Jason Gaboury's Blog, page 9
December 27, 2020
Trusting our Questions - How Curiosity Unlocks the Bible and Restores Spiritual Life
I have vivid memories of my younger daughter as a preschooler sneaking off in the early morning to have her ‘quiet time’ in imitation of her father. She couldn’t read on her own, but that didn’t stop her from finding a Bible and retreating to a corner where she would stare down at the text pious and uncomprehending. It was cute. At the time I felt proud of the imitation and hoped that it was a practice she might grow into over the years. I also assumed it was an indication of spiritual curiosity. I was wrong.
As a teenager, more than a decade since her preschool days, my daughter confessed her motivation. “It was a competition,” she said, “I wanted to see if I could sit quietly with the bible for longer than you.” Then she sighed, “but, I was four, so you always won.”
Eugene Peterson’s reflections of a similar experience with his grandson put this experience in a new perspective. He describes, “Hans on that park bench, “reading” but not reading, reverent and devout without an awareness that it has anything to do with either the lettuce and mayonnaise sandwich he has just eaten or the museum he is about to visit, oblivious to his grandmother next to him: Hans “reading” his Bible. A parable.”
Nearly half (48%) of all Americans used the Bible regularly in 2019, according to the American Bible Society’s 2019 State of the Bible report. Presumably, most did so to make a connection with God and deepen their faith.
It’s surprising, then, that only about half of those who use the Bible regularly (24%), according to ABS’ survey, said they had discovered the connection and transformation they were looking for.
The American Bible Society’s report reflects the dangers Peterson sees in his grandson on that park bench. Sadly, the habit of Bible reading without recognition, and consuming content without curiosity, is not restricted to precocious preschoolers. Too many adults have ceased to be meaningfully curious about the spiritual life. Without curiosity we read our Bibles and say our prayers without experiencing any real transformation. This lack of curiosity leads to spiritual malaise in the form of distraction, apathy, or boredom.
Spiritually Bored
It may be that some of our spiritual boredom is the result of well-intended efforts to solidify conviction. I’ve met hundreds of students over the years whose Christian upbringing had long since lost its personal relevance. The stories of these students are strikingly similar. As a middle or high school student they are exposed to people, circumstances, or perspectives that challenge their faith. It could be a parent’s divorce, a friend “coming out”, the sudden death of a loved one, a trusted classmate or teacher who challenged Christian assumptions, or awakening to the challenges and struggles of racial injustice and the church’s complicit history in slavery and segregation. These students bring their questions to a pastor or youth leader and are told to, “just have faith.”
The consequences of this admonishment are threefold. First, the student learns that there are questions or topics off limits for Christian faith. This perspective influences not only their engagement with their peers, pastors, and parents, but their engagement with scripture as well. If, for example, sexual minorities are an off-limits topic for conversation, what do we make of the Ethiopian eunuch, the woman at the well, Mary the mother of Jesus, or those ‘made eunuchs for the kingdom of God’? These stories, or the questions they invariably raise, are screened out in advance, dampening curiosity.
A second consequence is the belief that Christian faith has no answers to the important questions raised by students’ experience. Rather than explore the, admittedly mixed but nevertheless rich, history of Christian thought on the problem of evil, just war, peacebuilding, sexual ethics, philosophy of science and political history, the student comes to assume that their understanding of the Christian faith, often no more than a third-grade understanding, is complete.
The third consequence is that the student stops being curious. Some students lower their expectations of what a life with God is supposed to be. These students maintain their involvement in a Christian community, but their confidence in the scriptures and tradition diminishes. They may dutifully participate in worship, read their Bibles, and pray, but neither expect or experience curiosity. Other students resolve the tension by compartmentalizing their ‘spiritual’ life from the rest of their life. These students may fully participate in Christian activities with sincere devotion while in church, but focus their curiosity on their ‘secular’ life. Finally, there are those who resolve the tension by leaving their faith communities altogether.
Thus a, perhaps, well-intentioned desire to encourage confident faith can actually produce spiritual apathy, distraction, and boredom.
Recovering curiosity is key to rediscovering our confidence in Christian faith and our commitment to scripture. We need to return to the Bible, not as pious, uncomprehending consumers, but rather as curious learners.
Rediscovering Curiosity
The call to cultivate curiosity is not terribly useful as a general principle. According to Daniel Kahneman, the human brain necessarily processes information in two distinct modes. Our ‘fast’ thinking enables us to process and apply information quickly by screening out details and conforming new data into recognizable and familiar patterns. This system isn’t ‘curious’ by design. It helps our brains to conserve energy and allows us to perform and process the thousands of tasks and interactions we have every day. In contrast, our ‘slow’ thinking system pays attention to details, engages in analytical work, and considers new information. This system is curious by default.
Cultivating curiosity in the spiritual life requires intentionally slowing down our thinking as we engage with scripture, reflect on our experience, and as we interact with other people.
Unlocking Scripture’s Mysteries
Many of the methods I’ve used to teach students how to engage scripture are designed to unlock curiosity. It’s fun, for example, to print out a poster sized copy of the first 15 verses of Mark’s gospel, hand students a bunch of markers and ask them to go mark key words, ideas, phrases, and textual connections. In about 10 minutes, the posters are awash with color and students are beginning to see the gospel in a whole new way.
The purpose behind this teaching method is to force students to slow down their thinking for long enough that their curiosity has time to emerge. Adding colors, lines, and shapes onto the text adds visual complexity and forces the brain to not just file the passage into the familiar pattern it already knows, but to open itself to new, and undiscovered, possibilities.
Our curiosity about scripture needs to go deeper than grammar and syntax analysis, however, if we’re going to discover the depths of life with God. Curiosities about language, structure, genre, and message can lead us to broader questions. What is this passage saying about God? What tensions or unresolved questions does this passage raise? What does this passage say about people? How does that relate to my experience? The tensions that emerge as we engage these questions are not to be avoided, but should lead us back into scripture as we attempt to puzzle out what the Bible has to say to our tensions and questions.
Discovering Ourselves
Cultivating curiosity in our Bible study is helpful, but insufficient to lead us to the transformation that so many of us seek. We must also cultivate curiosity about ourselves, specifically about our response to God. Interest in spiritual direction has exploded in the last few years. This interest says something about our hunger to cultivate curiosity in this area of the spiritual life.
