It’s amazing that I can spend a week at camp and come back to find I’m more than a month behind at work, home, and everywhere in between. I intended to write a post last week but the catching up got in the way of catching up. A lot of things are bouncing around what passes for my mind these days, but nothing that sorted itself out first.
In the chaos of this week, this quote from Sarah Bessey popped up. Several times.
I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway.
After enough times, I got the hint and read the post. Although she wasn’t writing about the aftermath of the Zimmerman trial or the latest political battles, she could have been addressing any of the too many us-vs.-them animosities that snarl across the internet.
From In which faith comes by listening to the right story:
The temptation is to listen to only one perspective or the other. We choose sides, and often that “side” depends on the place from which we engage life.
The temptation is to say that our own narrow experience trumps all other evidence or the experiences of others.
The temptation, particularly for those of us who operate from a position of privilege, is to gravitate towards the good and ignore the very real and true cries of the oppressed and marginalized or even just-plain-different-from-us of our society, to retreat into the worlds of our own making and the brightly lit aisles of a shopping centre, and then point to the good stories as good enough for us. We seek our convenience and comfort and safety. Surely these stories of abuse or injustice are anomalies, right?
Or the temptation is to gorge ourselves on sorrow and anger, to fill our hearts and minds only with the tales of hate and evil and horror, until we forget the beauty and peace and justice growing and rising like yeast among us. We keep our face towards the darkness, weeping or raging, and we miss the candles bravely flickering around us.
And then our temptation is to turn the other side into a straw man argument to blithely ignore or burn in effigy. Either way, we don’t have to listen to a straw man. I don’t think that this is unique to women’s issues or to the Church or to the Internet: we do it in every corner of our life or with any issue.
Yet the word “right” or “wrong” isn’t the proper word for our human experience. Whether it’s a story I love or a story I hate, whether it’s a story that grieves me or a story that angers me, whether it’s a story that inspires me or a story that sickens me, whether it’s a story with a happy ending or an unresolved ending, I often don’t get to decide whether or not it’s right, it simply is what happened. It is the story. It is real. It is true. In our broken world, injustice is just as real as justice.
They are both true: the darkness and the light along with the reality that most of our lives reflect both. There is no either-or to real life.
Jesus walked into a messy world and taught that the kingdom of God works through love, not condemnation. We’re neither too righteous nor too broken, no matter what we think of ourselves. In all our messiness, God sees us as redeemable, worthy of grace, love, and restoration. Not just me, or the people who think, look, act, vote, and believe like me. But also the people who think differently, live differently, and are on the other side of the ideological spectrum.
Here’s how the “light the candle” quote fits into Sarah’s post:
To me, the right stories are in the Word of God – Jesus – as revealed by Scripture, by the community, and by the Holy Spirit – and He is a story of life and love and hope for us all, for all the Boths and the Ands and the Neithers and the Eithers. Paul wrote to the Corinthians that Christ is God’s ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one.
The right story is the old, old story of heaven breaking through, of redemption arching, of justice rolling down, of deserts blooming flowers, of exiles planting gardens, of swords into ploughshares, of life instead of death.
The right story is the one to listen to because it’s the one that makes room for all of us, this is the story that holds all our stories with the promise of life and hope, joy and renewal.
I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway. And hold that candle up in the winds and pass along our light wherever it’s needed from our own homes to the halls of legislation to the church pulpit to the kitchens of the world….
Faith comes by listening to the right story. It’s true. And the right story for me, the ones I turn towards when I’m tempted to choose one side or the other, is the Great Story that holds all of them as precious and worthy of love.
I’m thankful for this reminder that God doesn’t let political, ideological, or other baggage get in the way of offering us grace and redemption. I just need a kick in the backside every now and then to remind me of it.
Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” 1 Samuel 3:1-9
This week’s question from Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1 is “Why Do I Not Experience God?”:
… Why do I not experience God like I have been taught I should? Why don’t I hear his “voice?” …If Christianity is for real, why am I not able to have experiences of God?
Many people who believe in God have wrestled with this question at one time or another. If God is real – if my faith is real – then shouldn’t I be able to hear or experience God in some tangible way? Some responded to the question by saying, “you have to repent your sins and come with a pure heart” or “you’re not listening/praying hard enough.” Some suggested practicing certain spiritual disciplines. In other words, “It must be something you’re not doing right.”
Tony Jones’ responded in “I Don’t Hear God Either”:
The problem with those answers, of course, is that the audibility of God’s voice depends on me, and that can’t possibly be right. If the God of the Universe is intent on communicating with me, then S/He can surely break through all of the chatter that surrounds my everyday life. … I do not think it’s reasonable to believe that the ability of God to communicate is somehow contingent on our ability to hear.
If God does communicate with human beings, then God is entirely able to do that with no help from us. I realize that there are biblical examples of God coming in the “still, small voice,” but generally God shows up in much bigger ways: pillars of cloud fire, descending clouds and doves, loud voices, and a presence that splits rocks and lights shrubs on fire. In other words, the Bible portrays a God who cannot be ignored or overlooked.
Maybe the “problem” isn’t that we’re not properly preparing ourselves to hear or experience God. Maybe the issue is that we haven’t learned to recognize God’s voice or presence in our lives. Samuel needed Eli’s help to recognize that God was calling him. Today, hearing voices is more likely to be considered a sign of an overactive imagination or insanity rather than God speaking. If all we hear about are the burning bushes, angels who have to begin with “Do not be afraid”, talking donkeys, disembodied hands writing on the wall, and strange visions, we might miss the whisper of ordinary life.
Tony Jones asked, “If God does communicate directly with us, isn’t it most likely that the communication would be un-ignorable?”
But, if we don’t talk with each other about how we have heard or experienced God in our lives – and how we determined it was God – how will others learn to recognize it?
God hasn't come to me in a voice that says, “God speaking. Here’s what I want you to do.” And God doesn't often come when I sit in quiet meditation, prayer, and contemplation (actually, sleep usually comes to me then). I'm more likely to encounter God when I'm actively reading or writing. It's amazing how often I plan these weekly posts only to find them going in another direction once I start writing them. I've heard what I believe is God’s voice in something I've unexpectedly encountered in the Bible or another book, or in something someone else has said – wisdom that unexpectedly goes to the heart of something I've been turning over in my head. And the only reason I attribute it to God and not to my subconscious is that the advice is usually something I wouldn't come up with or choose to do on my own (maybe not a sure-fire measuring stick).
I've encountered God in the faces and lives of those I think I’m helping, whether they are kids in the youth group, people I've served food or helped with a home repair project, or my own kids. When I realize it’s not about what I’m doing, but what God is doing among us, I tune into God’s work here and now. And I realize there’s more going on than I imagined.
Jones closes with the example of Mother Teresa. After having an intense vision in which she felt Jesus call her to the ministry that would be her life, she never had another vision like that again. She wrote to Rev. Michael Van Der Peet, “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.”
In her struggle, Tony Jones finds faith to continue to believe in God and Jesus. Maybe that’s also one of Mother Teresa’s many legacies.
Now your turn: Have you experienced God speaking to you? How did you recognize it as God and not as your imagination or wishful thinking? What advice would you give to someone who says they’re not sure they've heard or experienced God in their life?
I toss out this week’s question not knowing for sure if I’ll be able to read or add to comments as I head off to scout camp for the week. But we’ll jump in all the same and, hopefully, I’ll find a signal and time to check in during the chaotic week.
