Solitude Leading to Silence

The apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. And he said to them, "Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while."
For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves.  (Mark 6:30-32, ESV)

šŸ›

Deliberately seeking solitude and silence ... that's a difficult thing for so many of us, myself included. Frankly, we aren't comfortable in solitude or silence. I'd wager to say most of us are even a little frightened by the concept. Our hurried, worried world rushes along at a break-neck pace and, if we are honest, we like it that way. To stop and go away is to feel loneliness rush in and cast a dark shadow over our souls. Yet the example of Jesus says otherwise ... He calls us today just as He called His disciples to "Come away ... to a desolate place."

We tend to view solitude in the wrong way. In studying writings by Richard Foster and Chuck Swindoll, they note that true solitude is quite the opposite of being lonely and alone. In fact, when we give ourselves over to the solitude God would provide, we know at the core of our being that we are not alone. And, as Foster notes, we create a "portable sanctuary" that allows us a season of rest even in the middle of our hectic world. In solitude, we find the inner fulfillment that connects us with the God who loves us so much, He gave up His own Son.

Silence often accompanies solitude. Many writing on the Christian disciplines will combine them; most will link them at the very least. As with the heart pitched toward meditation, practicing silence and solitude puts us in a position to more clearly hear God as He speaks to us. Swindoll even notes that God doesn't speak to a hurried mind.

As I continue my Lenten side trip on this Crooked Path, I am challenged to consider my approach to disciplines such as solitude. I wonder if I would take advantage even just a little of the times it presents itself, if I would truly be still as the Psalmist says, what would I hear God say? I'm certain at least part of His message would be to remind me just how much He loves me.

 

In the Right Frame of Mind

In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said: "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!" And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!" Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: "Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for." (Isaiah 6:1-7, ESV)

šŸ›

In the process of working through thoughts about Lent, I was drawn to the possibilities that it could bring and how I could apply it to my own life. I was specifically thinking in a non-liturgical fashion and wasn't limiting myself to the traditional forty day period leading up to Easter. Rather, I was looking for a way to deepen my relationship with my Savior and place myself in a position where I could hear Him more clearly.

One of the books I turned to was Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline. After working through the foundational material he presents, the Christian Disciplines are laid out twelve practices which we would do well to learn and implement. The first one detailed by Foster is (and not surprisingly, knowing his Quaker roots) meditation. He notes, "What happens in meditation is that we create the emotional and spiritual space which allows Christ to construct an inner sanctuary in the heart." I think that's why this passage from Isaiah came so readily to mind.

The great prophet has prepared his heart in a fashion so that he can hear God very clearly. You would expect this much of Isaiah given his charge and work. But I have to think he is especially in this frame of mind and soul when Uzziah dies and God grants him the vision described in this passage. To me, that demonstrates a meditative heart to the greatest degree humanly possible. Think of it! He sees God seated on His throne in His heavenly temple - so immense and awesome that He fills the temple and shakes the foundations of the universe. I sincerely doubt that a man who didn't meditate could stand up to a vision such as this.

As I travel my Crooked Path, specifically as I journey through Lent this year, I hope I can bring my heart and mind to the place where I can easily hear God speak. It can come in so many ways through so many people or things - I just want to be in a position to recognize it. As the Psalmist said (Psalm 77), "I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your wonders of old. I will ponder all your work, and meditate on your mighty deeds. Your way, O God, is holy."

Identity Crisis

For if I rebuild what I tore down, I prove myself to be a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.  (Galatians 2:18-20, ESV)

šŸ›

I've found myself thinking a lot this week (especially since Friday) about my current career situation. I'm in what the career coaches call "active search mode" after some business decisions left me and others with the opportunity to seek out new situations. The men who read this will immediately identify with what I am going to say. Many of the ladies will as well, most likely because of the men in their lives. I tend to identify myself in a large way by how I earn my living. I'm pretty good at what I do and there is nothing wrong with this up to a point. Most men have a similar identification with their career pursuit. It is, at least in part, how God has wired us.

But God never meant that to be our primary identity. And, while I am also a father and husband, my true identity cannot lie their either. God continually calls us to set aside our perception of identity for what He has offered. Probably the most striking example is the story of Abraham (see Genesis or even Hebrews 11 for a brief review). God called this man out of his native land, away from his family and friends. He really didn't know where he was going but, instead, trusted God to provide. And mind you, this was a God Whom Abraham hadn't known for very long.