A good spiritual director is not a therapist, counselor, or priest, though some spiritual directors also serve in those vocations. The art of spiritual direction is helping someone slow down enough to notice and get curious about the movements of God in their inner life, relationships, and experiences. Slowing down to notice what happens when we pray, noticing times of joy and contentment, or reflecting on times of anger, frustration, or grief, raises questions we may not realize we had.
“I can’t help noticing,” my spiritual director said, “that last time we met you were talking about your desire to be more present to your children, and this week your daughter asked you to pray with her.” He was right. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Was God answering my prayers? And, if this was an answer to prayer, why were my feelings about it ambiguous? These vital questions unlocked curiosity and helped me see God differently.
Noticing Others
Healthy Christian spirituality also cultivates curiosity about others. Genuine curiosity about the experience of other people, their likes and dislikes, their questions, concerns, and perspectives, will enable us to love and serve them well. Perhaps a funny story will illustrate this well.
Tim loves dark chocolate. When Doug joined Tim’s team, Tim celebrated by giving Doug some dark chocolate. Doug, wanting to honor his new boss’ intention, accepted the gift graciously. Over the course of that year every time Doug performed well, hit a goal, or went above and beyond, Tim celebrated Doug with dark chocolate. The only problem was that Doug doesn’t like dark chocolate. It wasn’t until Doug had worked with Tim for a full year before Doug said, “Tim, I appreciate you celebrating our work… you should know… I don’t like dark chocolate.”
Tim’s lack of curiosity about Doug’s preferences led to a year’s worth of celebrations that were less meaningful to Doug than they might have been. This is a small and innocuous example. Sometimes the consequences of our lack of curiosity are more significant. Cultivating curiosity in this area will help us to live out the many directives we find in scripture to love and serve our neighbor.
What would have happened if, as I noticed my four-year-old skulk off into a corner with her Bible, I had gotten curious about what she was up to and asked her about it? How might my curiosity have helped me to tend the sparks of her own spiritual curiosity?
While far too many of us have ceased to be curious about the spiritual life, it doesn’t have to be this way. Instead of reading our Bibles and saying our prayers without experiencing any real transformation we can cultivate curiosity. This would bring about transformation, speaking to the distraction, apathy, and boredom so prevalent in our experience. Not only that, but it could help us know God, know ourselves, and love others.
November 10, 2020
Waiting for God in a Season of Anguish - Advent
Our family loves Advent. There is no other season, not even Christmas, that our family goes quite so all out for. We decorate our home for the season. Every night we gather around the Advent wreath, light candles, and sing O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Then we read a section from the Bible, starting with creation, all the way through to the coming of Jesus, placing ourselves in the story, waiting for the strange and beautiful ending where God will come in Jesus. We hang an ornament on our Jesse tree. There’s wonder in these days for our family.
And yet… It’s easy to forget that many things in which we find great comfort and connection emerged out of seasons of anguish. The lessons and carols service, for example, emerged as the church sought to respond to the emotional wreckage caused by the first World War.
Closer to home, the year our family started our Advent traditions was proceeded by traumatic events. We needed the holy habits of Advent to cope with disappointment, grief, and loss.
Isaiah 40:1-11, a familiar Advent passage, is a poem born in anguish, but we seem to have mostly forgotten. When read sung each December they evoke positive feelings of security, warm cider, close relationships, and holiday cheer. We forget the anguish into which these words were written, and the condition into which they speak.
Isaiah 40, emerging in a season of anguish offers 3 distinct voices that point us to God; the voice of comfort, the voice of restoration, and the voice of relationship with God.
The voice of Comfort
Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord's hand
double for all her sins.
The voice of comfort assures a community in exile that suffering, and judgment is not the end. Conquered people are tempted to believe that God has abandoned them. A conquered people might be tempted to turn from God and instead worship the power of the empire in its economic dominance, military prowess, and ability to exercise political will.
The voice of comfort says, “No.” God has not abandoned you. God is at work, even in judgment, even in exile.
Some of us balk at any talk of God and judgment. This is because, at least according to Boston University professor Dr. Peter Kreeft, we live in a cultural moment where we have collapsed, the virtues of love, compassion, and goodness all into kindness. And since, we rightly believe God is loving, compassionate, and good we assume therefore that God’s deepest nature is to be kind. (Judgment doesn’t fit with our image of kindness.)
But, according to Peter Kreeft, this is a distortion of God’s character. Kindness has to do with being friendly, generous, and considerate. It has to do with treating others as ‘kin’. It is a virtue. The New Testament even commands us to show kindness to one another. However, while it is not incompatible with the nature of God to include the conviviality associated with kindness, Kreeft’s argues that God’s truest nature corresponds more deeply to the virtue of mercy. Mercy is compassion or forgiveness shown to someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm. In a fallen, corrupted, and corruptible world God isn’t, ‘nice’. It’s so much better than that…God’s deepest nature is to be merciful.
That’s why the bible demonstrates God’s love as combative and confrontational as well as compassionate and gentle. That’s why in scripture God’s goodness makes moral demands and provides rescue from sin. That’s why God’s is revealed as both compassionate and critical.
In the desolation and anguish brought on by our own sin, the sin of others, or just the vulnerability of a fallen world, God’s first word to his people is comfort. God sees you. God’s mercy is open to you, today, whatever situation of captivity, judgment, or exile you’re living in.
The fist voice is the voice of comfort. God is at work. The Lord will restore justice.
The Voice of Restoration
A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
The image here is of work being done in preparation for a royal visitation. There are roads that need to be built and relationships that need to be set right. The damages done by injustice, unrest, and trauma need active undoing. It is insufficient to receive the promise of comfort, we need to get our shovels out and begin building for the Lord’s return.
“I think we should do this project,” Sophia said, handing me a few slips of paper. On one was a table of readings. On the other was a pattern for decorations. “We need to do something,” she continued, “maybe this will help us.” She was right. A few weeks earlier we held each other and wept, as grief, pain, disappointment, and rage swirled inside. All of our decisions about ministry, calling, God’s provision, and even our sense of stability was overwhelmed by a shockingly painful set of circumstances.
Little did I know that hours of stitching, stuffing, and sealing later we’d emerge with a family tradition to anchor us in the story of God and in our relationships with one another. Reflecting now, I wonder how often simple, practical, actions lead to hope, health, and transformation.
Isaiah’s vision summons the hearers to prepare for the Lord’s return to Zion. The voice promises that what was broken will be restored. This is not a message for philosophical contemplation, it’s a call for shovels. There is simple, practical, work to be done.
