I find
Christian spirituality quite difficult to talk about. There are, of course,
extremists on both ends of the spiritual spectrum within the faith--those who
are quite flamboyant and open about how they feel the Spirit of God, and those
who think that those people are crazy. I grew up in what I believe to be the
latter tradition, although on the non-evangelical side of things, which makes
it all the more atypical and confusing. And then there is the predicament of
trying to explain spirituality, particularly connected to one religion, as
legitimate…
I've
always wanted to feel connected to God. There weren't very many prominent
figures in my life growing up whom I felt were truly connected to God, but when
I did encounter such an individual, I was drawn to their sense of peace and
confidence in God. As a kid trying to hide feelings of depression, holy crap,
did I need that confidence that God loved me, and had a plan for me, and was
going to be my strength no matter what.
I could
make excuses of why I thought I didn't deserve God, and play the blame game
over how relationship with God was never modeled well or encouraged by the
adults in my life, but I think by this point I've reached the point where I've
acknowledged that I just need to get over it, be an adult, and be accountable
for my own faith.
When I
was first exposed to, well, let's just call it "non-liturgical
spirituality," I thought it was bloody crazy. It seemed so illogical and
ethereal. I thought that people who raised their hands or danced during musical
worship, or spoke of dreams or visions or prophetic words that they believed to
be from God, or claimed that God had done x in their life/in someone else's
life after they had prayed about it, were freaking bonkers, and if I'm being totally honest, part of me wanted to slap them across the face and shout "control yourself, you're being totally illogical and stupid!" (There's a really
beautiful irony in the fact that I'm now doing my masters in spiritual
formation…) I had a theoretical, hypothetical understanding and knowledge of a
God who was good, but little context for the application of that knowledge.
There
have been revelations of that God that have entered the more non-liturgical
spirituality side of things over the last few years. I've encountered God in
many of the ways that I thought were totally illegitimate before. My heart has
been softened a bit to that side of things.
But I'd
be lying if I said I didn't still have doubts.
Does God
actually care about the things that we care about, or is he preoccupied with
his own interests? Where is God when people are suffering? Why does God allow
people to do so many evil things in his name?
Generally,
the last few months of being at seminary have been pretty stable on the mental
health front, and as I've been growing in understanding of God and who he is
and how he functions, I've been gaining confidence concerning his good
intentions for humanity, and my place at his table--or so I thought.
In
October I was on a retreat for a spiritual formation class. On the second night
I had a dream interpreted that I'd had a couple of years ago. In half a
sentence, it turned out to be a prophetic dream (now who's freaking bonkers,
Helen?!) indicating that God uses me to speak into the lives of others when I
share his Word with them. Cool. I was satisfied with that interpretation, but
still apprehensive--what reason did God have to choose me for such an important
task? What in me is even remotely worthy of such a noble call?
When
I went to receive communion in our chapel service the next morning, the girl
who was distributing the wafers said to me, “Christ chose you,” as she gave me
a wafer. I thought that “the body of Christ, broken for you” might have been a
more appropriate statement for this context, but I shrugged off her slip of the
tongue. After the service, she came and found me to advise me that those were
not her words, she hadn’t said that to anybody else, and that she hadn’t
planned to say it to me. I knew I needed to spend some time with God to figure
out what that statement, “Christ chose you,” meant.
Opportunely, there was a
scheduled period of two hours’ silence following the coffee break after the
service. I walked to a park with a group of people during this time, and sat
alone by the river. I closed my eyes in prayer, asking God what the girl’s
statement meant. I heard very clearly, “Christ chose you to share the message,”
but wasn’t sure of the significance of that assertion. I sat in silence for a
few moments, chewing on those words. As the sun was shining down on me, I was
reminded of one of my favourite verses, John 1:5: “The light shines in the
darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Then it hit me: my name,
Helen, means “light!” I know that in scripture we are all called to be light,
but to have that personally affirmed was very special for me, and very
powerful. It gave me a sense of purpose and determination to stick close to
God, studying his Word, listening for his voice, and following his lead.
Anyone
who's known me since I was a kid knows how much I hated my old lady name
growing up, and probably also knows how upset and angry I was most of the time,
mostly for reasons that were beyond my own comprehension. I cannot
overemphasize how freaking awesome it is to see all of that being redeemed by
the one who created me for a purpose that is infinitely greater in every way
than anything I could ever envision for myself. Figuring out exactly what that looks like to live out that purpose is going to take some more time (like, probably the rest of my life), but I feel like I'm on the right track to getting there.
