do: it is part of our responsibility as stewards of God's creation. But it is difficult to think of scriptural warrant to view such activity as a spiritual discipline—that is, as a discipline that increases our spirituality. The Bible says quite a lot about prayer and hiding God's Word in our hearts, but precious little about creation care and chanting mantras.

(3) Some of the entries on the list are slightly ambiguous. At one level, the Bible says nothing at all about journaling. On the other hand, if journaling is merely a convenient label for careful self-examination, contrition, thoughtful Bible reading, and honest praying, using the habit of writing a journal to foster all four, it cannot be ruled outside the camp the way self-flagellation must be. The apostle declares celibacy to be an excellent thing, provided one has the gift (both marriage and celibacy are labeled charismata, "grace gifts"), and provided it is for the sake of increased ministry (1 Cor 7). On the other hand, there is nothing that suggests celibacy is an intrinsically holier state, and absolutely nothing under the terms of the new covenant warrants withdrawing into cloisters of celibate monks or nuns who have physically retreated from the world to become more spiritual. Meditation is not an intrinsic good. A huge amount depends on the focus of one's meditation. Is it one imagined dark spot on a sheet of white? Or is it the law of the Lord (Ps 1:2)?

(4) Even those spiritual disciplines that virtually all would acknowledge to be such must not be misunderstood or abused. The very expression is potentially misleading: spiritual discipline, as if there is something intrinsic to self-control, to the imposition of self-discipline, that qualifies one to be more spiritual. Such assumptions and mental associations can lead only to arrogance; worse, they often lead to condescending judgmentalism: others may not be as spiritual as I am since I am disciplined enough to have an excellent prayer time or a superb Bible-reading scheme. But the truly transformative element is not the discipline itself, but the worthiness of the task undertaken: the value of prayer, the value of reading God's Word.

(5) It is not helpful to list assorted Christian responsibilities and label them spiritual disciplines. That seems to be the reasoning behind the theology that smuggles in, say, creation care and almsgiving. But by the same logic, if out of Christian kindness you give a back rub to an old lady with a stiff neck and a sore shoulder, then back rubbing becomes a spiritual discipline. By such logic, any Christian obedience is a spiritual discipline, that is, it makes us more spiritual. Using the category of spiritual disciplines in that way has two unfortunate entailments. First, if every instance of obedience is a spiritual discipline, then there is nothing special about the emphatically emphasized, biblically mandated means of grace: prayer, for instance, and serious reading of and meditation on the Word of God. Second, such a way of thinking about spiritual disciplines subtly cajoles us into thinking that growth in spirituality is a function of nothing more than conformity to the demands of a lot of rules, of a lot of obedience. Certainly Christian maturity is not manifest where there is not obedience. Yet there is also a great deal of emphasis on growth in love, in trust, in understanding the ways of the living God, in the work of the Spirit in filling and empowering us.

(6) For these reasons it seems the part of wisdom to restrict the label "spiritual disciplines" to those Bible-prescribed activities that are explicitly said to increase our sanctification, our conformity to Christ Jesus, our spiritual maturation. When Jesus in John 17 prays that his Father will sanctify his followers through the truth, he adds, "Your word is truth." Small wonder that believers have long labeled things like the study of the truth of the gospel "means of grace"—a lovely expression less susceptible to misinterpretation than spiritual disciplines.

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