What would need to happen in your home for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there? What would need to happen in your school, or workplace for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there? What needs to be ‘filled in’, what needs to be ‘raised up’?
In the midst of anguish God speaks a word of comfort and a word of calling. We fill in and raise up in a way that anticipates the day when God’s glory will be revealed and everyone sees it together.
The voice of Relationship with God
A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand for ever.
I love Isaiah’s utter realism about human beings. There is unflinching confrontation with the reality of human frailty, weakness, and limitation. Sometimes we get this idea that to be godly, or spiritually robust is to be without weakness, fault, or inconsistency. But here the voice is crying out “all people are grass”. God is not unaware of our weaknesses, sin, and inconstancy. God knows all about that and invites us into relationship anyway. We don’t need to be smart, powerful, rich, good looking, or talented. We don’t need to be nuanced, culturally sophisticated, highly educated, or socially powerful. In fact, most of those things get in the way of us having relationship with God.
Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
“Here is your God!”
See, the Lord God comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.
This final section contrasts what people are like with what God is like. God is powerful, just, and mighty. God is also the shepherd king who is tender and merciful. God carries the vulnerable in his arms and gently leads the mother sheep. God has no rivals in the scope and totality of his power. God has no equal in the depths of his tenderness and compassion.
Do we know God like that? Advent gives us the chance to be overwhelmed by the majesty, beauty, and power of God, while being simultaneously dumbstruck by God’s tenderness and compassion? Advent invites us discover life with God, even in seasons of anguish.
Advent: Waiting for God in a Season of Anguish
Our family loves Advent. There is no other season, not even Christmas, that our family goes quite so all out for. We decorate our home for the season. Every night we gather around the Advent wreath, light candles, and sing O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Then we read a section from the Bible, starting with creation, all the way through to the coming of Jesus, placing ourselves in the story, waiting for the strange and beautiful ending where God will come in Jesus. We hang an ornament on our Jesse tree. There’s wonder in these days for our family.
And yet… It’s easy to forget that many things in which we find great comfort and connection emerged out of seasons of anguish. The lessons and carols service, for example, emerged as the church sought to respond to the emotional wreckage caused by the first World War.
Closer to home, the year our family started our Advent traditions was proceeded by traumatic events. We needed the holy habits of Advent to cope with disappointment, grief, and loss.
Isaiah 40:1-11, a familiar Advent passage, is a poem born in anguish, but we seem to have mostly forgotten. When read sung each December they evoke positive feelings of security, warm cider, close relationships, and holiday cheer. We forget the anguish into which these words were written, and the condition into which they speak.
Isaiah 40, emerging in a season of anguish offers 3 distinct voices that point us to God; the voice of comfort, the voice of restoration, and the voice of relationship with God.
The voice of Comfort
Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord's hand
double for all her sins.
The voice of comfort assures a community in exile that suffering, and judgment is not the end. Conquered people are tempted to believe that God has abandoned them. A conquered people might be tempted to turn from God and instead worship the power of the empire in its economic dominance, military prowess, and ability to exercise political will.
The voice of comfort says, “No.” God has not abandoned you. God is at work, even in judgment, even in exile.
Some of us balk at any talk of God and judgment. This is because, at least according to Boston University professor Dr. Peter Kreeft, we live in a cultural moment where we have collapsed, the virtues of love, compassion, and goodness all into kindness. And since, we rightly believe God is loving, compassionate, and good we assume therefore that God’s deepest nature is to be kind. (Judgment doesn’t fit with our image of kindness.)
But, according to Peter Kreeft, this is a distortion of God’s character. Kindness has to do with being friendly, generous, and considerate. It has to do with treating others as ‘kin’. It is a virtue. The New Testament even commands us to show kindness to one another. However, while it is not incompatible with the nature of God to include the conviviality associated with kindness, Kreeft’s argues that God’s truest nature corresponds more deeply to the virtue of mercy. Mercy is compassion or forgiveness shown to someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm. In a fallen, corrupted, and corruptible world God isn’t, ‘nice’. It’s so much better than that…God’s deepest nature is to be merciful.
That’s why the bible demonstrates God’s love as combative and confrontational as well as compassionate and gentle. That’s why in scripture God’s goodness makes moral demands and provides rescue from sin. That’s why God’s is revealed as both compassionate and critical.
In the desolation and anguish brought on by our own sin, the sin of others, or just the vulnerability of a fallen world, God’s first word to his people is comfort. God sees you. God’s mercy is open to you, today, whatever situation of captivity, judgment, or exile you’re living in.
The fist voice is the voice of comfort. God is at work. The Lord will restore justice.
The Voice of Restoration
A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
The image here is of work being done in preparation for a royal visitation. There are roads that need to be built and relationships that need to be set right. The damages done by injustice, unrest, and trauma need active undoing. It is insufficient to receive the promise of comfort, we need to get our shovels out and begin building for the Lord’s return.
“I think we should do this project,” Sophia said, handing me a few slips of paper. On one was a table of readings. On the other was a pattern for decorations. “We need to do something,” she continued, “maybe this will help us.” She was right. A few weeks earlier we held each other and wept, as grief, pain, disappointment, and rage swirled inside. All of our decisions about ministry, calling, God’s provision, and even our sense of stability was overwhelmed by a shockingly painful set of circumstances.
Little did I know that hours of stitching, stuffing, and sealing later we’d emerge with a family tradition to anchor us in the story of God and in our relationships with one another. Reflecting now, I wonder how often simple, practical, actions lead to hope, health, and transformation.
Isaiah’s vision summons the hearers to prepare for the Lord’s return to Zion. The voice promises that what was broken will be restored. This is not a message for philosophical contemplation, it’s a call for shovels. There is simple, practical, work to be done.
What would need to happen in your home for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there? What would need to happen in your school, or workplace for God’s glory to be revealed more fully there? What needs to be ‘filled in’, what needs to be ‘raised up’?
In the midst of anguish God speaks a word of comfort and a word of calling. We fill in and raise up in a way that anticipates the day when God’s glory will be revealed and everyone sees it together.
The voice of Relationship with God
A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand for ever.
I love Isaiah’s utter realism about human beings. There is unflinching confrontation with the reality of human frailty, weakness, and limitation. Sometimes we get this idea that to be godly, or spiritually robust is to be without weakness, fault, or inconsistency. But here the voice is crying out “all people are grass”. God is not unaware of our weaknesses, sin, and inconstancy. God knows all about that and invites us into relationship anyway. We don’t need to be smart, powerful, rich, good looking, or talented. We don’t need to be nuanced, culturally sophisticated, highly educated, or socially powerful. In fact, most of those things get in the way of us having relationship with God.
Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
“Here is your God!”
See, the Lord God comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.
This final section contrasts what people are like with what God is like. God is powerful, just, and mighty. God is also the shepherd king who is tender and merciful. God carries the vulnerable in his arms and gently leads the mother sheep. God has no rivals in the scope and totality of his power. God has no equal in the depths of his tenderness and compassion.
Do we know God like that? Advent gives us the chance to be overwhelmed by the majesty, beauty, and power of God, while being simultaneously dumbstruck by God’s tenderness and compassion? Advent invites us discover life with God, even in seasons of anguish.
November 2, 2020
In Memory of Martin OP - A Story for All Souls' Day
The first impression I had on seeing Martin was, “that guy knows God.”
There was something about Martin that made him hard to miss. He stood around six feet tall and wore a white and black habit, a medal pendant of a cross with a broken chain hanging over its horizontal beam hanging around his neck, while a large rosary hung from a leather belt around his waist. His small, round, wire framed, John Lennon style glasses and somewhat shaggy haircut were the only tells that Martin had come of age in the 60’s. Otherwise, he just looked like a monk.
That said, it wasn’t his religious clothing that elicited my impression that this was a man who knew God. My earliest memories are interconnected with the sights, sounds, and smells of St. David’s Episcopal Church in Feeding Hills, Massachusetts. I’d seen men, and women, wearing various vestments since before I was able to crawl. Even after my parent’s divorce separated them from one another and our family from St. David’s, my life steeped in religious circles. Meeting a man in religious raiment was normal but meeting a man who seemed to know God… that was something profoundly different.
At the time I wasn’t sure I wanted God. Growing up in a pastor’s home, I was exposed to the dark underbelly of ministry. There were power plays and petty rivalries, difficult people, and dangerous ones. There were kids, my age, who died too young and grown adults who behaved like children. These experiences, along with others, made me want to distance myself from the church, if not from God.
On the other hand, I’d experienced enough of the truth and beauty of life with God to hunger for it too. There’d always been glimpses of something vital, something essential, and something transformative about the way of Christ. I saw this in people who cared for me through difficult seasons. I saw it in some of the leaders and creative people who came in and out of our family rhythms. I experienced it in a church community I joined for the semester our family lived in London.
Seeing Martin, and experiencing that sudden confidence that he knew God, drew out these questions. Could a Christian life be beautiful? Was Christian commitment desirable? What would commitment to the way of Jesus cost?
Martin became a friend. In the course of morning prayers and morning coffee, prison visits and retreats, gardening and playing guitar, the questions gave way to a desire to know and love the God Martin did. By the time Martin died, suddenly, just a few years later, the compass heading of my life had been set. Like Martin, I wanted to know God in a way that was visible, tangible, and beautiful. Like him, I wanted to help others know God in that same way.
For the last 24 years I’ve sought to help students and faculty discover life with God in the liberating and humanizing way of Jesus. While certainly not the only influence, Martin’s life redirected mine in foundational ways. Ministry to students and faculty was not an aspiration my 22-year-old self would have imagined. And yet, viewed from the perspective of my friendship with Martin, this vocational journey has a sense of symmetry. Martin helped me discover the beauty of a life with God in college. I’ve sought to help others do the same.
Today marks the end of the three-day celebration where Christians remember the faithful departed; All Hallows Eve (Halloween), All Saint’s Day, and All Souls’ Day. These days invite us to remember those exceptional people whose lives and example point beyond themselves, inspiring us to hope. These days invite us to reflect on the ordinary saints whose presence communicated God’s love to us in simple ways. These days encourage us as we remember the conflicts, challenges, and changes that confronted our forebears, learning from their examples. These days remind us that we are not alone but connected to a story that began in a past eternity and will cumulate in a future eternity. These days allow us to steep ourselves in gratitude for the women and men who have loved us into being and commit ourselves to loving others as well.
This week in the midst of a polarizing election, an ongoing pandemic, and the urgent need for connection and hope, we pause and remember those women and men who have gone before us. Take a moment now and reflect on the questions below:
1. Who are the “Martin’s” in your life? Who has inspired you to pursue life with God?
2. Sit quietly for two minutes and allow the names and faces of people who have loved you well to come to mind. Who comes to mind? How did they love you deeply and well?
3. How would you like to express gratitude for those ordinary saints, imperfect as they must have been, who have shaped your life?
October 25, 2020
Politics and Prayer - Healing and Humanizing Ourselves before November 3rd
Probably every pastor and Christian leader in the USA is urging the faithful to pray for the upcoming election. In general, this is good advice, but it’s also woefully insufficient. If prayer is talking to God, what are we to say? If prayer is making a request of God, are we to request a blue or red victory? Are we to pray to “keep America great,” whatever that means, or are we to pray for the equally ambiguous, “reclaiming of America’s soul?”
While the New Testament does not have any directions about how to vote in an election, it does have a lot to say about reconciling with our brother or sister. As we face an election that will inevitably be a source of polarization and pain, our prayers ought to be for restoration and healing before they are for political success. The church is embattled with itself and with the broader culture. According to Matthew 5 Jesus instructs us to go and make peace with our brothers and sisters and to pray for our enemies. I suspect he’d apply this directive to us before we cast our vote as well.
Race and Politics
I can remember vividly sitting with black and brown colleagues and students in 2015 at the Urbana Student Mission Convention when Michelle Higgins gave a talk criticizing the evangelical church for its history of white supremacy. Michelle’s talk was controversial. The internet exploded with criticism. But, the community of students and colleagues I sat with were beaming with gratitude and hope. One colleague said, “the church is standing with us!” His hope was palpable.
Just a few months later 81% of white evangelicals voted for Trump. The white church voted for Trump despite his use of the “law and order” rhetoric and its history of racist coding. The church voted for him despite his campaign promise of banning Muslims and building a wall to keep out Mexican ‘rapists.’ The irony of Trump’s boasting of groping women without their consent while making these campaign promises seem to have been lost on large segments of the church.
Many black and brown Christian friends experienced the 2016 election as a punch in the jaw. These friends had been working tirelessly within white and multi-ethnic spaces, compelled by a vision of reconciliation and hope. Many were disappointed with the church’s response after the death of Travon Martin, Michael Brown, or Tamir Rice, to name just a few of the racialized tragedies that have haunted our public life, but, they persisted in white and multi-ethnic spaces in hope that the church would stand with them.
