A Spiritual Discipline: General Reading
For many of us, and I include myself, a “spiritual discipline” tends to be assigned to something overtly religious – like prayer and Bible reading and solitude and fasting. But Austin Carty squares it up when he contends general reading is a spiritual discipline. The Tov Book Club is reading Austin Carty, The Pastor’s Bookshelf: Why Reading Matters for Ministry.
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Think about influential spiritual formation or spiritual disciplines writers. Like Richard Foster and Dallas Willard or Marjorie Thompson and Ruth Haley Barton. How many pages are devoted to reading as a discipline? And how much reading is reflected in their writing? Carty calls our attention to this indirectly: they may not have entire chapters on reading but their very teachings reflect the value of the reading. For each of these reading is a major spiritual discipline.
Not all reading, of course, is spiritual reading or a spiritual discipline.
Carty not only helps us understand what a spiritual discipline, habit, or practice is, but he offers some very helpful advice for each of us about the reading discipline.
A spiritual discipline is
a repeated practice that nourishes one’s soul and expands one’s sense of the grandeur of God and the connectedness of creation.
Well done. Willard sometimes spoke of the disciplines as creating openness to God and to grace and to the Spirit.
How many of us readers would not admit to that? Yes, indeed, the practice of reading becomes a spiritual discipline when instead of using what is written we become open to what is written.
What about you? What are your key ingredients for a reading discipline?
Henri Nouwen, Carty summarizes, says a reading discipline involves three elements:
(1) Setting aside a definite time.
(2) Setting aside a special place.
(3) Setting aside a single focus.
That is, a regular time for reading (mine is the afternoon, and then some in the evening and at bedtime [novels]), a special place (I read in a chair in our back room or in bed, but I don’t read for reading at my desk), and a single focus (our home is quiet; tranquility is easy to achieve; I do my best to keep the devices on silent modes).
How would you describe your reading discipline?
Carty makes this important suggestion: avoid thinking you can go from reading very little or only for sermons to reading three hours a day or even two hours during the work day. Instead, form a practice of reading for an hour each day until it becomes a settled routine in your life, and then add to that until you read what you think is best for you.
For several years, I have been exploring the physicality of reading, experimenting with how engaging the senses changes how I think about what I am reading. I see this idea when Carty (and Nouwen) talk about setting aside a "special place" for reading. Often, literature calls us out of our comfortable and asks us to step into the unknown, an unfamiliar setting with unfamiliar people. The personal and special place then does two things: first, it provides a "safe home" when the reading demands intellectual discomfort; and second, it creates a pavlovian anticipation for the act of reading. I think of ways that readers describe the experience, such as "curling up with a good book," invoking feelings of safety and comfort. So in this special place that I have created for reading, (which like you, Scot, is actually several different places) I add elements that touch the senses, a scented candle, a fragrant drink, textured pillows and blankets. I feel a hint of liturgy in this, that I am breathing in the anticipation of a soulful encounter. I know there is tension here, as spiritual discipline often demands asceticism, but I believe there is also room for wonder, in the way that our physical senses ignite our thoughts.
Reading to be changed is so different from reading to convince another. It’s dangerous, it’s surprising, and it’s a significant spiritual practice for me.