Walking with the Word

The last few days have been difficult for me and looking back, I’m not entirely sure why. Nothing in particular has gone wrong and yet I have been in as foul a mood as I can remember in some time. Everything and everyone seems to annoy me, even things from which I normally would derive joy; my children, for example. My wife. My garden. Things which normally annoy me, like my car, have become irritations of biblical proportions. And yet, if I view the past few days with an unbiased eye, my life is largely unchanged, at least from an outward perspective.

So the irritation, the annoyance, the darkness must be on the inside. In writing this it occurs to me that my spiritual disciplines have completely fallen away. Early in May I completed my first course through the Trinity School for Ministry and while on the whole I enjoyed and was enriched by the class, when it ended I felt the need for a break. Somehow it made sense to me at the time that it would be healthy and refreshing to abandon my devotional and prayer time, to back away from the theological readings I had been doing and relish in the secular. It seems that though my hand had grasped the plow, I felt that I would benefit from turning away from it and spending some time in my old places.

When I was in college a friend who knew me as well as anyone once called me “an angry person”. That was a true statement in those days and in some perverse way I took pride in it. But the saving blood of Christ has transformed me since then and I pray that I am “an angry person” no longer. I hope that those who know me well today would say that I am a peaceful, gentle, loving person. I hope that they consider me someone who is a positive influence in their lives. Dare I say I hope people see a little of Christ in me. Despite that I still have these dark periods, from time to time. The good news is that when they occur it feels like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes and they soon begin to chafe. Anger no longer becomes me and it forces me to step back and reflect on my state of affairs.

The gift of the darkness is that it allows me to see how broken I remain, how my soul is riddled with cracks. But as Leonard Cohen wrote, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” I think this is true because it is only during these dark and broken times when I realize how truly lost I am without Christ. These times make me aware that without Him I would be lost and so they are, as I say, a gift.

Writing these words has clarified for me when my steps began to stray from Christ’s path and have shown me that I need to resume my spiritual disciplines. I am not naïve enough to believe that my attendance in church or my prayer and devotional time will necessarily bring me closer to God. But for me it is part of the package. Without an alteration of my life and my will, then my submission to Christ is in word only and it is far too easy for me to profess my faith with a forked tongue.

In a way I am grateful for the dark times, at least once they’re over, because it is in the dark that Christ’s light shines brightest.

May we all have humble spirits, simple lives, and loving hearts.

In Christ.

Matt

In 2009 Lloyd Blankfein, Chairman and CEO of Goldman Sachs said during an interview with the Financial Times that he was doing “God’s work”. The backlash within the media was instantaneous and unrelenting. Surely such a capitalist pig couldn’t really believe, doesn’t really think, didn’t really say he’s doing God’s work. The audacity of the man! Interestingly, I am unaware of a single Christian that defended Mr. Blankfein.

I have struggled with what I at times have perceived to be God calling me into ordained ministry for about eight years now. During that time my conviction about that call has waxed and waned and with it, my enthusiasm for my work has varied in indirect proportion; not my church work, but my capitalist pig work. I think, “If God has called me to ordained ministry then I am wasting both His time and mine continuing in this job. If this is what He wants, why doesn’t He straighten my path away from this place?” I have lived as if one is God’s work and the other one isn’t.

Brother Lawrence tells us that, “the time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees at the blessed sacrament.”

If Brother Lawrence’s experience is available to all of us, then all work can be God’s work. All work should be God’s work. The question that is ringing in my ears is, if at all times I’m not doing God’s work, then whose work am I doing?

Lord, please give me a humble spirit, a simple life, and a loving heart.

In Christ.

Matt

I think most Christians today would agree that a regular period of silence before God is important. “Quiet time” we call it. Most of us would agree, but if we’re really honest, most would also admit that we are reluctant to submit to the quiet. It should be a relatively simple thing to accomplish but something about silence frightens us. Paul Tournier says, “We have to realize that we always resist doing quite simple things that we know we ought to do. If we can manage to understand the reason for this resistance we are on the way to self-discovery.” Perhaps Dr. Tournier is on to something. Maybe we’re afraid of self-discovery. Maybe we’re afraid that if we get quiet before God He will show us things about ourselves that we don’t like; things we don’t want to admit.

I think, like so many things in the spiritual life, our difficulty with silence stems from the fact that we come to it with faulty presumptions. I have a tendency to spend my quiet time rattling off prayers as fast as I can conceive them, as if I’m under some kind of time constraint. In the end it’s rare that God has an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. How much better would it be to realize that a period of silence before God is to be used to engage and deepen our relationship with Him? So many times throughout the Gospels Jesus stole away to the wilderness to be alone before His Father and pray. It was a time of community between a Father and a Son and it is the model that we are to follow.

Our church in Houston traditionally held a prayer vigil during Holy Week. Someone would post a large chart on the wall in the parish hall and everyone would sign up for one-hour blocks to spend in the prayer chapel, round the clock, during the days leading up to Easter. Typically, I would volunteer for a 5 AM to 6 AM slot for all seven days. Often, I spent my time like I assume everyone else did; sitting in the little prayer chapel, praying through the basket of written prayers that grew as the week wore on. But the most profound experiences of silence and spirituality I ever had came on the rare mornings, the sun not yet risen, when I tread carefully down the wooden, spiral staircase into the nave. I would remove my shoes and sit barefoot at the base of the sanctuary steps, the building illuminated only by the candle above the ambry. No words were ever spoken but I knew I was standing on holy ground. I never revealed these actions to anyone, but it was in these moments that I felt closest to our Lord. It was in these moments that I believe I learned most of what I know about being a Christian.

My son is two and a half and is in near constant motion. He jumps and flops and runs and shouts. Most of the time, the idea of solitude with him in the room is laughable. But every so often he will crawl into my lap and snuggle with me. It is happening less as he gets older, but I believe it is those moments that strengthen the bonds between us, much more so than when we jump, flop, run, and shout together. When he will let me, I love to wrap my arms around him and rub my face in his hair. Although I am silent, I pray for him. I pray that he will remain healthy, that he will grow strong in body and faith. I pray for the little girl that will one day be his wife and I pray that he will be an honorable, Godly husband to her and she an honorable, Godly wife for him. I pray for things he cannot yet dream of, let alone understand, but I do so because I know these things are coming and must be prayed for. These times of silence are a gift.

When we take the time to be silent before God, I believe something very similar is taking place. Although we may not know it, in the silence our Father has wrapped His arms around us and is praying for things we cannot yet dream of, let alone understand, but He does so because He knows these things are coming and must be prayed for. I believe it is through these times that our bonds with God are strengthened and I believe that God’s heart aches for time with us, in much the same way that my heart aches for time with my son. These times of silence are a gift.

May we all have humble spirits, simple lives, and loving hearts.

In Christ.

Matt