There was a woman who converted to Christianity under Patrick of Ireland. Her name was Brigid of Kildare, and she became a high abbess of a large double monastery (a place which admitted both men and women to become recluses).
Earlier in her conversion, Brigid had a fondness to give away items to the poor. Her father, an extremely wealthy man, was appalled to find his beautiful daughter [once] giving away his stores to beggars. Quite out of control, he threw Brigid into the back of his chariot, screaming, "It is neither out of kindness nor honor that I take you for a ride: I am going to sell you to the King of Leinster to grind his corn." Arriving at the king's enclosure, the father "unbuckled his sword, leaving it in the chariot beside Brigid, so that - out of respect - he could approach the king unarmed." No sooner had the father gone off than a leper appeared, begging Brigid for her help. Since the only thing handy was her father's sword, she gave it to him. Meanwhile, the father was making his offer to the king, who must have smelled something fishy, and insisted on meeting the girl before accepting.When king and father came out to the chariot, the father noticed immediately that his sword was missing and demanded to know where it was. When Brigid told him, "he flew into a wild rage" and began to beat her.
"Stop," cried the king, and called Brigid to him. "Why do you steal your father's property and give it away?"
"If I had the power," answered Brigid, "I would steal all your royal wealth, and give it to Christ's brothers and sisters." The king quickly declined the father's kind off because "your daughter is too good for me."
- Thomas Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization. Doubleday, New York, 1995 (pgs. 173-74)
Though we sing with the tongues of men and angels, if we are not truly worshipping the living God, we are noisy gongs and clanging cymbals. Though we organize the liturgy most beautifully, if it does not enable us to worship the living God, we are mere ballet-dancers. Though we repave the floor and reface the stonework, though we balance our budgets and attract all the tourists, if we are not worshipping God, we are nothing.Worship is humble and glad; worship forgets itself in remembering God; worship celebrates the truth as God's truth, not its own. True worship doesn't put on a show or make a fuss; true worship isn't forced, isn't half-hearted, doesn't keep looking at its watch, doesn't worry what the person in the next pew may be doing. True worship is open to God, adoring God, waiting for God, trusting God even in the dark.
Worship will never end; whether there be buildings, they will crumble; whether there be committees, they will fall asleep; whether there be budgets, they will add up to nothing. For we build for the present age, we discuss for the present age, and we pay for the present age; but when the age to come is here, the present age will be done away. For now we see the beauty of God through a glass, darkly, but then face to face; now we appreciate only part, but then we shall affirm and appreciate God, even as the living God has affirmed and appreciated us.
So, now our tasks are worship, mission, and management, these three; but the greatest of these is worship.
- N.T. Wright, For All God's Worth, True Worship and the Calling of the Church. Eerdmans
Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, 1997 (pgs. 8-9)
"A man... had a small bull-terrier that could whip all the dogs of the neighborhood. The owner of a large dog which the terrier had whipped asked the owner of the terrier how it happened that [it] whipped every dog he encountered.'That,' said the owner of the terrier, 'is no mystery to me; your dog and other dogs get half through a fight before they are ready; now, my dog is always mad!'"
- From Lincoln on Leadership: Executive Strategies for Tough Times. Donald T. Phillips,
Warner Books, New York, 1992 (pg. 112)
In C.S. Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters, a senior demon from hell named Screwtape wrote letters to his nephew Wormwood, who is a novice to the art of deviltry. Screwtape gave advice to this naive demon about how he can persuade and control a patient of him who is a human being. In one of his letters Screwtape wrote this:"Your man has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies dancing about together inside his head. He doesn't think doctrines as primarily 'true' or 'false', but as 'academic' or 'practical', 'outworn' or 'contemporary', 'conventional' or 'ruthless'. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church....
"I once had a patient, a sound atheist, who used to read in the British Museum. One day, as he sat reading, I saw a train of thought in his mind beginning to go the wrong way. The Enemy [i.e. God, since these are devils talking], of course, was at his elbow in a moment. Before I knew where I was I saw my twenty years' work beginning to totter. If I had lost my head and begun to attempt a defense by argument I should have been undone. But I was not such a fool. I struck instantly at the part of the man which I had best under my control and suggested that it was just about time he had some lunch. The Enemy presumably made a counter-suggestion (you know how one can never quite overhear what [God] says to them?) that this was more important than lunch. At least I think that must have been His line for when I said, 'Quite. In fact much too important to tackle at the end of a morning', the patient brightened up considerably; and by the time I had added 'Much better to come back after lunch and go into it with a fresh mind', he was already half way to the door.
Once he was in the street the battle was won. I showed him a newsboy shouting the midday paper, and a No. 73 bus going past, and before he reached the bottom of the steps I had got into him an unalterable conviction that, whatever odd ideas might come into a man's head when he was shut up alone with his books, a healthy dose of 'real life' (by which he meant the bus and the newsboy) was enough to show him that all 'that sort of thing' just couldn't be true. He knew he'd have a narrow escape and in later years was fond of talking about 'that inarticulate sense of actuality [possibly, heaven and salvation] which is our ultimate safeguard against the aberrations of mere logic.' He is now safe in Our Father's house [i.e. Satan and hell]."
- The Macmillan Company, New York, 1961 (pgs. 11, 12-14)