Silence and Prayer

“In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know that you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself. Souls of prayer are souls of great silence.” ~ Mother Theresa

I recently read Mansions of the Heart, by Tom Ashbrook. It is a wonderful exploration of how we grow spiritually, and a reminder that we never truly "get there" in this life.

One of Tom's stories resonated with me and the purpose of The Oasis Renewal Center. Tom spent some time on a retreat at a monastery, and was curious how the monks could devote their entire lives to prayer. He watched them for a few days before finally asking one of them about it. He offhandedly commented that he would run out of things to say to God, and asked the monk how he could pray all the time. The monk smiled, and replied, "Well, mostly I listen."  Aha!

There is silence at The Oasis. In the silence, you can listen to God. At times the silence at The Oasis almost seems deafening. One of our guests  commented: "It's almost too quiet here!"

When was the last time you experienced silence? In the silence you may notice that your ears are ringing. Or that the wind is blowing. Or that birds are singing. Or that you can actually hear yourself breathing. Or that God is whispering to you.

Be Still

Be Still.

When was the last time you were actually still? (Not counting when you're asleep, of course.)

It isn't easy to be still. To not move. Not think. Not make to-do lists in your head, or rerun that annoying song from the 80's that is stuck in your head. Not to turn on YouTube and mindlessly watch videos of salsa-dancing chihuahuas. Not to surf Facebook - pretending to be still - but actually spying on your friends and wondering why they watch Duck Dynasty.

BE STILL.

For people who are naturally gregarious, people who are "driven," have ADHD, the "Type A's"  and those with extroverted tendencies, being still can be a real challenge. For those of us who are naturally introverted, being still may come easier. (Please note: Introverts aren't shy, they just recharge by being alone, as opposed to extroverts who recharge better in a crowd or at a party. It has to do with our emotional energy levels.) Yet, we ALL need to occasionally disengage from whatever it is that makes us so busy, and become still.

Jesus was an expert at this. I believe Jesus was an introvert. If you look through the Gospels, you will find that in every single one, the writer reports that Jesus went off by himself. 

"When Jesus hear what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place." Matt. 14:13

"Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place where he prayed." Mark 1:35

"Once when Jesus was praying in private and his disciples found him..." Luke 9:18

"Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself." John 6:15

Naturally, since Jesus was off by himself, none of the disciples or Gospel writers were witness to what transpired in those solitary places. I have to think that Jesus was an introvert and He spent time alone, being still, and praying in order to re-energize himself for the ministry tasks that were inevitably coming up in the next few days.

Peter, on the other hand, strikes me as more of an extrovert. Always wanting to plow ahead, to jump in with the right answer, to DO something, Peter only paused for prayer when he was reminded to do so. And yet, in Acts 1:12-14, Peter and the others "went upstairs to the room where they were staying...they all joined together constantly in prayer." Extroverts can pause and become still when the situation requires it.

Susan Cain, an author and speaker, says "Solitude matters. And for some people, it is the air that they breathe."

Be still. Don't put it on your calendar for next Tuesday, just do it. Right now.
Close your eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.
Be still.

Holding Hands With God

 

The other day I had the privilege of spending half an hour with a gentleman by the name of Leslie. 

Les is from a small town in Arizona, and spent much of his 80+ years working on a ranch. He is a proud man and is fastidious about his appearance; his cowboy boots are shined, pearl-buttoned shirt is tucked in, and he insists his Wranglers are pressed and starched, or he refuses to put them on. He still proudly wears that silver buckle that he won in a roping event, decades ago. His graying hair is neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes still twinkle when he hears someone call his name. But Les is trapped inside a body that he doesn't recognize anymore; a body that refuses to cooperate with him.  

Les has a form of Parkinson's disease. In addition to the sometimes violent tremors in his hands, Les finds it difficult to communicate. Part of his brain has slowed down to the speed of molasses. It isn't that he is slow in understanding - he knows exactly what is going on at all times - it's just that his reactions and speech get bogged down somewhere between his brain and his mouth. It's as if the words have suddenly decided to take a detour through Tokyo. It makes for long silences between questions and answers. Needless to say this is frustrating, both to Les and to the people who care for him.

Les and I sat on a bench by the garden, despite the chill in the air. I gave him communion, and asked him if he would pray with me. We closed our eyes, I held his shaking hands and invited the Holy Spirit to join us. And in that moment, I felt a warm tingling - like an electric current - course down through my arms and hands, and Les' hands became still. 

In that moment, we held hands with God. 

I wish I could say that Les was miraculously healed, but the tremors were back within a minute. Despite our prayers, Les' disease may still progress. His speech may eventually become even more difficult, and the tremors may become more intrusive. But in that moment, we both knew that God still loves him and hasn't deserted him. In that moment, we felt peace. And that is enough.

Wearing the collar and saving the bow

This past weekend I was Ordained.

My kids asked me what this means, and if they have to call me "Father Mom."

It means that I am now - officially - a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Reformed Church in America.

It means I can be called Reverend. (not Father Mom)

It means I can wear the collar and the stole.

It means I can put a "Clergy" placard on my dashboard and park a little closer to the hospital entrance, if I need to.

It means I can be called upon to pray in public, or at the dinner table. Not that I haven't been before, but now I'm expected to say "Of course!" and launch into an impressive and theologically-sound missive thanking God for pizza.

More importantly to me, Ordination means that the calling I heard from God so clearly when I was 13, has been validated by the church. It means that I publicly promised to live for Christ; to love God and to love people. It means that everything I have undertaken and accomplished over the past 10 years or so (Seminary, Clinical Pastoral Education, internships, post-graduate courses, etc.) was recognized by the church. It means that everything has changed. It also means that nothing has changed.

When I was a kid, every time we unwrapped a gift, my mother would say "Save the bow!" She was big on reusing things. But sometimes she would put aside the bow in order to remember the occasion.

My ordination is the Bow on the Gift that God has given me - the Gift of a call to ministry. 

I'm so thankful for that gift. And I will save the bow.