Saturday, 12 September 2020

 

A friend and I were spending some time with God together this week, contemplatively praying with Psalm 1: 1-3.  The words that stood out for me in these verses were, “leaves do not wither.”

How does a person make sure one’s leaves do not wither? It sounds like what a resilient, lifelong disciple would look like. Part of our contemplation time was to slowly go through a magazine and notice what images jumped out to us and stick them on a page.  I noticed this image of a tree.  


It reminded me of a discussion I had led during the week with some Children’s Leaders about discipleship pathways.  I had shown them a diagram of a discipled person as a tree - rooted in Christ (roots), built on Christ (trunk), and living for Christ (branches and leaves).  The caption under this tree in the night picture told of Antoine Saint Exupery (best known for his novella, The Little Prince) observing that night is, “when words fade, and things come alive.”

Trees do their “breathing”, their regenerating and refreshing at night (photochrome).  They give out oxygen to us (photosynthesis) during the daylight hours.  I have found over my life , as I have come out of “night times” or “dark” periods, that it was in those times that a lot “came alive”.  Roots went deeper, I was made more fully alive and was regenerated.  However in  the “night times”, my words often faded.  Sometimes all I managed to do was reach out and grab a hold of the edge of Jesus cloak.  I couldn’t see His face and sometimes felt so distraught and in darkness, that I couldn’t speak to Him.  All I could do was hold on – that was enough! 

My words had faded. 

 


 A few weeks ago, my 21 year old son asked me, “How is it after 29 years, you and Dad still have things to talk about?”  He was interested, as he is navigating through his first serious relationship!  I told him that communication is one of my personality strengths, and words of affirmation is my love language.  I love to verbally express my emotions and thoughts and Dad has learned to listen and respond in a way that he knows I love and respond to.  But we have also gotten to a place in our relationship, where sometimes we do not need to use words to feel close to each other.  We can sit in silence, and know we are in each other’s presence and are safe and loved.  It is a wonderful place to be.  Both fully alive, but silent.

I have experienced the deep joy and peace of communing with Jesus in a space where words don’t matter. A beautiful, alive place where we are in each other’s presence, but no words are spoken and even thoughts are stilled.

Ps 131 is one of my favourite Psalms.

My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty;

I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,

I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore.


This it is not a psalm of praise or thanksgiving but of quietness.  When words and thoughts fade away; God is still praised in silent wonder and adoration.

Dallas Willard, authour of Emotionally Healthy Spirituality,  notes that silence and solitude are the most radical spiritual disciplines yet are the least experienced by Christians today.   Silence is a humble space, a total emptying of yourself while avoiding the urge to fill the space with distracting noise - a total surrendering to God.   

“calmed and quieted myself” – maybe we don’t want to do this because we are afraid of what will be exposed in this intimate place with God.  But we are invited there, not to be indecently undone, but to be immersed in His love.  Not to be condemned but to know His deep peace.    In this calmed and quieted place, the Holy Spirit can pour in His unconditional love. 

In this spiritual practice known as of centering prayer, it may not just be you who is silent – God may not say anything either.  This place of stillness and silence is a place without expectation of results or revelation.  It is a place to just be.  A place to regenerate, to become more rooted and to keep your leaves from withering.

4 comments:

  1. Great thoughts thanks for sharing

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  2. Awesome Rachel, very powerful. You have a real gift with your way of writing. I love the 'picture' of the weaned child in Ps 131:2 - at the time a weaned child would be a toddler (much older than today), so coming to its mother, not for food, but to give and receive rest and love. Beautiful thought to meditate on.

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