Categories: church
Tags: prayer, Christianity, church
Date: 26 February 2006 14:01:28
Most weeks I think I'd describe my spiritual life as "bumbling along" (with apologies to the similarly-named wiblog), but occasionally I let God break in (all too often I think I keep him at arm's length) and experience an encounter with something beyond me. Last night I think was a case in point - I was reading my latest purchase (the PostSecret book) and suddenly thought of three or four pieces of postcard art that I could do with some of my own secrets. One, in the cold light of the following morning, I have now resolved not to send - the clarity I got with the thought was enough, I don't need to dwell on it any more. A couple of others had me sobbing. When I went to bed I picked up my "Celtic Daily Prayer" to do a bit of Bible reading. I have to say I'd started to get a bit annoyed with this reading scheme - I love the liturgy and the idea behind it, but the readings seem to be mostly odd random verses rather than whole passages, and some of this month's commentaries have been a bit simplistic (I also, God help me, get really annoyed whenever they quote Horatius Bonar, who just presses all my wrong buttons!). But last night I got a couple of decent length passages, Psalm 61 which seemed to just put into words exactly what I couldn't quite say to God myself, and then a bit from Song of Songs which was again scarily close to the mark. And then I read the supplied reading, which in this case was a quote from CS Lewis (no idea where from):
"In speaking of this desire ... I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you - the secret which hurts so much that you take revenge on it by calling it names like nostalgia and romanticism and adolescence, the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that, when, in every intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves, the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell."
This morning, thinking about things a bit more, I expressed a desire in prayer and almost immediately I sensed that God doesn't work like that. In fact what I'd prayed was in effect the opposite of this verse: "God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them" (1 John 4:16b). When I read that verse a few weeks ago I got really angry with God. But through it all I just know he knows better, and has more of a clue than I do. So we're still talking, and I'm still taking a lot of things on trust. Maybe I'll just draw that prayer and then not send it, so I remember this time. It's precious time, even though it's so painful still.
At church this morning the rector said a couple of things in his sermon which I really liked. Firstly (quoting Graham Greene), about how God never seems to learn from experience. He still plugs away, wooing and searching for us, loving us despite the rejection. That made me smile. He also talked about our need to accept that we're accepted and acceptable. I struggle with that.
Even better, I actually knew four out of the five hymns this morning, which meant that I could sing along heartily rather than mumble in the hope that I'll have picked up the tune by verse 5. Best of all, the opening and closing hymns were my two favourites - opening with "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation" and closing with "Be Thou My Vision". It was just a little thing, but it felt like a little nudge that this weekend, God noticed me and wanted to make me smile. It also got me thinking about Christ Church (my church in London) - I miss it very much still, and hopefully will be down in London in a few weeks so can visit again, but I couldn't help feeling glad that we were singing "Be Thou My Vision" from the New English Hymnal and not Christ Church's awful orange hymn book which modernises all the words. "Be Thou My Vision" has been utterly butchered by that book! It's a silly thing, but it helped me feel like I'm starting to feel at home at this new church. That's good - I'm happy about that.