Soul Whispers: The Unspoken Questions of Our Lives

In his first epistle, Peter says that we must always "be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." Further, we are to do so with "gentleness and respect," a phrase I repeated in the form of a prayer many times one year when I was a part of a Hare Krishna discussion group. I had been invited to join by a friendly orange-clad follower of Krishna as I walked down Byres Road in Glasgow years ago. I told the fellow I was a Christian, but he didn't seem to mind, so I went ahead and joined the group. I wanted to be a witness for the truth, but I also had to respect the fact that this was their discussion group, not mine. My witness usually took the form of questions about their faith, rather than statements about my own. This approach eventually allowed me the privilege of sharing some of my own beliefs with them, and through this gentle dialogue, we became friends.

It was obvious to me in that particular situation that tactfulness would be required. I could not hijack their topics or begin proselytizing the group members. The first goal was to take time to really get to know them and understand their beliefs. If I showed such respect, perhaps I might (and in fact did) win the right to speak gently and be heard with an open mind.

There are times when I have not shared my faith so gently or respectfully. My evangelical heritage sometimes tempts me to throw doctrine at nonbelievers, like little "thou shalt not" daggers of condemnation. True as it may be, "You're wrong" is not always the best approach, and may sometimes be the worst. Peter writes about giving an answer for the hope that is in us, and it is doubtful whether any healthy Christian would respond by talking primarily about their own sinfulness or that of others. The presence of sin is what makes hope necessary and what by contrast makes it so wonderful, but what embodies that hope? Forgiveness of the unforgiveable? Love for the unloveable? Healing for broken bodies and hearts? The promise of a future where the world will be made right again? To be sure, there is very bad news in the Bible - we are indeed sinful and separated from God. But that's only the lead-up to the Good News - the comedy that God loves us anyway and the fairy tale that there really is a "happily ever after" for those who will receive it in grace (I am borrowing here from Buechner's Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale).

Don't get me wrong, recognition of one's sin and genuine confession are essential for every person who would be saved; I'm just arguing that it's usually not the first thing a person needs to hear when being introduced to God: "Bob, this is Jesus. He says you're a scoundrel. Oh, and he loves you even though you don't deserve it." It's difficult for most of us to receive criticism well from our most trusted friends, how much more so from this Jesus, who to Bob is a total Stranger?

I've always thought of Peter's words in terms of responding to the direct question of a skeptic: "Becky, I was just wondering...what is the reason for the hope that is in you?" but the truth is I don't get asked that question all so much. In the rare moments when I probably should've spoken more directly to a person, I have tried to justify my cowardly silence with the quote (questionably attibuted to St Francis) "Preach the gospel at all times; use words when necessary." Actions, like words, are essential. But what words?

It's occurred to me recently that the most important questions people ask are rarely spoken with words, but whispered (although sometimes shouted) with their lives. If our words are to take root in the hearts of others, they must address those whispered questions they are asking with their lives rather than the questions we think they should be asking. This is powerful stuff. Time and again in the Gospels we see Jesus demonstrating this intimate understanding of people's hearts, fulfilling Simeon's prophesy that by him "the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed." A Samaritan woman asks him for water but he answers her deeper question by telling her about living water. The Pharisees are routinely confounded when he identifies the true, ugly motives behind their questions, sometimes by asking a question of his own. Even with good old Thomas, whose doubt keeps it real for the rest of us, Jesus knows what he really needs and invites him to touch Him and believe.

So with this idea of giving an answer to the often unspoken but deepest questions of others' lives, how can we "be prepared" to do so? We must rely on the work of the Holy Spirit, searching out and revealing the truth all around us, about ourselves and others. We must embody the love of God, who went to extreme lengths to show that love to the needy and deluded. And we must be like Jesus, taking the time to talk to people, meeting with and loving them right where they're at. We must be abiding in intimate relationship with these Three, so that our efforts are fueled by their wisdom and words, not our own.

Aside from answering the unspoken questions, we may be called to help people discover exactly what question or questions their own uniquely-loved-by-God souls are struggling to ask. It seems likely that most of us couldn't put our deepest questions into words even if we tried. Ideas, emotions, opinions, and experiences hover like the mists of Avalon between the worlds of our conscious and our subconscious. I have spent the past two years trying to articulate a few of my own questions, and I've only recently begun to discover some of the key words, thanks to several Spirit-led friends who have taken the time to get to know me and my struggles.

