The Road Goes Ever On and On

How Do You Relate To God?

All over the church spectrum are different approaches to intimacy with God.  Some folks are very transactional; if I do this for God, he will do this for me.  Others approach God as a topic to be systematized, understood, explained or rationalized.  These approaches play to your strengths; if you are relationally strong or a good salesman, you understand the first approach.  If you are strong analytically, the second works for you.

A few years ago, a lot of worship music presented Jesus as the greatest lover, which appealed to a lot of single women or those in unhappy marriages.  Personally, that sicky-sweet approach left me feeling nauseated.  The counter-approach would be the "Wild At Heart, God is a warrior" approach made popular by John Eldredge.  I identified with this one and still have a great deal of respect for John's thought and writing.  Both these approaches appealed to gender.

I could go on.  A few years ago, I came across this quote by Nikos Kazantzakis.  He was quoted in the book, Leading the Congregation by Norman Shawchuck and Roger Heuser, a book every pastor or church leader should read:

My prayer is not the whimpering of a beggar nor a confession of love.  Nor is it the trivial reckoning of a small tradesman: Give me and I shall give you.  My prayer is the report of a soldier to his general: This is what I did today, this is how I fought to save the entire battle in my own sector, these are the obstacles I found, this is how I plan to fight tomorrow.  My God and I are horsemen galloping in the burning sun or under drizzling rain.  Pale, starving, but unsubdued, we ride and converse.  "Leader!" I cry.  He turns his face towards me, and I shudder to confront his anguish.  Our love for each other is rough and ready, we sit at the same table, we drink the same wine in this low tavern of life.

Something about this quote captured me.  No matter which approach you gravitate toward, God invites intimacy, interaction, and frank exchange.  None of these approaches are fundamentally bad, as long as you don't refuse to change.  God wants us to know him in his fullness, and you can't do that if you aren't willing to let God reveal who he is outside of your template.  All of our approaches have limitations, and God is so much more than any of them.  He isn't just the greatest lover, he is Lord and leader.  He isn't just our comrade, he is the great and awesome God, surrounded by clouds and great darkness (Psalm 97:2). What does intimacy between you and God look like, and how might that change as you get to know him better?     

Show Up Empty

I think I've figured out one of God's favorite gifts from us.  Let me share it with you, but if you'd like to take a guess first, go for it: 

1. Acts of service?  Yes, God enjoys seeing us offer humble attempts to bless him through our actions, but it's not what I'm thinking of.
2. Giving?  Right on.  God really appreciates it when we put our trust in him and not our money.  But no, still not the one I"m thinking of
3. Bible Study?  Can't argue with that, but no, wrong again.
4. Prayer?  Getting warmer.  Oh heck.  Let me just tell you.

God longs for our empty space.  All these noble activities can get frantic if we do them to get his attention.  But faith in his father love allows us to quiet our souls and enjoy his embrace, without first trying to earn the priviledge. Showing up empty is my newly discovered definition of the heart of worship.

What could we possibly do to make God give us his love and attention?  Not much.  In fact, nothing.  But the magic of Christianity is that none of this stuff is necessary.  We come to him simply because he loved us first.  In Hebrews it says that in Christ we can boldly  come into his presence.  I picture a child climbing onto his daddy's lap, confident of a warm reception.  You don't have to say anything or do anything.  Your mind and attention can even wander a bit.  But just sitting with dad gives him great pleasure.

This idea seems to go against a lot of the noise, fury, and breathlessness of modern worship.  I enjoy a rockin' worship song with the best of them.  But just killing time with God can be a rich worship experience when there's no praise band to lead the cheer. 

Finally, I believe two commands back this idea up.  First, the sabbath.  What is it but offering to God empty space?  The world can go on just fine without our direct manipulation.  Rest in God's heart to lead our lives, at least for a day. 

And second, the Eucharist, or communion.  All you can really do is receive it.  When Jesus took the passover and "modified" it for his church, he gave us a powerful picture of receiving from him.  He gives us life through his body and blood, and all we can do is come empty and receive. 

I used to run from my emptiness.  Now I know it is one of the most honoring things I can offer to God, for it is then he comes to fill it.

A Glaring Omission

For the most part, I've been happy in my worship experiences in the Baptist, Charismatic and Pentecostal traditions.  But the glaring omission is Lent.  If it's mentioned at all, it is at best the introduction to a resurrection sermon on Easter.  I feel this does a huge disservice to Christians in these traditions.

Loss and death are a part of our lives, and a part of our spiritual lives as well.  We cannot grow in grace if we are not willing to allow the Holy Spirit to put to death the things we have idolized.  That involves pain, grieving, and a sense of loss that can't be rushed.  "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted" (Matt. 5:4).

If you read the Psalms, the hymn book of the Old Testament, you find lots of questioning and even pointed remarks towards God's absence.  "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Psalm 22:1.  "Why, O Lord, do you stand far off?  Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?" Ps 10:1.  "How Long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?" Ps 13:1.  I could go on. 

Question:  When's the last time you sang a song in church about the absence of God, or in the words of Jeremiah, "He ground my face into the gravel. He pounded me into the mud. I gave up on life altogether. I've forgotten what the good life is like. I said to myself, 'This is it. I'm finished. God is a lost cause'" (Lamentations 3:15-17, the message).

I just came through one of these difficult times.  I've been going through this particular dark night for over two years (call me stubborn, I couldn't submit; but God is more stubborn than I'll ever be).  The relief, the blessing, the light on the other side, the peace and closeness to God really does make the hard times worth it.  What made it rougher than it needed to be is the silence of the churches I'm familiar with in regards to spiritual struggle.

If you are always singing how blessed you are in Jesus, how you are always walking in victory, you feel like a freak or outcast.  It shouldn't feel that way when God takes you through the valley of the shadow of death, as inevitably he will.  I found myself turning to music outside my tradition, to artists whose music, if not lyrics, touched a part of the sadness and longing of my soul.  Christian or not, they helped me touch the places that needed expression in me when the "happy" worship felt like fast food.

In this regard, I think churches that don't follow the ecclesiastical calendar can take a cue from the the ones that do.  If you give your people a chance to embrace, accept, and deal with the loss, sadness, and disappoinments of life in a corporate service, it helps.  It may not break attendance records or get a lot of amens, but it helps.