It didn’t. Instead the white church responded with hostility to the #blacklivesmatter movement, seeing the hashtag and organization as an embodiment of the kind of anti-Christian antagonism it experiences from the culture. The tragedy is that although the church could have, and theologically should have, been the loudest proponent of the value, dignity, and beauty of black life, it failed to create an unqualified affirmation of black life in the midst of traumatizing public violence against black people, including black Christians.
Matthew 5:24 is clear that we must seek reconciliation when we discover our brother or sister has something against us. Here, in the realm of politics, the church is divided against itself. Before praying for a blue or red victory we need to pray for reconciliation. Perhaps we can pray for eyes to see ways our sisters and brothers in the faith have been trying to get our attention. Perhaps we can ask a trusted Christian brother or sister from another ethnic community how they are voting and what’s important about that to them.
Cultural Change & Christian Concern
It’s way too easy for commentators, even some Christian commentators, to interpret evangelical support for Trump exclusively on the grounds of racism. This unhelpfully stereotypes white Christians, painting them as bigots in order to diminish their concerns. Evangelical support for Trump didn’t emerge in a vacuum, but in a season of loss and significant cultural change for evangelicals. Understanding these losses and change will help us to humanize a community and perspective often dismissed by cultural elites. It will also help us to pray for the health and unity of the church.
Many evangelicals experienced Obergefell v. Hodges decision in 2015 as government intrusion into religion. Evangelical leaders like apologist William Lane Craig shared justice Robert’s dissent, “Five lawyers have closed the debate and enacted their own vision of marriage as a matter of constitutional law.” The idea that a condition, “instituted by God,” as many Christian liturgies emphasize, could be re-defined from the judicial bench of the supreme court was troubling to these Christians.
In response, Craig recommended, “Like Roe v. Wade, Obergefell v. Hodges has changed American culture in a way that runs contrary to Christian teaching. I think more than ever we as Christians need to be ready to stand up and live counter-culturally and to recognize that we are living in a culture that is increasingly hostile to Christian values. I am afraid that the church may not be up to this task.” It’s important to note that this sentiment does not emerge out of personal animus or lack of compassion for LGBTQ people, but rather flows out of what was perceived as hostility to Christianity itself.
Popular response to conservative Christian concerns over Obergefell v. Hodges has been largely dismissive. Evangelical Christians have been portrayed online and in print as bigots who just want to hold onto their ability to illegally discriminate against people who don’t believe as they do. One example of this is in the outrage over Chick-Fil-A. In a 2018 New Yorker article, “Chick-Fil-A’s Creepy Infiltration of New York City,” Dan Piepenbring writes, “And yet the brand’s arrival here feels like an infiltration, in no small part because of its pervasive Christian traditionalism.” Dan’s objection to Chick-Fil-A is religiously motivated. The problem isn’t framed simply as a matter of LGBTQ rights, or event gay marriage as such, the problem is “pervasive Christian traditionalism.”
Whether it’s Obama’s “guns and religion remark” from 2008, or Hillary Clinton’s 2015 comments about religious beliefs and structural biases needing to be changed, white Evangelical Christians in 2016 were enthusiastic to have a candidate promising to take them and their concerns seriously.
Matthew 5:38-48 instructs us how to respond to enemies. Rather than looking to a political candidate to champion our cause, Christians are called to pray, specifically for those who speak ill of us, mistreat us, or seek to take advantage. Perhaps we can pray for those who write and say disparaging things about traditional Christians online. Perhaps we can reach out to a neighbor who’s been hurt by the church, or is suspicious of Christians and ask to hear their story.
How to Pray
Simply praying that your side will win this election is unlikely to deepen your knowledge of God or increase your compassion for others. Embedded in Jesus’ famous teaching in Matthew 5 are practical ways we can pray despite the complicated dynamics of our world and culture.
We can pray for reconciliation in the places where the church has been torn apart by racism (Matthew 5:21-26).
We can pray for conciliation between church and culture (Matthew 5:38-48).
We can pray with and for people, candidates, and perspectives we don’t understand learning to love our neighbors as ourselves.
If we pray in these ways we will open ourselves to the possibility that there’s something much more important at stake than the winning or losing of one party or candidate. This conciliatory and humanizing perspective is vital to cultivate before the votes are taken and counted. If Christians can use this election to pray differently, perhaps we can begin to create the connections and relationships we will need to live and work together for the next four years no matter who wins in this next election.
October 18, 2020
Listening to God: Scripture
Listening to God – Scripture
“If only God would speak to me.” This is a common lament. Sincere believers want God to confirm their choice of career, marriage prospects, or graduate school applications. Some seek a word of affirmation while they sort through periods of doubt or disillusionment. Skeptics smirk at the seeming lack of scientific evidence for a God who speaks. Whatever one’s faith commitments, the curiosity to hear God’s voice is strangely and urgently persistent.
Not too long ago this came home to me in an amusing way. One evening, in the middle of a student conference, I saw a young woman visibly upset sitting outside a room where other students from her college were sharing about their experience. I was dressed in my liturgical habit, a white robe, black scapular and hood, and a rope belt, because I was on my way to lead a service of evening prayer with a handful of Episcopalian students in the nearby chapel.
Kate looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen. She’d clearly been crying. “Are you ok?” I asked.
“I’m just so ready to give up,” she said. “I’ve been asking God to speak to me all week… and God hasn’t.”
“Can you tell me more?” I asked.
“Before I came to this event, I asked God to speak to me… to really… you know… show me if he was real, or if he cared about me... but now the week is almost over and God hasn’t spoken at all.” Kate sighed.
“Can you tell me more about how you are hoping God would speak to you?” I asked, praying silently.
“Oh, I know God speaks differently to different people,” she said, “so really anything… God could have given me a vision, or maybe a dream, or even spoken in a voice, or given me some kind of sign.”
“What have you been doing here this week?” I asked.
“Studying the gospel of Mark.”
It’s hard to capture in words exactly what happened next. A mix of emotions stirred in me all at once. I was aware of deep compassion and empathy for this young woman while, simultaneously, deep conviction swelled within my chest. I wanted to burst out laughing, comfort Kate, and admonish her all at once.
“Have you noticed,” I said, “in your study of Mark, the ways Jesus has jumped off the page?”
“Yeah,” she said, “it’s been really great… I Just wish God had heard my prayer and given me a sign.”