So instead of telling our friends that they should do this or don't do that, maybe we can point them beyond the command to the Spirit from whom it came. Darrell Johnson gave me a new perspective on the Ten Commandments. Yes, they are rules. But they are there because of God's love for us. He writes,

The Law is given not to tie us up but to release us into the fullness of freedom. How do the commandments do this? By telling us who we are, by revealing who we were created to be..."You shall have no other gods before me." Why? Because God is an egoist and cannot handle rivals? No. "You shall have no other gods" because we were created in such a way that only the one, true, Living God can satisfy us. We finite creatures were made in such a away that only the Infinite God can fill and fulfill us. God speaks the commandment to protect us, to keep us from ruining our lives by seeking satisfaction in what ultimately does not satisfy. (from Fifty-Seven Words, pp 59-60)

People need to know that God has a standard for living. But the way we present that information can do much to help or hinder a person's receptivity to spiritual matters. Pharisaic zeal for rules is a spirit-crushing, hypocrite-inducing, us-versus-them approach. It is motivated by anger or resentment that someone else might "get away" with doing something they've denied themselves. Godly zeal is for souls to be reconciled to Christ. Jesus addressed people's sin, but only after first pouring out kindness and healing and friendship on the broken and outcast: "Go and sin no more." 

God and His word can speak to people about rules and standards; who is more able to soften a heart for repentance than God Himself? I believe our job is primarily to show unbelievers the deep, deep love of Jesus in word and deed, so that when the time comes for the Holy Spirit to convict and guide them into wholeness and holiness, we will have helped Jesus win the "right" to be heard. If our words are motivated by repulsion at a person's sinfulness, they might be better left unsaid - I am especially referring to the case of an unbeliever. But if our words are motivated by a sincere and nonjudmental desire to see a person freed from the weight of sin and released into the full joy of life as God intended it for him or her, then it might be appropriate to speak...but only after listening to the Holy Spirit and being assured that it's His words we speak, and not our own.

Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. ~ Proverbs 12:18

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What Stew Can Do, or How to Make a Baby

I've been rolling a metaphor around in my head recently, and finding it useful in my attempts to articulate several different things. I think it began - at least in its current form - with another metaphor, in a discussion I had several months ago with my friend Nancy, about being and doing. We talked about stew: the steaming, savoury stuff of winter afternoons. "What does stew do to make itself taste better?" asked Nancy. It cannot toss in a few more carrots or (in my kitchen) more garlic. It cannot reduce the amount of salt that's been added. It can't even change the temperature from a simmer to a boil. A stew is in fact rather limited in what it can do. The real power, the real artistry, is in the skill of the cook. He or she knows just what the stew needs - and when (because soggy vegetables are an abomination) - to make it delicious.

So what can a stew do? Well, it can...stew. It simply must be, and trust that eventually it really will turn into a delicious stew, a worthy meal to nourish the hungry. And stew, to fully accomplish its purpose, must be served to others. There is always the element of doing. But half-stewed stew - lukewarm and crunchy, flavours as yet unmingled into perfect harmony - is a work in progress and not ready to be served.

This forced me to take a closer look at the ideas of being and doing. I had been talking to Nancy about how I "ought" to be reading my Bible more regularly. Her retort caught me off guard: "Well, I guess that's just one more thing you're failing at." Her issue, of course, was not with the idea of reading the Bible more, but with that little word "ought." I had taken the life-giving, soul-nourishing, spirit-refreshing act of Bible-reading and turned it into one more bothersome little "chore" that needed to be done. To be sure, there is a place for duty in the Christian life, but it is a starting place, a way for the beginner to set foot on the Way or for the doubter to walk forward into renewed or deepened faith. Duty, like the Law, is a form that tells us what we must do. But what God most desires of us is that we do what we do because we want to do it, because we can't help but do it, because our love of Him is so great.

"I desire to your will, O my God; your law is within my heart." My struggle is to keep moving from duty to desire, to let God's law work its way into my heart. Or maybe it's the other way around: my heart works its way into the law, transforming my motives and perspective. The question is, how does one move from duty to desire, without making that goal into yet another duty?

Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,
but my ears you have pierced;
burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.
Then I said, "Here I am, I have come—
it is written about me in the scroll.
I desire to do your will, O my God;
your law is within my heart." --Psalm 40:6-8

For me it has meant trying to release myself from the guilt trips of what I "ought" to be doing. I am learning to say No a little more often, at least until I can say Yes with sincere desire. I am giving myself space and time to discover what it means to abide in Jesus. Eugene Peterson describes it as, making "yourselves at home with [Jesus]" (John 15, the Message). Clement of Alexandria used the phrase "keeping company with God." The point is to focus on my relationship with God (what it means to be a child of God), not my "results" (the stuff I do that authenticates that relationship). Relationship will ultimately point me to God, as the giver of His love and His blessings, which includes the gift of my status as His child. Results, in their best form, should naturally flow out of that relationship and draw us closer to God and point others toward Him. In their worst (and more common) form, results will begin and end with us - striving in our own strength to do what we feel we have to do to find favour with God.

