A Fast From Felt Grace

18 02 2012
An edited journal excerpt from June 1991

In seasons when my seeking of God feels dry or dark, I feel like I’m on a kind of soul fast. I do not have a sense of felt grace that has meant so much to me at other points along the way. Of course grace is always there, but I don’t “feel” graced.

When I have been on an extended food fast in the past, my digestive system went into a kind of hibernation. Because I wasn’t giving it anything to do, it took a break and basically shut down major operations. I wonder if this soul fast is similar in any way. God doesn’t seem to be feeding my mind with inspiring thoughts, or my emotions with comforting, encouraging feelings or my will with stirring directions. Part of me seems to be in a kind of hibernation.

And the early stages of an extended fast are painful and difficult. Toxins that have built up break lose and make their way out of the body. I don’t feel well. This soul fast seems similar. Soul impurities rise to the surface of my thinking and feelings and it feels awful. Maybe God is bringing about a purification.

“Father, this dry place is a hard place for me. Help me to wait as You bring genuine satisfaction to the depths of my inner being. You are the only one I need. The false food I’ve eaten in the past has poisoned my system. Thank You for this process that is refining me. You alone can satisfy me deeply. “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you…. But as for me, it is good to be near God (Psalm 73:25, 28).”

Father, You alone are my soul’s desire. It’s true…and I forget it’s true. It is truly good to be near You, even if that isn’t what I’m feeling now. You don’t feel near at all. I believe that You are faithful and true, even when I feel faithless. May Your Spirit bear the fruit of faithfulness within me. Holy Spirit, make me aware of the life of Jesus within me. Help me to glorify the Father in my every choice, thought and action.”

Reflection: How do you respond when your seeking of God does not feel as “graced” as it once did? How might God be near, even if we don’t sense Him?





The Fruit of a Dark, Dark Night

2 02 2012

An edited journal excerpt from June 1991

Job 14:14-17 NIV, “If someone dies, will they live again? 
All the days of my hard service 
I will wait for my renewalt to come. You will call and I will answer you; 
you will long for the creature your hands have made. Surely then you will count my steps 
but not keep track of my sin. My offenses will be sealed up in a bag;
 you will cover over my sin.”

In the dark night places, as John of the Cross calls them, and in what I’ve been describing as dry or waiting places, I am looking to God to take initiative. “You will call and I will answer You.” So much of my prayer is my calling, expecting His answer. This, of course, has its place in my life. But sometimes my calling isn’t done in a listening posture. I’m only listening for God’s answer to my request, and not listening more broadly for whatever it is He may wish to say.

God calls to us from a place of deep desire. He longs for the one He has made. He longs for me. Do I believe this, especially when this dry season makes God feel far away? John of the Cross says that the dark night is a place where God’s purifying, fiery love does its work in me.

This place of “hard service” is a time of waiting on God’s own renewing work in me. I don’t renew myself. I trust God to do His renewing work.

One thing that encourages me as I think of the bigger story of Job is that his season of deep testing results in an increased level of influence and leadership. “After Job had prayed for his friends, the Lord restored his fortunes and gave him twice as much as he had before. All his brothers and sisters and everyone who had known him before came and ate with him in his house. They comforted and consoled him over all the trouble the Lord had brought on him, and each one gave him a piece of silver and a gold ring. The Lord blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the former part. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen and a thousand donkeys.” (Job 42:10-12 NIV)

Can I find hope in this for myself? Might this trying, dry season actually be the means by which You drive my roots deeper for future seasons of greater fruitfulness? Father, I look forward to You blessing me beyond anything You have done on my behalf in the past. Thank You, Father.

God, in this season of dryness and waiting is gathering together all of my desires, my thoughts, my motivations and my energies so that He might unite them in obedience to the greatest command, “to love Him with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul and all my strength.” 

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Making Room For Peace

26 01 2012

An edited journal excerpt from June 1991

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7).”

I’ve been reading more in The Dark Night of the Soul by John of the Cross. The page I started with was so rich that I never turned it.

Simply put, he suggested that when God seeks to put within us a deep peace that is truly beyond our comprehension, He has to remove all traces of the peace that we can sense. When my circumstances are anything but peaceful, when conflict enters my life, when my heart is tempted to worry and concern, this is the very place where I can receive a peace that transcends all understanding.

