Dearest Rachel –
You probably remember how, after Sunday services, over dinner either between the three of us or (more often, since that used to be how we all got together every week) the entire extended family, we would discuss what had been spoken about in the sermon just a little while before. It wasn’t necessarily the main topic of mealtime conversation, but it would come up now and then, either due to a particular insight Dad would want to emphasize or a point one of us had a question or observation about.
This doesn’t happen anymore; between Dad’s need to be fed through his tube at home, my schedule in the booth and your absence from the table, we rarely get together at all, let alone to talk about what lessons we might have learned. But since I’m now taking more thorough notes (since you’re no longer doing so), I find myself with a lot more questions as to how to apply what I’ve just heard, particularly since I’ve been stuck at what feels like a crossroad ever since you had to leave forty-seven months ago, and I can’t figure out the best way to go from here.
Unfortunately, much of the time, I don’t find a whole lot of specific application in the lessons we get. Oh, there are plenty of general points that I could always stand to improve a little more on, don’t get me wrong. But more often than not, the lessons are geared toward the constant stream of new people who keep joining our number, who are unfamiliar with even the most basic building blocks of doctrine and the Christian walk. So as the sermons need to be tailored to reach and apply to do the most good for the most people, I’m left watching them like Marty McFly upon seeing a “brand-new” episode of the Honeymooners…
Now, I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m complaining about the situation, like the prodigal son’s older brother. I understand how unusual my situation is, so I can accept that there isn’t much that can be done to address the issues attendant to my own Christian walk from the platform; how would it apply to the rest of the audience? I’m glad, too, that so many new people are coming, and that we are growing by leaps and bounds; this is, I’m to understand, a decided rarity among churches these days. It suggests (although, granted, it does not guarantee) that we’re doing something right.
But it does still leave me wondering what to do with my life, in particular.
In any event, yesterday’s topic had to do with, yes, the Christmas story of Luke 2, but also further on into the details of Jesus’ youth and the one other misadventure recounted to the good doctor by His mother years after the fact. Luke basically gives her credit (as he should) for recalling these events twice in the chapter; once after the shepherds have come and gone, and again after His perplexing (to her and Joseph) answer about how obvious it should have been that He would have been “about [His] Father’s business” when they visited Jerusalem when He was twelve.
…His mother ·kept in her mind all that had happened [L kept/treasured all these things/words in her heart].
Luke 2:51b, Expanded Bible
As one who is concerned about my inability to remember life events, this is something I would like to be able to do better with, and this was the main focus of the lesson; how to find and hold onto the treasure of the season (and all of life, by extension). The first tip was to remember that it’s not about any of us; this is to celebrate Him, after all. This makes reasonable sense, but as I’ve said before, we humans have but one point of view – our own – which limits our ability to take in the big picture. Still, we can certainly redouble our efforts to that end; and while we do so, we can expand our focus to take in the more mundane aspects of it all. Very little of our lives are Instagram-worthy, but that doesn’t make them less important. To be honest, this part I can wrap my head around better than most, although with a healthy dose of hindsight; so much of what we used to mutually agreed to be ordinary I would so dearly like to have back to engage in, just one more time.
But the final recommendation gave me pause; we need to be still, and listen for those moments when God speaks to us, like He did to Elijah at his lowest moment. For whatever reason, He did not come in a whirlwind, an earthquake or a raging fire, but in a still, small voice. If He should do likewise for us, we need to be quiet enough to hear Him when He does so.
All very well and good; even from a secular point of view, our chaotic lives would benefit from moments of deliberate, self-induced calm, whether we hear God’s voice through it or not. The problem I see in straining to hear His voice is that we might hear a voice, but not necessarily His voice. Who is to say that the same adversary who helps us fill our time with enough chaos to drown God out most of the time isn’t capable of mimicking Him when we try to quiet ourselves to listen for Him?
Jesus said, “·Be careful [Watch out] so you are not ·fooled [deceived; led astray]. [L For; Because] Many people will come in my name, saying, ‘I am ·the One [or he; C the Messiah]’ and, ‘The time ·has come [or is near]!’ But don’t follow them.
Luke 21:8, Expanded Bible
I don’t know if you remember the icebreaker game of “two truths and a lie” that would be played when a group of people who had never met each other before would assemble for the first time – it’s also a common part of profiles on several of the dating websites I’ve been on. It’s pretty much exactly what it says on the tin; each individual would make three statements about themselves, two of which would be true and the third a lie, with the object being that the group would have to guess the lie out of the options given. Quite often, of course, the wrong answer was chosen, which was part of the fun of the game.
The thing is, we’re constantly bombarded with voices, clamoring for our attention. Directions we could take in our lives, things we might need (or, more accurately, think we need), people we might meet and befriend (or not). Any decision could affect our lives tremendously (although many of them not so much; it’s not always easy to know which will be which). Presumably, there is one path that God wants for us, and a hundred other turns we could take every day. Given that God knows a.) how stupid we are compared to Him, and b.) how we can’t seem to hear or discern His voice, you’d think He’d take these factors into account when trying to communicate with us, and make it easier for us who want to hear Him to do so.
Thus far, it hasn’t seemed to be the case.
Maybe I’m overthinking this, honey; maybe God isn’t as insistent about one specific path for each of us, and certain daily choices we make don’t matter to Him all that much. But this is the God that supposedly holds every quark and atom together, even as the infinite universe itself can be cupped in His hand, so I would think every little thing matters just as much as the big ones. I wish I knew, so I wouldn’t feel paralyzed by indecision; is that voice calling me really His, or just someone pretending to be Him? I’ve seen so many pretenders that I’ve tended to automatically dismiss any claims, like emails deposited in a spam folder; is it possible I’m doing that to God Himself? It’s a lot to think about.
And with that being said, all I can do is ask for you to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it, no doubt.
Letters to Rachel 