“Jesus is God’s great sign!” I said, letting the conviction come through. “You’ve been longing for God to give you a sign, and all this time you’ve been looking intently at God’s great sign and experiencing the truth and beauty of Jesus.”
“Yeah…” she said, not quite following.
“Then, I think you should stop crying, go inside, and tell your friends what you’ve seen and heard of Jesus this week.”
After a brief prayer of blessing she went inside, and I continued to evening prayer.
The following day Alyssa, the campus minister assigned to work with that particular campus, came to find me. “Did you hear what happened with Kate last night?” She said. “After you talked to her she came into the room and said, “… I was outside feeling sorry for myself, feeling like God hasn’t spoken to me, but then a man dressed like Jesus told me I should come inside and tell you what I’ve seen and heard about Jesus this week.”
And so, God in his sense of humor, sent a man “dressed like Jesus” to remind Kate that the sign she’d been looking for was actually right in front of her. God’s sign wasn’t the man in funny clothes, but the subject of her study, that mysterious and powerful rabbi who confounded the wise and cared for the weak.
Many of us are like Kate. We ache for God to speak to us, to calm our anxieties and banish our fears. We long for God to speak to our confusion about our culture, context, and conflicts. We want a word from God to banish our fears, erase our doubts, and dry our tears.
Like Kate, we need reminding that, while God can speak to us in any way God chooses, God’s great sign is not elusive. God has given us a sign. Jesus’ words and actions reveal the character, compassion, and costly love of God. A curious, attentive, reading of Jesus’ life and ministry will speak to our context and condition.
For example, this week I was wrestling with my own self-pity. I took to my journal to list out all of the dreams and desires that have diminished and died over the years. The question behind the complaint, as best I can tell, was this; does my life have significance? As I wrestled through the resentments and raw emotion, I remembered these words my daily scripture reading earlier that day.
46 An argument arose among them as to which one of them was the greatest. 47 But Jesus, aware of their inner thoughts, took a little child and put it by his side, 48 and said to them, “Whoever welcomes this child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me; for the least among all of you is the greatest.” [1]
Jesus’ redefining greatness for his disciples, who, like me, are anxious about the significance of their social standing, is God’s word to me. Significance, or greatness, is not a matter of acquiring accomplishments, but of welcoming the weak. Rather than resent lost opportunities, I’m called to recognize the relationships, resources, and responsibilities that reveal the road to true greatness. This requires me to release selfish ambitions that clog and cloud my perspective in order to receive the people, perhaps especially those vulnerable people I may be attempted to avoid; that difficult neighbor, this child, that teacher, these colleagues.
The desire to hear God’s voice is urgently persistent in these anxious days. We need wisdom, insight, perspective, reassurance, comfort and correction. Jesus’ life and ministry will speak to us, even in 2020, if we remember to listen.
For Reflection
1. How does the desire to hear God’s voice manifest in your life and context?
2. How might reflecting on Jesus’ life and ministry speak to your desires?
[1] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Lk 9:46–48). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.
October 12, 2020
Just Sit Still: Hearing God's Voice in this Season
by Malaya Gaboury
Last week I hit a mental and emotional wall. The impact wiped me out for the better part of this week. After a bad test at school set off all kinds of feelings, I finally realized how much stress I had been carrying and how overwhelmed I had been feeling on a daily basis.
After feeling like this, overwhelmed as well as kind of numb and disengaged, for most of the week, I finally realized at a Thursday afternoon prayer meeting just how desperate for God I was. As we read Psalm 63, the first verse jumped out almost immediately.
“You, God, are my God,
earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you,
my whole being longs for you,
in a dry and parched land
where there is no water.” (Psalm 63:1)
As I read that verse, I thought, oh my goodness, this is exactly what I’m feeling right now! God I need you! I long for you! Please fix this! I so desperately wanted to hear God’s voice, wanted him to say something to me about what I was going through.
It was in this place of desperation that God taught me something about how he speaks.
I know that God speaks to us through a variety of ways. I’ve experienced hearing God’s voice through Scripture, music, conversations with other people, and even just through the words, phrases, and thoughts that come to mind during prayer. But God taught me this week that he also speaks to us in the moments of numbness.
Psalm 63 continues,
“On my bed I remember you;
I think of you through the watches of the night.
Because you are my help,
I sing in the shadow of your wings.
I cling to you;
your right hand upholds me.” (verses 6-8)
When David wrote this Psalm, he was in the middle of the desert, running from his son and hiding for his life. His feelings in this moment must have been pretty messy: after experiencing deep betrayal, David couldn’t do much but sit tight in the desert and offer his pain to God. And God is very present to David through the whole night, holding him securely with his right hand.
I certainly have felt like David this week. Whether it’s grief, anger, numbness, or anxiety, I think we’re all feeling a little like David in some way right now. In addition to whatever’s going on in our personal lives, It’s the middle of October, when there already tends to be a slump when it comes to mental energy and motivation and positivity. It’s also the six month mark since covid hit and quarantine started. Many of us have entered into conversations about racism in our country. Not to mention that this is a controversial election year. No wonder we’re overwhelmed!
And in the midst of it all, what if God’s invitation to us today is to allow Him to hold us securely just like He held David? The lyrics from this song impacted me this week. It’s from a musical about Jesus’ life and is based on the story where Jesus heals Jairus’ daughter. As Jesus sings to the little girl he says
“So just breathe with Me, just be with Me
Let your heart start to beat with Me.”
What would it look like to be with Jesus this week? For me this is looking like taking two minutes just to sit still and be present. Sometimes I’ll knit or color or drink coffee, but as I sit I offer my whole self to God and allow Him to fill me, love me, and hold me. And as I’m doing so, God is meeting me. I’m hearing His voice as He reminds me of the truth about who He is and who I am. I’m hearing His voice as He brings Scripture to mind, helps me to heal and process, and fills me with peace.
Sitting in the midst of numbness isn't a dead moment to God. If you were to take two minutes just to sit and be with God, what might He say to you?
September 29, 2020
Surprised by Stillness - A Story About Fishing, Fathers, and Formation
"Do you remember that time we went fishing?"
Dad asked me this question every time we spent time together. I would roll my eyes internally.
He would describe the one fishing trip we took together. It was a hot autumn day on a lake I don't remember. We motored our little rowboat around and fished quietly as the sun stretched time into sticky stillness. The punchline of this story was when he'd smile and say, "you leaned back, closed your eyes, and said, 'dad, this is fishing.'"