It is this connection between relationship and results that got me looking for a metaphor. As soon as someone talks about being, another feels compelled to speak up for the necessity of acting out ("doing") our beliefs. Emphasize faith and another will defend works. Each perspective is valid, and the two truths are perfected when held in tension. But how can we hold that tension?

I have always been a doer, largely because I like lists, I like to check things off. I like the feeling of control that comes with doing. Also, being freaks me out a little bit. It's so abstract, and I am a concrete kind of thinker. What does it mean to be in Christ apart from what I do? What kind of intimate human relationship would be even remotely satisfying for either individual if results were the main theme of its existence? How much more so with God? Surely He must occasionally wish we would ditch the deeds long enough to hang out with Him and get to know Him better, to find out what's on His heart, and let Him show us what's in ours. Faith and works must indeed go together but not in such a conscientious way as I'd always thought. I shouldn't be making works happen, they should just be happening on their own without so much forced effort on my part.

Here's where my new metaphor comes in. Picture two lovers, a husband and wife bound together by love and commitment. Because they are in love, their time together is characterized by joy and contentment and comfort. Because of the time they spend together and their promise to each other, their relationship is secure against all threats. There is no place they would rather be than in each other's presence. Eventually, during their most intimate expression of love for each other, a child is conceived. Over the course of nine months, their love will blossom and deepen in recognition that this child is the wonderful - and inevitable - "result" of their love for each other. Further, if we were to ask the couple about what they did to "make" the baby, they would probably not start speaking about zygotes or the dividing of cells. They would speak of the act of love that is at the centre of their relationship. Ultimately, this child "happened" because they love each other, not because they consciously thought about matching up sperm and egg.

I think this is similar to how we are meant to be in relationship with God. As our love for God grows and matures, our deeds will be the inevitable result of that love. If we obsess about "making" deeds happen, we have missed the point entirely. If we instead will pour our energies into loving God and growing in our relationship with Him, those deeds will begin to happen without so much thought or effort on our part. Our deeds will be the fruits of desire instead of duty.

In his essay entitled Lilies That Fester (from The World's Last Night and Other Essays), C.S. Lewis talks about words such as refinement and religion, and how people who speak in such terms are in fact the ones least likely to be defined by them. That is, the one who speaks most about piety is the least likely to be truly pious, the one who speaks most passionately about culture is the least likely to in fact be cultured. He writes, "The talk is inimical to the thing talked of, likely to spoil it where it exists and to prevent its birth where it is unborn." (33)

And so it is with deeds. The more time you spend talking about doing them - what you should be doing, what you don't need to do, what you don't want to do, what others are doing or not doing - the less time you're spending in your relationship with God, which is the only source of truly good deeds. I have found this to be true in many areas of the Christian life, just one example being the obsession of some believers about submission (a flawed result of imposed duty rather than a generous outpouring of love). Darrell Johnson's book Fifty-Seven Words brought up another one. In the fifth petition of the Lord's Prayer, believers are told to pray and ask God to forgive their debts, "as we also have forgiven our debtors." Many have struggled with the apparent suggestion that we might not be forgiven by God if we haven't first forgiven others who have sinned against us. Consequently, we can get lost down the familiar rabbit trail of insecurity or indignance about faith versus works.

As Darrell points out, the issue is not about a formula we must complete in order to earn favour and forgiveness with God, rather it is about whether or not we truly understand forgiveness. He quotes John Stott (who so often makes profound statements with few words): "God forgives only the penitent, and one of the chief evidences of true penitence is a forgiving spirit." Like the unmerciful servant of Matthew 18, if we dare to ask God to forgive our mountain and yet refuse to forgive another's molehill (so to speak), we have missed the point entirely. If we don't understand forgiveness enough to give it, how can we pray to receive it? The two are in fact one and the same.

I think that's almost the end of my ramblings, for today anyway. I guess my point is that our human tendency is so often to try and reduce the complexities of relationship with a simple formula for results. Rules are so much easier and more efficient than the demands of relationships. They may limit the chance of messing up (with regard to the letter of the Law, anyway), but they also limit the potential for true Love to do its - His - own work in us. Why play with a ragdoll of our own making when we're able to give birth to real babies with God? Or, to borrow from Jesus' analogy, why fiddle about with plastic fruit when He can produce real fruit in us - as we learn what it means to abide in Him.

