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Few topics are as difficult, or important, as this one. The desire for God
to be at center -- to BE the center -- this is the quest which gives my
life meaning!
And yet, all too often it is the very thing I neglect.
Our world is one that clamors to fill every moment with activity. There
is no shortage of worthy concerns, aspirations and needs which compete for
constant attention -- jobs and homes which exact diligence, causes which
demand advocacy, friends who beckon us into life-giving connection, visions
which awaken us to creative faith, and people who look to us for guidance
and care. Seeking to be responsible and compassionate, I find myself
struggling with over-activity -- a subjective urgency which threatens to
overwhelm me and rob the very reservoir of holy communion out of which I
would seek to serve and to behold, with the eyes of faith, His love being
poured out into the world. For though He has given me innumerable
blessings, entrusted me with works of His Kingdom, and strengthened me to
face challenges, all too often I find myself admitting, "... mine own
vineyard have I not kept" (Song 1:6). The dull roar of urgent priorities
and good works becomes deafening, until I can no longer even hear His
"still small voice" (1 Kings 19:12).
In the limited time we have on this earth, we need a vision not just for
that which is good, but for that which is His perfect will for our lives.
What I am discovering anew is that the foundation for a life in which God
is at the center is, in a sense, nothing more or less than quietness. This
is conveyed so vividly in the life of Jesus, who repeatedly sought times of
solitude in prayer (Matt. 14:23, 26:39; Mark 1:35, 6:46; Luke 6:12, 9:18).
Moreover, in enjoining the disciples to not seek glory from others in their
prayers, alms, and fasting, He revealed in such practices a way of
face-to-face intimacy with God: "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into
thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is
in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."
(Matt. 6:6) Likewise, fasting "secretly" can draw us into a state of
prayerful intimacy with the Lord, far beyond the vanity and futility that
would otherwise isolate us from knowing His radiant passion and partaking
of the Bread of Life (Matt. 6:18, Luke 4:4, Isa. 58:9). Such practices
cause us to "dial down" and to seek Him with our whole heart -- to hear far
beyond the realm of our own thoughts and imagination, to be opened up to
infinite Glory beyond ourselves where Eternity breaks in upon us from the
other side -- where we are enabled to see what He is doing and hear what He
is speaking.
Perhaps that is why these words from 23rd Psalm speak so universally and
powerfully to our turmoil, "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he
leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in
the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." For in quietness is where
we find renewal in those places where we have begun to open and receive of
His love. The Shepard has made Himself a door into pasture (John 10:9),
and longs to lead us far beyond the "cares of this world," into the mystery
of that life "... hid with Christ in God" (Col. 3:3).
Integral to this divine exchange is the "hearing" which comes through
taking into our hearts the holy and transcendent word of God (Hebrews 4:12,
2 Tim. 3:15, and Rom. 10:17). In Christ's parable of the "sower and the
seed" (Mark 4:3-32), He describes four outcomes for the seed (the Word)
being sown into our hearts:
Seeing how this "hearing" comes about, it is crucial to take the time to
quietly reflect on His Word in scripture, for in so doing it can begin to
take deep root in the heart, coming forth in unexpected ways in joy and
strength -- and most importantly enabling us to hear His "still, small
voice". Out of such hearing of God's voice and purpose can arise faith to
move mountains (Matt. 21:21). He is always speaking on so many levels (Ps.
19:1, 97:6), always waiting to renew us, even if we have difficulty hearing
clearly.
Integral to this foundation is our being "quieted" enough (Ps. 131:2) to
receive His unconditional love, particularly in the light of His infinite
holiness and how all of us indeed have "...come short of the glory of God"
(Rom. 3:23). In the account of Nehemiah, where a battered people were
painfully aware of the ways in which they had "missed the mark" of the
Lord's righteousness, He invited them to a place of unconditional
tenderness -- of stillness and peace. He created a holy space in which
they could receive His love, reflected and in fact received in sharing with
those who suffered lack:
In other instances (e.g., Isaiah 30:15) God desperately longed for His
people to not fear His testing or correction, to not resort to worldly
counsel or to "flee upon horses", but to allow His work to be made perfect
in them, where they could discover the strength of waiting upon Him in
stillness: "In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in
confidence shall be your strength ..."
But in too many cases they would not, and neither do I.
Deep inside I know that my best works are as "filthy rags" (Isaiah 64:6),
and instead of welcoming His intervention, I fear the Refiner's fire (Zech.
13:9, Hebr. 12:5, Rev. 3:18) as if it signified disapproval when the
opposite is true: that in "proving" me, His heart is to heal and liberate
-- to grow and draw me nearer to Himself. In the midst of this refining
process, I can find strength and centeredness in knowing that He receives
my efforts with the very same tenderness and cherishing as He receives the
widow's offering (Luke 21:4, 1Kgs. 17:12). As His people we are told that
"he that is entered into his rest, he also hath ceased from his own works,
as God did from his," and are called in a rather paradoxical manner to
"...labour therefore to enter into that rest" (Hebrews 4:10-11)
Central to this journey of trust, He tells us that unless we truly "make
our home" in Him (John 14:3), nothing else matters, and we cannot be
fruitful or alive in Him. Only in intimacy and dependence upon Him may our
joy be complete and mature -- unshaken by trials and able to enter into
"greater works than these" (John 14:12) because we are so closely united
with His heart and His purposes (John 16:24).
In addition to frantic activity and perhaps even a fear of intimacy, the
"cares of this world" are a primary distraction from His "best" and highest
will for our lives. This is especially true of those "cares" which relate
to our sexuality. Indeed no Christian is exempt from the at times
bewildering and scary process of seeking God's perfect will for the
responsible stewardship of that awesome gift so profound in its
implications. To be attracted to the same sex is to face unique
uncertainties and risks. At times a future without the securities
available to most can become so frightening and overwhelming to me that I
must reach out to Him continually for the faith to embrace life
wholeheartedly and joyfully. And because of the prejudice which comes
against those who experience same-gender attraction (or are perceived as
having such) -- both within the Church and in the larger culture -- one
finds that the necessities of dealing with pain, isolation, and insecurity
can so readily overtake the quietness out of which our joy and strength --
and radiant holiness in unfettered devotion to God -- is to be found.
This latter issue is one I personally encounter from a somewhat different
angle from many of the readers here, for in my journey towards Christ, I
have remained unable to reconcile my faith with the consistent flow of my
sexuality towards other women. It is for this reason I have embraced a
calling towards celibacy, with faith in a future which He knows best how to
complete. But it is there that perhaps we share the most, and why I count
it a privilege to write this for Whosoever. For even beyond facing such
profound existential questions as whether to identify as gay, the core of
our existence is ultimately in something greater than sexuality or vocation
or anything we can know ourselves -- it is in Someone Who is infinitely
beyond us and yet near to us, Who draws us into loving communion and calls
us to share that love with others (John 17:20-26).
So, regardless of the unique turns of our paths and relational futures, at
the core of our journey towards God is His beckoning of us into fullness of
joy in His presence.
May each of us truly discover the joy of life with Him at the center.
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Thomas Merton Fear No Evil : Using the 23rd Psalm for Healing and Self-Renewal Robert R. Leichtman
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