Our relationship had gotten so complicated since then. Grief and disappointment, bitterness and rage, estrangement and confusion made it hard for both of us to sit still in each other's presence for long.
Every time dad brought up this story, I wanted to change the subject. Dad, did you notice when I placed in the all state chorus? Did you see my first show? Are you proud of my award for English, or the way I learned to play guitar? I wanted dad to notice my accomplishments, to be impressed, to be proud.
This story came to mind this morning as I reflected on Psalm 131, where the Psalmist describes his soul as a weaned child on its parent's knee.
My younger self might have wondered why this is a positive image. How exactly is a quiet soul like a still 3-year-old? Why is this a laudable condition? The soul is associated with desire, energy, creativity, and even will. What benefit could possibly come from such a passive state?
Now that my daughters are in their teens, the image of a weaned child makes more intuitive sense. I miss snuggling and wrestling my little girls, carrying them on my shoulders, and playing in the park. I miss our weekly trips to the zoo, piggyback rides to bed, and silly dances as a part of our evening ritual. (I offered to carry my 15-year-old to her bed this week as she sat motionless and weary, complaining of her need for sleep. She just rolled her eyes.) But, more than anything, I miss sitting quietly together… one girl per knee, attentive, content, and free.
Contemplating Psalm 131 this morning stirred these memories, both of dad and of daughters. Determined to notice and celebrate my daughters, I started listing their talents and accomplishments. Then, a voice in my heart and mind said, “which one of these accomplishments, talents, or abilities is more meaningful than the times you spent sitting quietly and attentively with your daughters?” My heart and mind went hollow as the answer became clear… none.
Could it be that God’s delight isn’t in our accomplishments, performances, or talents? Could it be that God is more delighted to sit quietly and contently with us than to watch us perform our ministry activities, spiritual disciplines, and moral actions? Could it be that the way to intimacy with God is a willingness to sit still and allow God to love us?
It’s embarrassing to admit, but, like my relationship with my dad, grief and disappointment, bitterness and rage, estrangement and confusion make it hard for me to sit still in God’s presence. Lord, did you notice the ministry I’m leading? Did you notice the book I wrote? Did you notice the ways I helped this student, that neighbor, or this community? Do you notice the pain I absorb as a leader, or the ways our ministry is growing?
I want God to be impressed with me for the same reason I wanted my dad to be impressed with me. Intimacy is terrifying. Opening the heart to the kind of attentive attachment that bonds parents and children means risking heartbreak. It’s so much more sensible to settle for admiration, appreciation, even affection, if these are at a distance.
But then here is God, like my dad, asking, “do you remember that time we went fishing?”
That’s when I saw it. Dad wasn’t blind to the talents, activities, and accomplishments of my life, he was asking for intimacy. Dad wanted another chance, even if it was just in shared memory, even if it was in hospice, to sit with his son in contented stillness.
This morning I sit, in silence, in the presence of God. My soul is more like a wriggling toddler than a contented child, but we sit. Chesterton once claimed that “grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony… It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” Perhaps this sitting… this learning to exult in monotony, is the way to a deeper life with God.
Psalm 131
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.
3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time on and forevermore.
Lord, my heart is timid, and my eyes scan the room for distraction. Still, my soul is present and needs the presence and blessing only you can bring. Sustain me in hope. Make this time of stillness with you more prominent than my fears of intimacy. You are my hope today.
September 17, 2020
Six Practices to Nourish Your Soul
“He gave them what they asked; but sent leanness into their soul.” (Psalm 106:15)
This haunting line comes in the context of the Psalmist rehearsing the story of Exodus, where God delivers his people through powerful signs and wonders. Despite the visible and tangible presence of God, human restlessness, envy, and greed reassert themselves. The result is that even as recipients of the unbounded generosity of God it’s possible to waste away internally. We see this when unfettered appetites gnaw at the bones of what should be wonder, joy, and thanksgiving.
I need this Psalm. Despite experiencing the grace of God, my heart still bends towards restlessness, worry, envy, bitterness, resentment, and suspicion.
Here are six practices to nourish your soul. Practicing them will help tend your heart against the kind of soul sickness the Psalmist describes.
1. Rest – For years, I would find myself spiritually and emotionally discouraged in September. Because I do campus ministry, I thought that this discouragement was an example of spiritual warfare, evidence of poor preparation for ministry over the summer, or a lack of faith. The result of interpreting discouragement as resistance or lack was that I was blind to the simpler truth that my sleep habits changed with the beginning of school. Instead of sleeping 7 – 8 hours per night, I’d sleep an average of 5 – 6 hours per night. Discouragement was largely coming from lack of sleep. It turned out I didn’t need to work harder, pray harder, and exercise faith more, I just needed to sleep.
The phrase attributed to Carl Jung, “Hurry is not of the devil, it is the devil,” captures the soul crushing context we too often find ourselves in. We rush around attempting to do, be, and accomplish, losing touch with the gentle rhythms of work and rest. Rest, in this context, is a radical act of soul care.
Take a rest audit. How well are you sleeping? What daily rhythms, besides sleep, do you engage to slow down and be present to yourself and to God? When and for how long do you unplug from screens, task lists, and chores in order to let your body and soul recover? What stimulants, like coffee or chocolate, do you depend on to power through the day? What depressants, like wine, do you lean on to unwind? Can you imagine taking a full 24-hour rest / sabbath every week?
2. Remember – All of our memories are stretched thin. We use task lists, reminders, post it notes, software, and cell phone apps to keep track of the details of our fast-paced lives. These powerful tools help us survive and thrive. The creation of the checklist, for example, has demonstrably reduced the number of plane crashes and surgical complications.
It comes as no surprise then, that one of the most common biblical commands is to remember. Biblical tools like monuments, names, special days, liturgies, and rituals were all designed to help remind God’s people of what’s important. The Psalm above, sung in worship, functioned as a reminder and a warning.
With our attention and memories stretched thin by modern living, it’s vital that we make space to remember and reflect on the good gifts we’ve received. Rehearsing the blessings of life can liberate us from the curated discontent we are bombarded with every day.
Make a list of everything you’re grateful for today. Be specific. List the specific friendships, opportunities, joys, activities, and resources contributing to your wellbeing. How many of those things are the result of hard work? How many are gifts of grace? How many are both? How do you see God’s presence, provision, or protection in this list? Review this list 3 times this week.
