11-19-18
This will be a very personal message – sharing some feelings (more, that is, than only thoughts) and inviting you to feel, and think, with me.
I have had some intense spiritual experiences in my Christian life, and I pray that you have too; many. There are “mountaintop” experiences, and God truly wants to lift us from mountaintop to mountaintop. Valleys there will be, but even then He promises to walk with us and comfort us, never leave us.
For some reason I have been looking back on my Christian “walk” this week. I recall many moments: my mother and my grandmother praying with me; my godmother telling me, when I doubted, that her prayers and the prayers of many would see me through, though I did not know what she meant at first. When I was aware of salvation; when I was baptized in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in other tongues; challenges and breakthroughs, crises and spiritual resolutions; when I was parched and thirsty for the Word; when, in ministry, I was able to “pray people through,” finally understanding.
When I first practiced (still learning) to share the Gospel; when I learned the power of answering, “I don’t know!” when seekers cried out to me, “WHY?” (prayer and the Word takes over). When I was gifted to pray in the Spirit, the language of angels.
But having been in uncountable exuberant worship experiences; people dancing in the Spirit; mega-churches with organized programs; ultra-informal small groups… my memory kept returning to the opposite, at least in forms.
– Traditional hymns, ancient settings. Surrounded by stained glass, Christian symbols telling Biblical stories, and by quiet. Silence; quietness; modest singing; patient waiting.
– Days spent in mission chapels in California, almost four centuries old. Contemplation, solitude, feeling God’s presence.
– A week at an abbey where silence is required, except in worship; but even when eating and studying. No electronics; sparse bedrooms; a vast library and beautiful grounds with the Stations of the Cross to walk through, and think through.
– Other profound moments and sites. In Italy, at the Basilica of St-Paul “Outside the Wall” in Rome, where the Apostle is believed to be buried, I was deep in prayer one afternoon until I became aware of children singing… there was no service… I recognized the song… but it was not in English… angels?? I looked up, and discovered it was a small student group visiting from South America, and the song they sang in Spanish was a familiar praise-and-worship song from back in America. I had an intense realization of the “family of God” that day.
– A friend took me to a convent in rural France one evening. The public was allowed into the sisters’ Vespers service – an ancient rite of pure and extended chanting. Four hours long! A darkened church, nothing spoken, just sung, Latin words occasionally familiar to me as parts of liturgy. Nothing to do but listen, take it in, meditate, pray, reflect… and, not inevitable for everyone or even me, but I found myself sobbing. No sins rushed back to mind, but an ethereal awareness of the presence of God.
As in that old Mission, and precious few other times, for me, I came face to face with the glory of God. My insignificance, yet overwhelming gratitude for how He loves me and what Jesus did for me. Burdens for unsaved loved ones. The “scarlet thread of redemption” – that heritage of Christians who have gone before us, what they sacrificed, how precious are the things of God.
The… mystery of God. We can know Him, and surely know His will for our lives. But ultimately His attributes, His glory, can scarce be comprehended. Observed, but hardly understood, even to the angels. Well, He is God.
Too often our contemporary world, our churches, paint God as a Holy Pal. I suppose He can be that, but how often do we put ourselves in places where we can be in stricken awe – lovely, frightening, sweet-smelling, mysterious – of His powerful glory?
Not often. Not my experience. Thank God, often enough to have been touched, and to desire more. Some groups feel the lack of things like this, and construct services with guitars and candles. To me, they often seem to worship guitars and candles more than the Savior, when all is said and done.
We are the same Church, the same Bride of Christ, that He instituted when He ascended. … or we should be. Half the churches and denominations in America seem obsessed with being “inclusive,” yet they seldom include the holy traditions of the holy church. They want to be “open” to “others” – but “others” never seem to include the saints and martyrs and faithful of the ages who have gone before us. Modern theologians seem more interested in connecting with sociologists and political activists than with the writers of the Gospels and Epistles.
These are indictments of a religion that is committing spiritual suicide. A faithless faith.
I am heartened by a movement in Europe, spread to America, known as Taizé, after the French border town where the ecumenical seed bloomed in the 1940s. Founded by Brother Roger, a German Reformed pastor, the movement eventually attracted clergy, workers, and worshipers from Catholic and many Protestant traditions. Their services are meant to supplement, not substitute for, the churches of pilgrims. There is mystery, contemplation, chants, and communal worship.
Pilgrims. One visits a Taizé service, but only for a visit, to return home refreshed and renewed for the other 51 weeks of the year. The quietude, and the trappings of 2000 years of Christian signs and symbols, sounds and songs, bring one closer to God.
They have brought this one – me – closer to God. I invite you search a little, and find a similar worship environment, via a getaway or at a regular sacred spot. Rediscover reverence. It is not on the endangered species list, not quite yet.
And rediscover that precious verse, Psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God.
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Click: Mon âme se Repose – My Soul Is At Rest
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