Without God

Life Without God

they have
no knowledge
of God

A student and I were discussing the possibility of life on another planet. “What if we find sentient beings, who are our equals in every way with one exception” – I asked – “they have no knowledge of God?” He responded that the lack of faith would make them superior – less needy, more independent. I disagreed, arguing that belief in someone or something larger, more intelligent, and vastly more powerful than ourselves makes possible society, keeping us humble enough to tolerate, live with, and even care for others.

And even though the journey
was painful and lonely, it was a process that led
to both perspective and maturity.

Nearly a dozen years ago, I made a serious mistake in my position as a youth pastor in a small Idaho church. In spite of my carelessness (and stupidity), I had not been fired; but I faced painful truths about my character, questions about my place in the community, confusion about my future calling. I took a week away from work and drove to Oregon for a spiritual retreat at a primitive cabin near a private lake in the Willamette Valley.

And I prayed.

Or at least I tried to pray. One morning, I read Psalm 119 over more than a dozen times. Then I waited in silence. I wrote out a question for God. And another. And another. But each time, as I waited in silence, I had no peace, no sense of God’s presence. I went for a walk. I climbed a tree. I ate. I slept. On the next morning, I tried again. And the next morning. And the next.

At the end of the week, I felt just as confused as at the start. But I was convinced that God had been present, that God was waiting for me to work through the problem I’d been given, that God trusted me to learn and grow from the struggle.

In Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home, Richard Foster recounts a similar situation from his own life: his attempt to solve a long-standing problem at the university where he taught. And I recognize my experience in his claim that “we often pray in struggling, halting ways. . . . We do not know what to pray. We do not know how to pray.”

Roberta Bondi builds on this truth in To Pray and to Love with the story of a friend who discovered that “‘Success’ in prayer finally has nothing to do with how we feel, not even whether we feel the presence of God.”

That week I spent in prayer was the beginning of a journey that led me out of ministry (I resigned my position a year later) out of church (I stopped attending another year after resigning) and then back. And even though the journey was painful and lonely, it was a process that led to both perspective and maturity. It was a journey that brought me closer to God through hardship, heart-ache, and humility.

Contemplative Prayer

I’m not used to
silence. It is hard to wait.
I am impatient.

I love that Roberta Bondi refers to other people in To Pray and to Love as God’s images. It reminds me that I must see the value in others, the truth in others, the love of God in others, the good of others – even and especially when I disagree with their behavior or their ideas. But we’re not talking about “warm feelings” for the other. We’re really talking about noticing what was previously invisible. And I read in this book a personal challenge.

First, there is the challenge of growth, that I would not expect an overnight transformation of myself into the person God created me to be, nor will I expect such instant change in others. Instead, I will celebrate even the slightest glimpses of growth. I will notice the faint shadow of God at work in both my life and the lives of others.

Second, I must continue to pray. Unless I am intimately connected to God, I cannot see the work of God in me or in others.

Third, I must practice humility. I want to be a non-anxious presence, “realistic about all human vulnerabilities,” especially my own.

In Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home, Richard Foster offers with his chapter on "Contemplative Prayer" a method for growing more intimately connected to God so that I might become both transformed and a transformational presence in my relationships, in my church, in my community. The key, according to Foster, is silence. I must close my mouth and wait. I must close my mouth and listen. I must close my mouth and let God lead.

In addition, Foster suggests that the ultimate goal is union with God – not for the sake of transforming myself, others, or the world – but simply for the sake of knowing God. These other byproducts of prayer are honorable, but the point is relationship. Foster calls it “union.”

But this prayer is difficult. I’m not used to silence. It is hard to wait. I am impatient.

Our names for God
are human constructions, even if they
are revealed in scripture.

Each of us has an image of God. In our lives and in our communities, we have created God in our image. And we continually recreate that God as a reflection of both our experience and of our need.

We have many names for God – gracious Father, Father God, Abba, Daddy, precious Savior, Jesus Son of Mary, Redeemer, Comforter, Emmanuel, Adonai, Lord – but our words for God represent nothing more than “our conceptions of the divine nature” (Gregory of Nyssa). They do “not convey the meaning of that nature.” Our names for God are human constructions, even if they are revealed in scripture.

