Lately (as in, this past week), I have found myself wondering how literally and radically I should live out my faith. If I am called to give generously and to lay up treasures in heaven, not here on earth, should I shop and spend money on anything that is not absolutely necessary? If I am told to "pray without ceasing" and devote myself to service, should I read novels and watch comedy shows?

These thoughts have mainly been provoked by...

1. Gilead
2. A conversation with my sister
3. In This House of Brede

While listening to Gilead (on audiobook) during the morning drive to my internship, the narrator told a story of his grandfather who took literally the commandment to give generously to all. Clothes would disappear off the clothesline and food vanish from the kitchen because he had found a needy soul to give them to. I found myself looking rather selfish in comparison. (I mean, I have issues just lending books to my family. Pathetic, I know).

Home alone for almost a whole week, Jessina and I had plenty of time to talk. One of those conversations revolved around the ethics of shopping. Why, Jessina said, do we buy clothes when, practically, we don't need them? Is it because we want to fit into this world and be accepted by people, by other humans? Yet God tells us we do not belong to this world; we should not concern ourselves with being accepted by people but rather with being accepted by God. I wonder, though, how far that nonconformity should go?

Last year I read a book recommendation by Lauren Winner. Believing her to have impeccable and unparalleled taste when it comes to literature, I immediately navigated to my amazon.com wishlist and added In This House of Brede, a novel that tells of a middle aged woman's adjustment to life in Brede Abbey. This summer I am finally getting around to reading that novel and I must say Lauren Winner has not let me down. It is delightful, poignant, and informative. Read it if you have any interest whatsoever in Catholicism and the monastic life. As I've read, I've been struck by the utter and complete devotion these women have to God. They give up most all comforts, their independence, their identity in order to know God better. They sponge bathe in cold water, have nothing of their own to give others, and sometimes pray for six hours a day. I imagine myself trying to pray for six hours and I see myself fidgeting, daydreaming, dosing off -- doing anything but praying. Frankly, it sounds miserable. That does not speak well to my devotion to God, now does it?

These examples portray a Christianity that is anything but comfortable and routine. And I'm wondering if, perhaps, it is in such nonconformity, such radicalness, that fulfillment and peace are gained. But I honestly don't know.