This same God who drew Abraham out of his native element, promised him a son. And, when Abraham finally surrendered his own will (and identity) on that matter, gave him Isaac ... then asked him to sacrifice that beloved son. Abraham, again showing his willingness to lay aside his own thoughts on his identity, took the boy to Mount Moriah and willingly laid him on the altar. God intervened, as you well remember, but I think we glimpse more of Abraham's heart here than we see anywhere else in the story. In the end, when called out by God, Abraham was willing to rest the entirety of himself - his very identity - in the capable hands of the God who had lead him all the way. His trust was, at least as far as human terms can take it, complete.

During this rather uncertain part of my own Crooked Path, perhaps God has put me in this exact position and circumstance so that I can take the lesson from Abraham and re-evaluate where my identity lies. Instead of calling myself out as a professional, a father, a husband, or anything else, when somebody asks, "Who are you?" I can answer from my heart ... "I am God's child because of what Jesus did for me." That would definitely solve any identity crisis I might feel. God hasn't changed and I can trust Him completely.

 

 

Personal Cost

And Gad came that day to David and said to him, "Go up, raise an altar to the LORD on the threshing floor of Araunah the Jebusite." So David went up at Gad's word, as the LORD commanded. And when Araunah looked down, he saw the king and his servants coming on toward him. And Araunah went out and paid homage to the king with his face to the ground. And Araunah said, "Why has my lord the king come to his servant?" David said, "To buy the threshing floor from you, in order to build an altar to the LORD, that the plague may be averted from the people." Then Araunah said to David, "Let my lord the king take and offer up what seems good to him. Here are the oxen for the burnt offering and the threshing sledges and the yokes of the oxen for the wood. All this, O king, Araunah gives to the king." And Araunah said to the king, "May the LORD your God accept you." But the king said to Araunah, "No, but I will buy it from you for a price. I will not offer burnt offerings to the LORD my God that cost me nothing." So David bought the threshing floor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver. And David built there an altar to the LORD and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings. So the LORD responded to the plea for the land, and the plague was averted from Israel. (2 Samuel 24:18-25, ESV)

šŸ›

If I pass along a gift to you that I happened to receive from somebody else, nobody is really harmed in the transaction. If you happened to want what you received and I didn't have much use for it, you might even say that you came away satisfied. But if I say I've thought long and hard about you when I selected some special gift - that I sacrificed because I knew you would deeply appreciate it - and you later find out that I simply re-gifted an item I didn't want, I would imagine you might think a bit less of me or, at the very least, my integrity.

Contrast David's sacrifice here with the one Saul said he intended to make as recorded in 1 Samuel 15 and I think you will begin to see the similar picture to the second example above. Saul remained arrogant and conniving right to the end (need I bring up the whole witch at Endor thing). David, when presented with a legitimate offer from a loyal subject flat out refused to take the cheap way out. He was the one who had led the transgression (counting the fighting men) and he realized he needed to lead the act of repentance. He would not offer up some second-hand sacrifice to the Holy God.

In my current Lenten reflections along the Crooked Path, I realize that desiring to deepen the relationship with my God is a good thing. And, in doing so, I need to give back to Him things that I hold of value. The giving is not so I can gain (at least not as we usually count gaining), but rather because of what He gave up for me. In the face of His sacrifice of Jesus, how could I possibly offer God something in which I have no stake? A true sacrifice of the heart comes at a cost - a personal cost. Nothing else can substitute for that.

 

It Isn't About Me

And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, "Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus said to him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: 'Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.'" And he said to him, "Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth." And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, "You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me." Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.  (Mark 10:17-22, ESV)

šŸ›

If I am learning anything during this Lenten sojourn of mine, it can be summed up in this statement - it is not now nor has it ever been about me, my stuff, or what I can do. And, in a somewhat paradoxical statement, God's focus is entirely and specifically on me. Thinking of it that way is a bit unsettling because, like most of us, I really don't think about God loving and pursuing me in that intense way, as if I were the only one out there. Circling back to realize He does this out of His love rather than something I do just makes my head spin. But that is the way it is happening and always has happened.