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can't bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can't bear fruit unless you are joined with me. I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant."
- John 15:4-5, The Message

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The Answer To All Our Prayers

Fifty-Seven Words That Change The World: A Journey Through The Lord's Prayer, by Darrell W. Johnson
progress: completed

I first met Darrell Johnson at Regent College. Because the courses he taught were primarily in the area of pastoral studies, I unfortunately never had the opportunity to take one of his classes (I was working on a Master of Christian Studies with an emphasis on Christianity and the Arts; strangely, if I were to go back at this point in my life, I might consider switching to the Master of Divinity). He once gave a guest lecture in my class on the Book of Revelation, and I remember thinking what an amazing teacher he was; he taught in a way that jived with the way my brain works. I also got to hear a number of his talks in Chapel, and realised what a great preacher he was. Then, towards the end of my time at Regent, Steve and I were in a Community Group for young married couples with him and his wife Sharon. The two of them spent an hour a week encouraging us in our marriages and welcoming us into their lives, as well as their home (I still have Sharon's delicious recipe for Bacon and Spinach Salad). He became an example to me of what true pastoring looks like: he was smart, humble, approachable, vulnerable, and available, among other things. Not to mention the fact that when Bono came to Vancouver and happened to stop by Regent, it was Darrell he stopped by to see. It turns out he'd attended Darrell's previous church in southern California a few times, and liked what he'd heard. How cool is that?

So when I read a book by Darrell, I expect to be educated, informed and challenged. I read his Discipleship on the Edge: An Expository Journey Through The Book of Revelation (buy it here with my heartiest recommendation) two years ago and he did the impossible: he made the Book of Revelation make sense, in a practical and life-transforming way. I had been interested to read his book on the Lord's Prayer and was pleasantly surprised to find a used copy at a Value Village store in Edmonton. Coincidence? I'm inclined to call it Providence.

I've never felt very "good" at prayer, if such a thing can be measured, and so it was with great relief that I read Darrell's reminder that this is the one specific request for instructions made by the disciples and recorded in the Gospels: "Lord, teach us to pray." They didn't get it, either! Certainly, they prayed, but they saw something uniquely different in Jesus' prayers. Darrell writes, "Others in Jesus' day were praying 'Holy One,' or 'Almighty,' or 'Rock,' or 'Lord of Hosts.' Jesus was praying 'Father.'" (105) The disciples saw that all that Jesus was and all that He did sprang out of His relationship with His Father, and the key to that relationship was prayer. He writes

"I understand the disciples' request to mean more than, 'Jesus, teach us some new spiritual techniques that will help us stay awake when we pray and make us feel that your prayers matter.' I take their request to mean, 'Jesus, will you teach us how to relate to the one you call 'Father' the way you do?'

"So Jesus teaches his disciples - and us - to pray fifty-seven words that are brilliant in their simplicity. These fifty-seven words change the way we understand God, ourselves, and the world. Indeed, they are fifty-seven words that, when prayed with even a modicum of faith, end up changing the world. (12)

As we pray the Prayer, we begin to discover what's on God's heart, and what He is doing in our world. And more than that, we are somehow granted the privilege of becoming partners with Him: "We are joining the living God in bringing about the realization of his heart's desire for the world." (14) As with the Book of Revelation, the veil is being pulled back to reveal the mighty happenings that are going on behind the scenes. "Our Father in heaven" is a reminder that God - our Father! - is indeed on the throne of the universe, working out His good purposes throughout the course of history. "On earth as it is in heaven" tells us that heaven is invading earth, and we are invited to participate in the Great Reversal of all that is wrong in our world.

Darrell expounds on each of the six petitions, and sums it all up with the amazing revelation that Jesus himself is the ultimate answer to each of the requests. He is the ultimate hallowing (revealing) of the Father's name (which is His character). He is the King, ushering in the kingdom of God, a new world order. He is the Son who lived His entire earthly life in complete submission to the Father's will. Jesus himself is our "daily bread," the true nourishment of our souls. He is the Redeemer, who cancelled our debts and paid them off with His own blood, and the Reconciler who empowers us to forgive others. Lastly, He is the one who once and for all defeats the Evil One, who would lead us astray. "The answer to the Lord's prayer is as sure as the Lord himself." (112-113)

There is so much wisdom here, so much time needed to soak it all in. What Jesus is saying in this prayer is essentially, "You want to get to know the Father? Get to know me. Walk with me. Work with me. Abide with me. Begin to look like me." Therefore, while I am convinced that God welcomes my honesty in prayer, my requests of what I think I need, His deepest desire is to show me that what I most need is Him. It's a lesson that's been breaking into my heart for quite some time now - I'm finally starting to get it. As with any intimate relationship, God wants to be loved for who He is, not just for the benefits of His friendship. He gives generously, and nowhere does He gives so generously as when He gives Himself. As Brother Lawrence would say, there is no greater blessing than finding ourselves in His presence, and losing ourselves in His love.