Paul is not talking theoretically. He speaks with credibility from his prison cell. He isn’t talking about peace from a seat on the beach. He is talking about peace from a no-peace environment.

It seems God will not give us a peace beyond understanding until he removes the peace that we have come to understand. It may well be when I feel the least peace that I have opportunity to learn the deepest sort of peace in God.

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When the Well Runs Dry

2 08 2011

I’ve taken the title of this blogpost from a book by the same name written by Thomas H. Green. It is well worth the read.

On this theme, Laura Swan describes an experience that many of us who have been Christians very long can recognize:

“Often the early years of our spiritual journey are filled with wonderful experiences of God. Great strides are made in prayer and personal transformation, the very near presence of God seems to be with us daily, and the miraculous is seen. Then the journey seems to get harder. Growth and transformation come to frustrating dead ends; prayer seems dry and pointless. Friends, at best, fail to understand us and too often abandon us—family can too. Sometimes it seems that God has abandoned us.” (Laura Swan. The Forgotten Desert Mothers. New York: Paulist Press, 2001, p. 50.)

God blessed my earliest years of Christian life with an emotionally rich, encouraging, affirming sense of His presence. I remember wondering why every Christian didn’t feel God’s presence like I did. I was tempted to compare myself with them and find myself a few notches up the spirituality ladder. It was typical spiritual immaturity.

With this in mind, why in the world would we take new Christians with some special gift or experience of God and move them so quickly into positions of influence? We assume that dramatic experiences with God are marks of maturity. Might they actually be marks of spiritual youth? Are we trying to vicariously extend our own dramatic experience of God? Why not, instead, focus our attention on God Himself, felt or unfelt, and celebrate the gifts of young faith without envying or coveting?

What Swan is saying here speaks to the very place I find myself in this season. I miss emotionally charged experiences of God. I miss the ease of prayer when God’s presence feels very near every day. I miss witnessing the obviously miraculous acts of God. My journey has become harder. I often feel at dead ends…or at least dry ones. I don’t “get as much” out of praying as I once did.

Father, I offer this simple journal entry to You as prayer. Perhaps I have been trying to pray as I can’t anymore. Perhaps I’m using methods that aren’t as fitting as they were in earlier places of my journey. I tend to remain stuck in old methods for fear of the unknown of a more receptive approach to prayer.

But it is the contemplative that I believe is most fitting for me now. I need to be careful that I don’t find myself seeking a new place of felt presence by changing my methods. I recognize, from my reading and experience, that contemplative prayer tends to be very simple and not very dramatic. Lately, sitting in silence is mostly trying to be present and still before God in the midst of the onslaught of distracting thoughts, emotions and even physical sensations. This is what I need though. This is the invitation I sense from God.

(Repost from December 2009)





Stamina in the Desert Places

26 07 2011

How does God go about increasing our spiritual stamina, extending our persevering faithfulness and enriching our grace-orientation in relation to Himself and others? He does so by pressing us past what we thought were our limits, by making faithfulness more challenging than it used to be, and by opening our eyes to the shortcomings of others and our own. And one of the landscapes in which it often occurs is the spiritual desert. Listen to what Laura Swan says in her book on The Forgotten Desert Mothers:

“The desert journey is one inch long and many miles deep. Inward is the only direction of travel.

The spiritual journey requires perseverance, steadfastness, remaining with commitments, and working through difficulties. Relationships can grow stale and boring; our overcommitments can seem hard to untangle. ‘Moving on’ might seem easier than working through misunderstandings; ‘staying on’ is an invitation to deepen valued relationships and commitments. Stability and perseverance provide the strength for the hard interior work of transformation; inner wrestling deepens our interior life. In the midst of this hard work we encounter our real selves.” (Laura Swan. The Forgotten Desert Mothers. New York: Paulist Press, 2001, p. 47.)

The very language of this paragraph is countercultural for quick-fix USAmericans. We tend to feel that there isn’t anything that can’t be solved by just stepping harder on the gas pedal of our lives and increasing our efforts at work. The desert is the place where all our speed and hurry are exposed as empty. There are few markers to measure our outward progress in the desert. We are driven to pay better attention to what is happening within us. Rather than running from the obviously broken in search of the apparently unbroken people or situations, we awaken to the reality that brokenness is a universal human condition, and the only sane choice is to stay where God puts us and welcome His healing, restoring grace to be present to us.