The man running up to Jesus in the passage above might have been counted among the religious. Based on his own statements, he was schooled in the Law from his youth and had worked hard to keep all the commandments (or at least the ones Jesus' quoted to him). Yet he realized this Rabbi was offering something else that he didn't quite feel like he could grasp. And, learning the price of a true relationship, he walked away shaking his head. He would stick to his religiosity instead of committing to the relationship offered.

Watchman Nee, in his book Breaking of the Spirit, talks about the story of the nard inside an alabaster box. As only Nee can do, he speaks of that box being our humanity - our outer shell - that needs to be broken so that God's Spirit can flow through us. The trouble is that so many of us, in our myopic vision of what we bring to the exchange, value the intact box more than what is inside. We become, as Nee says, "antique collectors" and treasure the box too highly. Sadly, it is only when we let go of our things and our identity that we truly understand the depth of the relationship God invites us to have with Him. Treasuring our alabaster box, we miss out greatly.

As my travel on the Crooked Path continues through Lent, I am reminded of how little depends on me and what I bring, do, or say. It strengthens my resolve while humbling my spirit again in seeing that I must decrease so that He will increase through me and within me. It isn't about me - it never was. And yet He pursues me to the ends of the earth if necessary. How can I possibly keep anything back when He gives so much?

A Matter of the Heart

And Samuel said, "Has the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of divination, and presumption is as iniquity and idolatry. Because you have rejected the word of the LORD, he has also rejected you from being king."  (1 Samuel 15:22-23, ESV)

šŸ›

Creating and leading a class on Lent is a challenging task. Doing so when many of those participating don't have much background in the practice increases the challenge. Making real connections to what God has been impressing on my heart to the subject - now that's the fun of it all. If you strip away all the non-essentials, you are left with a personal choice that is intended to reach your heart. Lent, when observed from a position of humble gratitude, can be exactly that. It isn't about the practice in and of itself, it is about moving my heart closer to God's heart.

Saul had been given an order to completely eliminate the Amalekites. In the end, for whatever reason, his version of "obedience" didn't match what God was after. He hemmed and hawed when Samuel questioned him, throwing his own soldiers under the bus all the while claiming he had done what was asked. In addition, he was ready to offer up the spoils as sacrifice. Samuel tells him very clearly that God doesn't want the sacrifice (or the ritual, or the checklist, or the piety), God wants Saul's heart. More specifically, God wants my heart. That message to Saul is the same today as it was then. God wants your heart. The rest is fine, but if it doesn't come out of a heart pitched toward God, it's a hollow ritual at best.

The Crooked Path takes us many places. What a joy to know that I don't travel alone, that my Lord has both gone before me and walks beside me ... even carries me when I need it most. In reverent reflection of what He has done, this particular Season of Lent can be most special for me. God wants my heart and is ready to connect with me!

Seeking a Deeper Friendship

You are my friends if you do what I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. (John 15:14-16, ESV)

šŸ›

As I taught the Season of Lent class today for the first time, we discussed some of the history of Lent, some of the symbolism (especially of the 40 days), and how it seems to have been buried under a mountain of legalism and ritual. As a result, far too many will enter into the season and abstain from something because they feel they have to do it. It's an annual checklist item and they will do their best to fulfill their commitment between now and Easter - even if it kills them. But they will have missed the point entirely. Lent isn't, at the heart, a season of "giving up", but rather it is a season to prepare and renew the heart for what lies ahead. And what lies ahead, what we commemorate every Spring, is the call of Jesus to enter into relationship with Him in a richer, deeper way.

While it wasn't some mandate to observe Lent or any other practice, the words of the Master to His disciples in the Upper Room on that final night were words to live by. And among the great teachings was the "turning of the tables" where the Messiah called them his friends and explained that all He had and all He had done was theirs as well. They had been called God's children before, but this was something new - a new angle, if you will. It was an invitation to live as He lived, serve as He served, and ultimately to die as He died. In becoming friends instead of pupils, God Himself was telling them the entire game was about to change drastically. And at the heart of the change was a new relationship, a deeper, richer friendship with God than they could possibly imagine.

In preparing for my Lenten side trip, I would do well to remember it isn't about the practice, but about the Person. He does not now, nor has he ever wanted my ritualistic sacrifice. He wants my heart. He wants your heart. Celebrating Lent is just one way of seeking that deeper friendship with Him. And, I believe, it will be well worth the journey.