Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”

Part 4b (I feel part 4 is too long, so I’ve split it into two): A peculiar problem

To return to God – or rather to God and me – and to God and you – what I want to say is this.

God is a person. This is essential, for the essence of God is a relationship with him. God just doesn’t work if you try to reduce God to an idea or a value or a principle. That sense of dynamic, ongoing relationship is a crucial dimension of who God is. So, God is a person, and as such he is the means by which the everyday events of our lives are transformed into the ineffably precious spiritual experiences that make a life of faith in God to be life in all its fullness. As we develop and live out our relationship with him, we enter into a depth of life which is unreachable without him. I never wish to belittle the lives of people who never find faith. Life is precious – I might see this as emerging out of God being the creator, but even for those who completely reject this idea, the depth of life is wonderful beyond measure. You may think: “In what way is life with God any better then? And how can you know?”. I believe it is clear that a life shared with God must have another dimension that the secular-minded person cannot have. Perhaps that person might argue that this additional dimension does not matter, and a human being can enter into complete fullness of life without God. Of course, strictly speaking, this is something we can never know because we can only know what it feels like within our own heart and mind. However, I don’t think our necessary agnosticism on this point undermines what I’m saying. I believe I’m doing my best to show respect for all people and not belittle secular people as somehow missing out on the wonder of life – just because my religious experiences are so very fulfilling to me. However, I think we have good grounds for thinking that it’s only with God that we reach fullness of life. This is because God is the ultimate expression of all goodness. And because the essence of God is sharing a relationship with him. So, sharing our lives with him – in this incredibly rich, layered existence that we have been thinking about – must open up to us experiences that are not open to secularists, even though they will have access to many of the good and wonderful experiences that come to us through our humanity. So we are not quibbling: “Well you’ve never known the pleasure of golf”. “Well that’s nothing, you’ve never known the joy of birdwatching”. When we consider our relationship with God we are dealing with entirely different categories of experience precisely because of the nature of God, which is so ineffably good, immensely beyond our understanding – but not beyond our ability to experience him.

God turns our ordinary, everyday lives into extraordinary spiritual treasure. He has the ability to do this even with people whose lives may seem very humble and dull, and even those who suffer greatly. It is probable that, if you have a deep, devoted faith in God, that he particularly works this transforming effect in the lives of those who have terrible burdens to bear. As someone “who has been very lucky” in the circumstances of my life, I do not have experience of this myself, but my faith teaches me that God’s transforming ability is most effective in those who are hardest pressed. In my own very fortunate life, I can testify to how an otherwise “nothing in particular to report here” sort of life has been filled with the grace of God, showing itself in so many ways, and issuing in God’s gifts of joy, peace and love to me. It is God’s presence and my relationship with him that is so utterly precious – much more than any particular event or achievement. It is simply being able to know him that counts for more than anything else, and everything else put together. Clearly, it is impossible to have this experience of God except by knowing God. Is there an alternative substitute as precious as knowing God? I believe that there are a number of sources of preciousness that fill us to overflowing and in this sense are “infinite” because they have surpassed our ability to measure them. So, I believe it is possible for people to find this fullness of life without God. However, as in so many ways, God is in a unique category of his own and therefore – because of the nature of God and the nature of our relationship with him – the particular fullness of life that God imparts cannot be known except by knowing God.      

So, me and God, we are old friends. Of course, it is completely wrong of me to speak of God in this casual, disrespectful way – except that God has said, it’s OK. In his grace he has put to one side the wonder of his majesty precisely so that he and I can sit, side by side. In the intimacy of his love, in that shared life of inner conversation and consolation and inspiration and exhilaration he and I have come to an understanding with one another. Again, ridiculous language: God has known all about me – and loved me utterly – since before I was, while God remains a wonderful mystery to me, but I am striving to express that ongoing living out of our relationship, by which God, in his fullness, has taken account of my emptiness and “accommodated me” so that I can dwell in communion with him and know the fullness of his love. Without in any way contradicting the fullness of God’s presence and his love (I said it was a mystery), God, seeing my emptiness, has emptied something of himself, to make space for me by his side. Yes me, who really am so shallow, have been gifted the full depth of the love of God – just because this is what God is like. I say “Amen”. He says, “Come with me”. I say, “Let’s go Lord”, but, in truth, he says, “Let’s go” at the same time.

Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”

Part 4a (I feel part 4 is too long, so I’ve split it into two) : A peculiar problem

The above is what I wanted to say on this matter, but there is one final point to add, though this might be a peculiarity just to me, or perhaps to just a few people, but it is a problem that I have struggled with throughout my life – and may only be in the process of resolving currently.

It is the balance between resting in God and moving on with God – and not being caught between the two. Perhaps you can see how my thoughts above have been prompted by this issue, and how they may express a resolution of it. It is the same issue as the tension between reflection and action, between awareness and engagement.

When we are focussed on doing something, there is active engagement to achieve some goal. When we step back to reflect and become aware of “where we are in life” and what we have achieved, there is a deeper, holistic experience of “what it all means”. My experience is that you can’t do both at once – and this has bothered me – but I think I am at last ready to accept that I have been troubled by thinking it might be possible to do something that is, actually, impossible. If it is impossible, then I am not missing out on anything. Sometimes you hear a claim suggesting that it might be possible. Perhaps the saying, “All life is prayer” is an attempt to express this. However, I have to conclude that, either some people have acquired a spiritual depth that is simply beyond me, or that they are simply using words that sound good, but have no real content. For me, I have concluded that “All life is prayer” has no meaning for me – it’s an enticing label, but there is no meaningful content attached to it. Whatever the truth on this point, I have decided that I like – and, in fact, I prefer – the model that sometimes we are busy doing things and sometimes we step back to reflect on what we’ve been doing. It simply isn’t possible to do both things at once because they are entirely different things.

I wonder if an illustration will help.

I really enjoyed my job as a school teacher. In moments of reflection, I experience an overwhelming depth of richness as I contemplate my time at the school. I hold in my mind and heart layers of richness that create a glittering golden experience. However, there is no experience of glittering gold that I ever encountered in my school, but, somehow, the ongoing life as a teacher in that school laid down layer upon layer of experience. As I say, there was no gold! The experiences were of endless registrations of students, pacing the corridors en route to my next lesson, constantly stretching the sinews of my mind to respond to students’ questions, the constant surveillance of the attentiveness of students in the class, the mind-numbing grind of large chunks of marking, the regular dash to just meet a deadline for getting reports done on time. As you can see, none of these experiences are golden – though very often in the mix are lovely, uplifting discussions with students. But each of these experiences are like layers laid down in the soul, and they build up an unbearable weight – not unbearable in the sense of, “I can’t stand it!” but unspeakably, ineffably, utterly beyond my ability to hold. And the unbearable weight of these layers compresses all the mundane (good or otherwise) experiences listed above, and in some process of spiritual alchemy, the mundane becomes pure gold.

So now, when I look within, and reflect on my time in school, although I can do the analysis and list what the day to day experiences as a teacher involved, what I experience in my moments of reflection is an experience of pure gold.

I think this might express what I am trying to explain about the impossibility of resting in reflection and engaging in action at the same time. We cannot have one without the other, but we cannot have both at the same time.

From an early age, I have been entranced at the wonder of life, and this has led me to want to stop and become aware of it. And this awareness is my most precious experience – or what I have thought to be most precious. But if we are forever stopped in awareness we are not busy doing the actions that create the wonder. It is still a mystery to me. However, I am collecting helpful “tips”. “Bow wave” is one of them. I love to see the bow wave being thrown up in front of the big ferries coming in to dock in Portsmouth harbour, and, of course, the wave only exists because of the movement. You cannot halt a bow wave to study it or experience it more closely. You can take a snapshot photo of it but if you try to halt the movement in order to grasp hold of the wave, you no longer have a wave.

“Grasping” of the wonder of life isn’t possible. To shift images from a ferry to a rowing boat, you can dip your fingers in the river and enjoy the sensation of the water trickling through your fingers, but you can’t take hold of that sensation, for the sensation depends on the movement.

So, I think it is most precious to have moments of self-awareness of the wonder of life, but we mustn’t be fooled into thinking that this is somehow different or better to the “mundane” day to day events of living in the world. They are, in fact, the same thing simply expressed in different ways. The individual actions are the “ingredients” and in our reflective awareness we transform them into wonder as we enfold or concertina multiple experiences into one “view”, and “seeing it all at once” we are transfixed at how precious our lives are – that preciousness built up layer upon layer.

Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”

Part 3: Let’s go Lord

This leads me on to the third of my key “prayer words or phrases” and that is, “Let’s go Lord”. This is my way to attempt to express this sense of dynamic flow. In our life with the Lord, there is not simply an ending, nor a beginning, but there is always an ongoing relationship. This is already implied in God’s call to, “Come with me”, but “Let’s go, Lord” is my way to express my “Yes! Yes, Lord, I will come with you”. It expresses both trust and confidence in God’s ability to guide and strengthen, as well as the joy and peace that flow from his presence. It recognises the supreme blessing of being rooted into God, with your “feet on the right path”. It gathers up our commitment to stay true to God, to follow his way and to rely on his strength and guidance. “Let’s go, Lord” expresses delight that we are not alone, nor will we ever be. The relationship that we have entered into with God is an ongoing one of being in his presence, surrounded by his love, and being accompanied by him on the way. It expresses that whatever we do that flows from our “Amen”, that is, whatever we do under God’s guidance as he and we together respond to the prayer that we have made, is done jointly, in companionship with God, and, most fundamentally, in union with God.

We are not alone, for the Lord is with us. This is the very heart of the spiritual life. We are always our own person. We do not lose responsibility for ourselves, even if we feel that we have “lost ourselves” in union with God. I am me, and you are you. In order to honour God’s extra-ordinary gift in creation, his self-emptying, in order to make space for us to exist as independent, autonomous beings, we must not allow even our utter devotion to God to take away our sense of personhood. I am me, but I am not God. God is separate to me, even if, by faith and grace, we attain a union with him. I think our union is a reality, though clearly we are stretching the meaning of words here. Perhaps I prefer the word “communion”, that in the spiritual life we are enabled to live in communion with him. This expresses the idea that there are two persons involved in this relationship. However, because the union is so real, the communion brings our two persons into what we might consider as a joint personality, or a corporate existence, whereby, we are so intertwined with God, that where one is, there is the other. I do not mean this in some pantheistic way, as though we, as individuals, are somehow taken into the Godhead – there is always a distinction between creator and creature. However, this very depth of distinction emphasises how extraordinary gracious and powerfully effective is the sense of union with God that he allows, by sharing our lives – his life with us, and ours with him, so that the boundary between us and God is dissolved in the resonance of our spirit with his Spirit. It is difficult to explore this more deeply; we can end up using high-sounding words which are difficult to understand, but perhaps in our most powerful encounters with God we experience what it is we are trying to explain. The goal I was trying to reach is to express that relationship where two truly do become one. Thus, “Let’s go, Lord” expresses that impetus and commitment to go forward with God, and to live our lives with him, our lives immeasurably enriched by his life within us. We have not simply left our prayer with God when we said, “Amen” – though we did do that. We have not simply set out to love and serve God, as he commissioned us and sent us out on mission – though we did do that too. In our prayer, we have reached out to God, and he has responded by enfolding us in his grace. Together we have entered into a spiritual consensus about what to do in response to our prayer and God’s calling of us. We have then set out together to do it.

Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”

Part 2: Come with me

“Amen” is my word to God. However, a vitally important part of prayer is listening to God in order to hear any response he may give us. Prayer is definitely not sticking our shopping list on God’s fridge and expecting him to get on with it. In recent years, I feel that God’s most common response to me is, “Come with me”. The essence of this is a sense of relationship and shared endeavour in the spiritual life. It represents a complete moving on from the image of prayer as a “dumping of responsibility” onto God. I need to try and explain this carefully, as I often point out that the essence of the spiritual life is a relying on the gift of God’s grace rather than on earning our own righteousness. What I mean is, that my prayer, in which I express my dependence on God’s grace, and my devotion in response to his love, which prompts me to ask for God’s active presence and working in the world – most fundamentally for “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” – is far more than a handing over to God of my best wishes for the world. My prayer is a desire to join in with God’s graceful presence and to be a channel of his grace. Therefore, when I make my prayer, God is responding to me, saying “Come with me. In your prayer you have attuned yourself to my will and so have – by my grace – entered into communion with me, and so become a partner with me in living out my presence in the world. Having “touched base” with me, it is now required for you to come with me as the way of expressing the reality that you are with me”. So, any attempt to say “Amen” and “leave my prayer with God”, becomes a calling from him to me, to accompany him. This is the greatest delight for those who love God, for there is nothing more that we can possibly do in life than to be with him. However, being with God is always likely to lead very quickly into serving him, for, the moment we begin to rejoice in God’s love, he inevitably points out an opportunity to share that love with others, for loving service is the very essence of God’s presence.