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The Next Course(s): Books 3 and 4

I think I'm going to write one more post about Letters to Malcolm, but I'm not sure when I'll have the chance. In the meantime, I thought I'd announce my next two books, in case anyone is following along.

Book 3 will be Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, by Kathleen Norris. I'm 60 pages into this one and enjoying it quite a bit. Since the book is a collection of 60+ short word-stories, I thought it would work well to read and comment alongside other reading.

Book 4 will be Fifty-Seven Words That Change the World: A Journey Through The Lord's Prayer, by Darrell Johnson. I've been reading this for the Bible study I am teaching, and thought it would be good to process a bit more here on Bookmeal.

I'm looking forward to growing fat with more spiritual soulfood!

Becky

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Prayer in the Field

Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, by CS Lewis
Progress: 56/124

It shouldn't be surprising that when one sets out to learn about prayer, opportunities for practicing prayer will reveal themselves with increasing intensity. On Sunday, it was my three-and-a-half-year-old son, R, with a gash on his forehead, just about to the bone. Without naming names, I prayed that God would let there be a "good" doctor on call - that is, not one of the mean or incompetent ones I've encountered there in the past. God answered favourably, and provided a very kind doctor, whom R dubbed the "Daddy Doctor," and who was so gentle in his manner that R fell asleep on the table even as he was being stitched up (four stitches, for those interested in such things).

Tuesday brought turmoil of a more personal nature, and in my despair I went for a walk. There, under cover of darkness and in the blessed privacy of stars and snowy fields, I yelled. I accused. I was even, momentarily, sarcastic. It was not a pious prayer, but it was honest, and I hope that, at least, honoured God in some way - that I didn't lie to His face (so to speak) and try to sound submissive when in fact I was feeling about as rebellious as a goody-two-shoes like me can get. Amazingly, after the drama, I walked home with a renewed sense of peace and trust.

Tuesday also brought the devastating earthquake in Haiti. I sat transfixed before the computer, assaulted by images of pain and suffering, and unable to turn my eyes or attention away for a very long time. It occurred to me later that tragedy of this magnitude should have rendered my own problems irrelevant, at least for a while, but it didn't. I just made room in my heart for more sadness. Eventually, I remembered to pray about Haiti, too, instead of just feeling sad but helpless.

Tuesday is also my Bible study preparation day, and so I read the first few chapters of Regent College professor and Vancouver pastor Darrell Johnson's book, Fifty-Seven Words That Change The World: A Journey Through The Lord's Prayer. I read about prayer a lot more than I prayed that day, for all my woes.

On Wednesday morning I drove to Bible study, and in the silence of my car, prayed the Lord's Prayer, for the first time really praying it, letting the words draw out of me the sadness, despair, and longing that needed to be given over to those fifty-seven words and the One who hears them.

In Bible study, I taught about prayer, as a blind person leading others who could surely lead the way more capably. At the end, I burst into tears, and heard the heartfelt and teary prayers of other women on my behalf. I experienced the solidarity and community of the body of Christ at that moment, after I had been more honest and vulnerable than I've ever been with them before.

On Wednesday night I had a phone appointment, which I had arranged before my week had begun to fall apart. I was tempted to cancel, as my specific reason for calling seemed moot in light of the recent events and I felt drained. But by God's grace I did call, and was ministered to by a friend and fellow-pilgrim who had previously walked a journey similar to the one upon which I am now travelling, stumbling and grumbling along the way. She prayed through a passage in Jeremiah with me, and I saw glimpses of myself and my situation in those words of Scripture. I felt solidarity with the exiles in Babylon. I ended the phone conversation with a renewed sense of my identity and of God's purpose and plan for me in light of (no longer in contrast to) that identity. I could breathe a little deeper. For a little while I experienced joy.

Thursday brought more turmoil, although a remnant of the peace and trust from my walk on Tuesday hovered nearby, protecting me from despair.

Friday allowed me some respite from my woes and I focused again on the more pressing needs and desperate suffering of Haiti. After a growing sense that more than my prayers were required in response to the catastrophe, I donated money to aid in the relief efforts, and set my mind to thinking what else might be done on behalf of the Haitians.

On Saturday, peace came to my home. Giving and receiving, hearing and understanding, dreaming and planning were the agents of that peace.

And all these, things, I believe, were fruits of the many prayers made by me and for me this week, a personal response from Our Father, who art in heaven.

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