What is it about your circumstances right now that you don’t like and you can’t change? How might this be the very place God is desiring to use to deepen your roots, lengthen your patience and enrich your inner life with Him? Are you open?

(A repost from December 2008)





Reality Therapy

10 07 2011

Those who seek to walk more closely with God may think that it will help us feel better about ourselves. But what if coming out from the shadows into the bright light of God’s presence causes us to see our flaws and mess all the more plainly? What then? Listen to this good spiritual direction from James Houston in his The Transforming Power of Prayer (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 1996):

“…in fact, a life more dedicated to God enlarges our consciousness of ourselves. The thoughts that we used to repress now come to the surface, revealing the inner world of our heart which needs to be brought under the rule of Christ. This is a disturbing process, as the filth from the cellar of our inner lives bubbles up, exposing the things that threaten and damage us deep inside. But it is also a life-giving process, allowing us to be forgiven and healed by God.” (Houston, p. 68.)

As my eyes are more and more enlightened in the Presence of Christ, I have a much clearer vision of Him…and of myself. This does not always feel like good news! There are things about my life so far that I would prefer to keep hidden. There are thoughts, cravings and dispositions that disturb and appall me. I’m tempted to throw them back into the unseen depths and then somehow pretend they aren’t down there. But sometimes a wiser and more real part of me realizes that these places in me aren’t a true “me” (at least not any “me” that God has made). They need to surface in His gracious presence that I might be cleansed and made whole before Him.

I’ve sometimes used the metaphor of a mountain lake to describe my life. I will at times notice floating debris that I long to see cleared out so that I would be more attractive and inviting. And what has often been my clean-up strategy? A skimmer…the kind I’ve used on a swimming pool in the past. I go about skimming debris off the surface of my life and, for a time, the lake seems clearer. Then, I notice places in the lake where filth is bubbling up from below. I skim this away as well…but the bubbles don’t stop. How will I deal with this kind of pollution? Do I just skim more diligently and persistently? Do I simply try harder? I may, but it is a futile effort.

God’s gracious strategy and his kind initiative have taken a different tack than I have. He dries up the lake. He brings a drought. This drying up of the lake has been, for me, a kind of dark night of the soul that John of the Cross describes. He dries up what once seemed refreshing in my experience of Him. I find myself parched and uncomfortable.

As the lake recedes, what happens to the impurities of my life? Slowly and almost imperceptibly, the source of certain impurities begins to surface. At first, it is more recent and more “near the surface” rubbish. God is kind enough to pull it out of these exposed deep places and remove it as far from shore as it can be thrown.

As time goes on, though, deeper and more ancient junk may come into view. Usually, I have been utterly unaware of its long-forgotten presence in me. God, in his immense mercy, arrives at that place long before I have noticed it and does the clean up work I cannot accomplish on my own. There comes a time when the lake of my life has been deeply scoured and is ready to receive the pure water of His presence more fully.

Only that which is exposed to the presence of God is therefore exposed to the healing and forgiving hand of God. Whatever there is in me is safe to surface in the presence of a merciful God. This kind of exposure is, as John of the Cross puts it in his poem, “a sheer grace” and a “secure” place. Even as I may feel vulnerable and even endangered in such exposure, the loving voice of God speaks healing and comfort into my depths.

In these places where the dried-up lake has caused some of the ugliness of my old way of life to surface, I pray God grant me freedom not to hide, or worse, to return to those old ways, but rather acknowledge them and welcome Your forgiving and healing grace. This is what I need.

“…we need to exercise prayer in the absence of God. Not that God Is truly absent, but he withdraws from us so that we can learn to know God as God. God is not our patron, our wish-fulfiller, or the generator of more illusions about ourselves. He is himself.” (Houston, p. 102.)





Classic Insights: Dark Night of the Soul

1 07 2011

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I have often been helped over the last twenty years in my journey with Christ from John of the Cross’ insight into the work of God in what he calls “the dark night.” One recent book that helped me understand it for myself is Gerald May’s Dark Night of the Soul:

“During the dark night of the senses, the soul finds freedom from its attachments to particular sensory gratifications, while the dark night of the spirit releases attachments to rigid beliefs and ways of thinking, frozen memories and expectations, and compulsive, automatic choices. Since the intellect, memory, and will cannot grasp God, they, like the senses, need to be “darkened,” emptied of the false gods they cling to.” (Gerald G. May, M.D. Dark Night of the Soul. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2004, p. 80.)