So, the call to “Come with me” is a gift in itself, for God, who delights whenever we open our hearts to him, responds to that with an invitation to accompany him, so that our lives become a shared journey with him. “Keeping in step with the Spirit” would be another way of expressing this. In this way, prayer is always a new beginning for, while God most certainly accepts the prayer that we give to him, it is not in the sense of an ending of that process of prayer – a prayer which, perhaps, we thought would end, or at least “round off” that little (or sometimes, large)  period of our lives. God never allows a full stop at the end of our “Amen”, but immediately adds his calling, “Come with me”. This gives to us an invigorating, life-refreshing infusion of impetus to our spiritual life. There is always dynamic movement, a constant flow of new life; there is never simply a stopping or a finishing.

(An exploration of our relationship with God in 4 parts)

Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”

Part 1: Amen

This article is very personal as I try to describe an aspect of my relationship with God. If you are left wondering, “What on earth is he talking about?”, then please just move swiftly on to something else. However, I’m putting forward these comments, as always in my blog, in the hope that they may be helpful to some people. I think there is a theological dimension – that is, what ideas about my relationship with God do they express, but also a psychological dimension, that throws light on the inner dynamics of my relationship with him.

When I say, “Amen”, it could mean, “Get on with it, Lord! I’ve told you what I need, now I expect you to get on and deliver the goods”. I don’t think this is a particularly good attitude! With a prayer, we do say, “Amen”, but it’s intended in a thankful, confident note of trust – “I have made my prayer to you, Lord, and now, as I leave it with you, to act according to your wisdom and grace, I add my “Amen” to say, “Let it be so”. What we are declaring in saying “Amen” is that, to whatever degree our prayer is good and pure and lovely, that God will honour the goodness of the prayer, and be at work to bring it about. This is, of course, subject to the limitations that God works within to act within a material world, in a moral way. This important point will wait for another occasion – we are simply recognising now that making a prayer is not an automatic process whereby God waves a magic wand to give us whatever we want. When I say, “We leave our prayer with God”, I do not mean that we thereby simply abandon all responsibility for achieving the outcome that we want. I think that a very big dimension of prayer is us articulating before God what we would like as a good – and therefore Godly – outcome, and trustfully placing it in God’s hands because we acknowledge his sovereignty, goodness and love, only for God to respond, “Thank you very much; I’m now handing responsibility for achieving the good outcome of this prayer back to you. As you have so beautifully explored what is required, and committed yourself to serving me, then it is obvious to me (that is, God) that you are the ideal person to achieve the good outcome you pray for”. Of course, the crucial transformation is that we are now acting in the power of, and in the company of, God.

So, I think, at its best, saying “Amen” is a powerful, but gentle, yet decisive, transformative ending. In our prayer we have reached the conclusion of what it is we desire, and entrusted that to God, who is “the all in all” ultimate repository of all that is good and pure and lovely. When we can do no more, we say, “Lord, I hand it over to you; I place my concerns, my life, in your hands, and now I trust you for whatever happens next” – and sometimes God hands that back to us, but as a shared mission. “Amen” is therefore an ending of our search, our distress and confusion, our struggle to know what to do and how to do it, because we have been able to say our prayer and add our “Amen” to it. As we have recognised, it can also be a beginning, because God honours the commitment we have made to living a new kind of life. However, for me, most often, it is an end of striving, a release of a burden into God’s love. I rest in my “Amen” because I delight in God’s loving care. So, “Amen” is both an ending and a beginning: I leave my distress and my hopes with God in trustful peace, for I believe he is at work to answer my prayer, and I now need to get on living in tune with my prayer, so that my prayer is not an abdication of my responsibility and a simple “dumping” on God, but instead my prayer is a joint consultation on how to go forward, and then I and God travel that way together.