3. Repent – Repentance is one of those religious words with a shady past. It calls up images of red-faced revivalist preachers wagging their fingers, threatening of hell. Who wants to live under the weight of capricious and angry God holding us over the fire?
And yet, the practice of repentance is meant to be a joy rather than a burden. Imagine all of us go through life with an imaginary backpack that accumulates weight with every failed good intention, every lie or hurtful word, every bitter or envious thought. Now imagine the difficult relationships, persistent conflicts, and intractable problems we get ourselves entangled in. Each of these adds weight to this backpack, weighing down our soul. If we were honest, we’d quickly become immobilized.
Repentance is the act of emptying the backpack. We take out the words, intentions, thoughts, and practices we’ve put in and entrust them to God. In the Christian tradition we do this looking into the face of Jesus, receiving his freedom and forgiveness.
What is in your backpack? What secrets, resentments, lies, or evils are you carrying around with you? What might it be like to empty your backpack and experience freedom? Try it this week.
4. Release – Dad and I had a complicated relationship for many years. Growing up I found my dad’s intensity and authority intimidating. Paint a room and he’d show you the spot you missed. I often felt I didn’t measure up to his expectations.
It wasn’t till the testimonials at his funeral that I started to see dad’s relational patterns in a different light. His colleagues and co-workers commented about how much they knew dad cared for them because of his meticulous, and critical attention to their work. My feelings of bitterness about not being enough kept me from seeing and receiving love from my dad.
Once we empty the backpack, we can release others from the debt they owe us. When my resentment toward my dad is emptied out of the invisible backpack, I can release the him for the affirmations unsaid and the attempts at connection unheard. I can even release myself from the need to be a different, or better, son.
Who or what do you need to release? What relationship, loss, or longing is gnawing at your soul? Try praying this simple prayer; Lord, I release ____ to you today. Grant me the freedom to love and serve you and others. Amen.
5. Restore – One of the most well-known verses in the Bible is from the 23rd Psalm. “He restores my soul.” Can you remember the last time your soul felt restored?
Yesterday I ran into two neighbors on a walk in our nearby park. They were sitting on a bench, watching the sunset over the Hudson River. “Can you believe this,” Bill said, pointing at the hazy descent. I’d noticed sunset before seeing Bill, but his delight stirred something in me. As we sat and talked for a few minutes in the deepening dusk my soul felt strangely refreshed. I walked away thanking God for a moment of unexpected restoration in the middle of the week.
Walking refreshes my soul. Sitting with friends does too. What about you? What practices increase your sense of wellbeing, connectedness, and hope? As you engage in that practice this week, consider praying the 23rd Psalm as you begin. Pay attention to unexpected joys and places of hope.
6. Relish – The reward of a life with God is, God. The healthy spiritual life may begin with a sense of our need for grace, healing, forgiveness, hope, restoration, or salvation, but it doesn’t stay there. As we cooperate with God’s spirit we learn to delight in God.
This process is slow, but its trajectory is unmistakable. This doesn’t mean that we spend all our time in prayer or contemplation. We may life very busy, active lives, but our attention and desire will return to God.
What helps you delight to spend time in the presence of God?
Try one or more of these 6 practices this week. Comment below and share what it was like for you.
September 5, 2020
Starving - How to Feed Your Soul
In the book, Wait With Me; Meeting God in Loneliness, I describe a spiritual crisis. I was surrounded by people, relationships, and responsibilities while aching with loneliness. Like a starving baker, I was surrounded by sustenance while wasting away inside.
Many people are in exactly the same place when it comes to their life with God. They dutifully join bible studies, practice devotions, listen to biblical teaching, engage in bible reading or memorization plans, and wonder why they still feel unchanged. Many are like the starving baker, famished in the midst of plenty.
The solution to the crisis described above is a practice I call imaginative reading[1]. Click here to read why imagination is vital to our spiritual health and life with God. Imaginative reading draws us into the story of scripture as a participant, not simply as an observer. It requires us to use our curiosity, imagination, and empathy and places us in a place to interact with God as the women and men do in scripture. One word from God, emerging in this practice, is worth one thousand sermons.
Use the steps below to experience imaginative reading for yourself.
1. Select a passage where God / Jesus interacts with someone directly. Once you get comfortable with this practice, you’ll be able to do it with any passage of scripture, but it’s good to start with a story from the gospels where Jesus interacts with someone. (The story of Jesus, the synagogue leader, and the two women healed in Mark 5:21-43 is a great place to start.)
2. Observe the passage closely. Read the passage a few times carefully and curiously. What do you notice? Are there repeated words, ideas, or phrases? What is the main tension in the story? Who is involved? Are there unfamiliar characters, customs, or categories? What are unexpected or surprising plot twists? How does the story end?
3. Enter the text imaginatively. Take a deep breath. Read the passage again (or else rehearse the story in your mind). If it helps, close your eyes and imagine yourself as one of the characters. Allow your mind to select a character anywhere in the story, a main character, or an observer present to the scene. Pay attention to the sights, smells, sounds, and sensations you experience as you imagine yourself within the story.[2]
4. Pay attention to Jesus. As you imagine the story unfolding allow your attention to focus on Jesus and his words and actions. What is he doing? What feelings or thoughts do Jesus’ actions stir in you? Pay attention to these. Open your eyes and write any questions, tensions, or impressions that come to mind.
5. Talk to Jesus as to a friend. Take a deep breath and close your eyes again. Imagine Jesus present to you. Bring to Jesus the questions, impressions, or tensions that have emerged for you in this time. Listen for Jesus’ answer. Write down any words or insight that emerges from this time.
6. Rest in gratitude. Rest in God’s presence for a few minutes. Thank God for meeting you in scripture. Jot down anything to you’d like to remember and continue to reflect on.
Imaginative reading of scripture is a powerful way to nourish our souls. Try this practice on your own, or try it with a friend, and notice how you become increasingly attentive to God’s presence in your inner life, relationships, and day to day responsibilities.
[1] The discipline I’m describing is better known as Ignatian Contemplation. It is a key element of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, though the practice of using the imagination in biblical interpretation is also found in a variety of Christian traditions.
[2] It is not necessary to have a vivid or lucid imagination to do this. Some people experience a vivid visual scene. Other people don’t visualize the scene at all. Some describe impressions as though recalling a conversation from the past. Others experience multiple different scenes in quick succession. Still others are reminded of a familiar piece of music, art, story, or place. Give yourself permission to imagine in whatever way you can, and don’t worry it is enough.