That paragraph might take another read or two to make sense. It took me more times than that.

Dark night of the senses. How does God help us to cling less to created things that we have hands free to cling to Him? My experience (and apparently this spiritual classic) says that God causes certain pleasures to which I have been compulsively attached to become less exciting or stimulating. When they don’t do for me what they once did, I find a hungry remains that only God can fill. These pleasures can be physical gratifications or spiritual consolations. There is a detachment that has occurred as a result when I’ve realized, in an experienced way, the truth that there really is nothing on earth I desire apart from Him (Psalm 73:25).

Dark night of the spirit. One experience of this is a sense of becoming detached from my own ideas of God, His ways and His directives to which I cling. I’m tempted to replace God with my image of Him. This is simply idolatry. It’s like a child drawing a simple picture of God, and then being surprised that every one else doesn’t add their Amen.

Thinking a little about the attachments that the dark night of the spirit help me loosen my grip:

  • Rigidity in my beliefs and thinking. Grace makes us more supple and flexible. We learn that clinging to God does not mean clinging to personal theological formulas or doctrinal assurances. My faith is in a Person, not in a system or tradition. Human faith systems or traditions are an expression of my way of believing, but my trust is rooted relationally in God Himself.
  • Expectations, assumptions and compulsions that have me stuck. In a sense, this is like how our eyes adjust to seeing in the night when we’ve stepped into it from a bright room. There is a transition when we feel blind. When I talk about my faith, I have to recognize that some of my beliefs are conscious and some aren’t. If I think I won’t get what I need unless I play games and manipulate others, this is an element of faith. It isn’t a very God-focused faith, since He is generous and gives all that we need. It is, nonetheless an element of my functional faith. The dark night has been a place where I have had to deeply question what I believe about God, about myself and about the world God has made.
  • Autopilot, unconscious choices. Bad choices I made willingly and even mindfully in the past, for whatever reason, can become unconscious and feel unchosen. I feel trapped, but I’ve trapped myself. An addiction is the result of borrowing freedom from the future. I spend my freedom instead of investing it, and so it diminishes until I feel I have no freedom left. “I can’t help it” becomes my excuse.

Reflection questions:

  • When has your walk with God felt more like a dark night than a bright sunny day? Was it dark because you were trying to hide or escape, or was it dark in spite of your seeking after God, His kingdom and His righteousness? What might God be teaching you in such places?

(A repost from September 2010)





Clinging to God Alone

2 05 2011

I continue to appreciate Gerald May’s insights in his book Dark Night of the Soul. Below, he mentions something that Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross say about how we become attached to our experiences of God rather than clinging to God Himself.

“Teresa and John both say that we easily become so attached to feelings of and about God that we equate them with God. We forget that these sensations are only speaking to us of the divine One. They are only messengers. lnstead, we take them for the whole of God’s self, and thus we wind up worshiping our own feelings. This is perhaps the most common idolatry of the spiritual life.” (Gerald G. May, M.D. Dark Night of the Soul. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2004, p. 93.)

Our experiences of God are not God. Our feelings about God aren’t God. Our ideas of God aren’t God. God calls Himself “I am.” We want Him to complete the sentence with how He affects us. Graciously, He accommodates us and continues, ‘I am the God Who heals you,” or “I am the God Who provides,” or so on. But ultimately, He is God before we exist. He just is, without needing to reference Himself to us.

May reminds us that when we equate our experiences of God with God Himself, we then find ourselves in the dubious position of worshipping our experience rather than worshipping God Himself. This really is more common than we realize. It’s an idolatry of our experience of God.

Reflection question:

  • How does May’s comment affect you as you read it? How do you feel? How do you want to talk to God about this?
(A repost from September 2010)

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A Spirituality of Hitting the Wall

6 02 2011

Last night's sunset here in Mission Viejo.

(A repost from October 2008. Having returned from The Journey retreat, I’ll begin posting some new material in the coming week.)

