I have always loved games of strategy. Before geek was cool, I was on the high school chess team. Predicting, forward-looking, and anticipating any possible combinations of moves and responses still fascinates me. But, because I played mostly guys geekier than me back then, I tended to loose more games than I won. Eventually, I lost interest which explains why today, even computer chess—- set at the lowest level of difficulty—-can sometimes beat me if I’m not paying close attention.
So what happened? Even a child could tell you the obvious answer. I didn’t practice. Why? There are many answers. The honest answer is that there was nothing to motivate me to practice, and so, I just didn’t.
Some of you may already be aware that I have been a practitioner of Okinawan Karate for 13+ years. In that time, I have known a wide spectrum of people who are motivated to study for a variety of reasons (i.e., an occasional good workout, to learn some specific self defense moves, etc.). Others meticulously train like Olympian competitors.
And then there are those who practice martial arts as it was originally intended: a systematic method for defending oneself or others. Practitioners learn to quickly and effectively stop an assault. Period. Techniques are neither for show nor for its health benefits. Paramount is the repetition, and depth of focus on basics. The fact that these basics can disable (or worse) another human, brings to serious practitioners an air of solemnity. Lack of focus or slightly incorrect execution of one simple basic, could unintentionally and permanently injure both people. Traditional martial art philosophy states that one never truly completes the art, so “practice” continues throughout one’s lifetime. Here in Western Civilization, progress is measured in belt colors. It acknowledges the learning.
I doubt if anyone who reads this is ready to carve out more time from his/her day to begin studying Karate. Yet unbeknownst to us all, we do practice something. We fall into our routines and ways of thinking today just like we did yesterday and the days/weeks/months/years before.
As followers of Christ, we are, in essence, practitioners of Christianity. The range is wide for levels of skill. At one end, some approach their practice with a casual attitude while at the other end, a single missed prayer is cause for confession. The ultimate belt test, if you will, is the ability to demonstrate knowledge of the Bible, and to effectively stand this knowledge toe-to-toe with other Bible practitioners. Somewhere in the middle of practicing “The Way,” is the acknowledgement that we will never truly master this art.
But what if we simply made it part of our everyday life?
Traditional martial artists discover, over time, that the discipline begins to permeate through their entire lives. It has a positive influence in seemingly minor decisions because of the time spent quietly focused upon a singular thought. It is common for people to be surprised to discover that someone he/she knows at work, or socially, practices martial art. He/she does not brag, or bring attention to him/herself. Yet “The Way” permeates every aspect of his/her life. They do not rally for causes or affix political bumper stickers, but rather, move throughout their everyday lives with deliberation and humility in the knowledge that at any moment, their lives could be taken by surprise.
Even the highest-ranking martial artists, together with other practitioners, place themselves under the tutelage and discipline of a master teacher. (Okinawan Karate calls the place of study, “dojo.”) Devotion to individual practice is certainly a requirement, but real growth occurs when practitioners come together for support.
You see where I am going with this. Right? We all practice on our own, and we can even watch “practitioners” on TV, but it is only through our convening with others of like mind, and under the leadership of a pastor, that we all truly grow in our practice of Christianity. The time and day off the week matter little. What matters is the discipline of showing up, of showing respect to those whom we like and dislike, of singing songs we like or dislike, of audibly praying a group prayer, and of actively listening to the sermon. Individual practice, at home or in small groups is vital, but nothing substitutes for that time when we grapple with God, when we are thrown to the matt by something that challenges the norm… be it words or music. And if we are truly focused upon this singular thought, we then slip past our egos and experience what the martial artists calls satori—-or, a sudden flash of peace and understanding, or better described as using “The Way” to arrive at God.