Why, then, do we name God?

The issue of naming is an issue of control. Consider the formula “to pray in Jesus’ name,” a formula that simply gets it wrong. To pray in Jesus name must always be a prayer of humility, must never be a prayer of control.

What, then, is spiritual maturity?

It is a willingness to let God be God.

At Barclay Press

Death

We have this idea in the Western Church that Jesus came to Earth for the single purpose of dying.

Paradox

Most theological truths are expressed in paradox. Trying to resolve a paradox tends toward heresy. Our belief in the power of prayer to influence God, for instance, can be viewed as a kind of control over God – magic. On the other hand, a focus on aligning myself with the mind/character of God can lead to fatalism, a sense that prayer doesn’t matter.

Simple Prayer

Foster describes the experience of a
boy, afraid of a dog, who foolishly thinks he
knows how to fix a broken world.

When I was five years old, my dad bought me a Dalmatian puppy and named her “Candy.” For her sweet disposition. But Candy was not a nice dog. She barked. And she bit ankles.

I asked my dad to get rid of Candy. He laughed. So I prayed. I knew that God answered prayer. I asked God to kill Candy and take her to heaven to live with him.

It was a selfish prayer. But two weeks later, Candy got sick. And she died.

I remember that last day of Candy’s life. I was sitting with her in the back yard. It was a beautiful day. Quiet. Candy lay in the grass. I slowly stroked her ears. And I wondered about this thing called prayer. I knew I had asked God for a cruelty. And God answered. The all-powerful creator of the universe had opened up access to power for me, a child.

This last week, reading Richard Foster on “simple prayer,” I recognized in Foster’s description the request for help, the question, the complaint, the cry. Foster describes the experience of a boy, afraid of a dog, who foolishly thinks he knows how to fix a broken world. What Foster doesn’t discuss is power or the idea that we can manipulate God by praying the right words in the right place at the right time in the right way. He doesn’t mention any of the things I tend to attribute to prayer, such as its effects or how to make it more effective.

I might not have killed Candy. God might not have killed Candy. All these years later, I may be unnecessarily carrying guilt for a dog’s death -- guilt that’s not mine to carry. I had an idea that prayer’s purpose was to get things done. But as far as Foster is concerned, prayer is a commitment, a discipline, a practice. And the purposes of prayer are faith, hope, perseverance, relationship, personal and communal transformation that naturally flows from our increasing sensitivity to God’s presence and God’s character.

Simple prayer -- being honest about who I am before God, being present with God -- is a beginning. And 31 years ago, a five-year-old boy who hated a dog made that beginning in the only way he knew how: simply.

At Barclay Press

it's not just
the young who
have questions.

In much of the Church, there's a cultural divide, a kind of gap between adults and adolescents. Psychologists suggest that adolescents are undergoing a process of identity formation -- figuring out who they are and what they'll stand for -- that causes them to question their parents, their friends, themselves. Sociologists suggest that these questions -- something we often label "doubt" -- make us uncomfortable, that they can create conflict.

Here's the issue; doubt is dangerous. First, because it's disconcerting. The right question in the wrong place can throw everything and everyone off rhythm. Second, it's deviant. People who challenge the status quo identify themselves as not fitting in. They're outsiders. They're weird. They don't belong.

But these questions -- these doubts -- reveal something important about the young among us. Many of them simply want a first-hand experience of Christ. Their faith isn't going to be (can't be) based on someone else's beliefs.

What, then, might happen if church were a different kind of place, a place where questions could be asked openly, a place shaped by freedom not fear, a place with plenty of room for doubt?

My sense is that God has been shaping us into just that kind of community for a long time now. My sense is that it's not just the young who have questions. My sense is that we're in this together.

Christianity

Being a
Christian isn't
about belief

A friend asks, "What is the heart of Christianity?"

I answer: Hypostatic union and the Trinity.

He responds: Is that what it means to be a Christian?

And I realize the answer is no. Being a Christian isn't about belief. It's about practice. What makes me a Christian is nothing more or less than my desire to reflect Christ's character.

Life Eternal

What if living “eternally” is a quality of life much more than it is a length of time?