In her book, The Critical Journey, Janet Hagberg (Sheffield Publishing Co., 1995, 2005) offers a six-stage model of faith formation that has been very helpful to me since the first edition was published in 1991. Those six stages, simply put, are:

• Stage 1 – Faith is discovering God
• Stage 2 – Faith is learning of/from God
• Stage 3 – Faith is serving God
• Stage 4 – Faith is rediscovering God
• Stage 5 – Faith is surrendering to God
• Stage 6 – Faith is deeply abiding in God

Between stages 4 and 5, she includes what she calls “The Wall.” The wall is, in part, those places where, in our rediscovery of who God really is (as opposed to our sometimes distorted images of Him), we realize more deeply just what it may mean to more fully abandon ourselves to Him in fuller trust. She suggests that our first impulse when confronting such a wall is to try any method of getting past it other than surrender—we try to self-confidently climb over it, or self-deprecatingly tunnel under it, or try to drill through it with our intellectual or doctrinal resources, or whatever. The only way through the wall is to lovingly offer our willingness to God’s loving will.

Constance Fitzgerald, who served for a season as spiritual director to Eugene Peterson in his Baltimore years, wrote an article titled “Impasse and Dark Night.” In it she shares some helpful thoughts about the wall, which she calls “impasse.” These are places of spiritual gridlock where we are uncertain as to the way forward. In this and the next few blog posts, I want to explore a little of what she says. She has helpful counsel to offer us for these “impasse” places we confront along our journey with Christ.

“At the deepest levels of impasse, one sees the support systems on which one has depended pulled out from under one and asks if anything, if anyone, is trustworthy. Powerlessness overtakes the person or group caught in impasse and opens into the awareness that no understandable defense is possible. This is how impasse looks to those who are imprisoned within it. It is the experience of disintegration, of deprivation of worth, and it has many faces, personal and societal.” (Constance FitzGerald, O.C.D. “Impasse and Dark Night.” Living with Apocalypse: Spiritual Resources for Social Compassion. San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1984, p. 289.)

An impasse often comes with a sense of questioning everyone and everything we’ve ever trusted. We find our trusted sources of security, direction, or motivation questioned and uncertain. We wonder whether our particular denomination or ministry tradition has been completely accurate in its portrayal of God’s character and God’s expectations of us. With the apparent loss of security, we may feel powerless and without protection. Where once I felt like I had everything together, now things may feel like they are falling apart.

What might God be doing in bringing us to such places?

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Prayer When You Don’t Feel It

10 01 2011

Have you ever decided to pray, sat down in God’s presence, and come to discover that your mind or heart have failed to join you there? What do you do then? The post below comes from a journal entry of about ten years ago. It was my attempt to be faithful when I didn’t find many thoughts or feelings of faith welling up within me. I read Matthew 9:14-26, then journaled my response:

Father, protect my heart from spiritual jealousy when it seems other disciples have it easier than me. Keep me from the trap of resenting the spiritual disciplines into which You lead me, especially when You don’t seem to be leading anyone else the same way. I am tempted to feel ripped off. In reality, You are making space in me for Your remarkably gracious and fulfilling Presence. Teach me to welcome Your discipline, whether difficult or easier, as another expression of Your love for me. I want to remember that You only discipline Your own children.

Keep me fresh and responsive to the new things that You are doing in and around me. May I never become like an old garment that can’t be restored by the new thing You are doing. May I never become so inflexible and rigid that I cannot welcome the renewing, restoring work of Your Spirit. May I never become so sour and staid that I cannot receive and embrace the new wine of Your Spirit’s work among Your people. May You keep me new and elastic in response to Your current work in Your church and in Your world.

Give me faith that even when it seems something I have longed for from You has become impossible, You are the One Who raises the dead and does the impossible. May I never label anything “impossible” in the presence of the Almighty. One touch from Your hand brings life where there was death, joy where there was depression, peace where there was anxiety, patience where there once was harshness, abundance where there was loss. May I become confident that Jesus will take action on my concerns in prayer in His good time.

Give me compassion and attentiveness to those who suffer. May I always be willing to set aside my planned agenda for whatever I might do to bless or help another. May I receive interruptions as opportunities. May I be a person who has something to say or do that will bring grace and power into each situation. Grant me confidence in You in the face of deep, long-standing suffering that people bring my way.

Enable me to see with eyes of faith what the crowds cannot see. Enable me to trust Your power and grace to be able to do more than I or anyone can imagine. May I not listen to the voices of the mockers and doubters. Give me simple confidence in You like Jesus had in You. May many come to find Your grace and power at work in and through me.








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