“Lack of spiritual desire should grieve us, and lead us to mourn its absence.” So wrote the Civil War pastor, E.M. Bounds, a man well acquainted with the ebbs and flows of spiritual life. Is this something that we do as Christians? Do we ever mourn the absence of our desire for God? It would certainly be a first step towards recovering that spirit if we did. Simply confessing that we have lost our desire, we could then look to God for its restoration, promising to treat it as more precious than we did. Bounds writes of this recourse,

It is not in our power to create fervency of spirit at will, but we can ask God to implant it. Then it is ours to nourish and cherish, to guard against extinction, to prevent its reduction in amount or decline in quality. It is never out of place to ask God to create within us and keep alive the spirit of fervent prayer.

More important, however, than recovering our desire for prayer is knowing how to not lose it in the first place. Prayer implies an ongoing relationship of nurture that preserves within us the spiritual life that we cherish as a precious pearl. We exalt this relationship by fanning the flames of our desire for God. That is why a vocabulary of love is more appropriate than that of discipline. Bounds describes the spiritual direction that this implies when he writes,

Prayer must be habitual, but much more than a habit. It is duty, yet one that rises far above and goes beyond the ordinary meaning of the word. It is the yearning for divine communion. It is the outward and upward flow of the inward life towards its original fountain.

Our ultimate destiny is best expressed in prayer. We place on its altar nothing less than all we are, have, have been and will be. In so doing we discover, as Jesus taught, that those who lose their lives in Him are most poised to find them again. Prayer is a consuming fire that purposes to present us wholly to God. Bounds recognizes it as the crucible in which this offering is made. He writes,

A life of prayer naturally leads to full consecration. It is satisfied with nothing less than an entire dedication of one’s self to God. Never are we fully content until we are fully and entirely the Lord’s. Praying naturally leads to this act of full consent.

Prayer not only leads to the altar of self-sacrifice, it also helps us to remain at that altar. Without prayer we inevitably wander from our first love. E.M. Bounds cautions that we not underestimate the difficulty of trying to live a spiritual life without the hub of prayer.

It takes prayer to bring a person to a consecrated life of holiness to the Lord, and it takes prayer to maintain such a life. Without much prayer, such a life of holiness will break down. Prayer helps consecrated Christians to maintain their attitude of consecration. It keeps them alive to God and aids them in doing the work to which they are called and to which they have given themselves.

Acknowledging our lack of desire for prayer is the first step towards its recovery. Having experienced its absence, we cherish all the more its return. It is then up to the consecrated life to teach us how to maintain the posture of self-offering on the altar of prayer so that we no longer exchange this precious pearl for anything else in life.

Gal. 5:5

The character of righteousness is something that is latent in every person born.  Within each of our lives, there are “rumours of glory” that suggest to us what God recognizes as our righteous potential.  As though eager to see His own reflection, the Lord asks each one of us,  “What does righteousness look like in you?”

Though righteousness is often spoken of in the Bible, it is a word that Scripture rarely defines for us.  It seems to go without saying that we already know what this word should mean for us, and that our instincts about how we fall short of it are also a God-given hunch.  The righteous person, according to the book of Proverbs, is simply one who leads a blameless life (Pr. 20:7).  He/she walks a path that is “level” (Isa. 26:7) and that ultimately leads to holiness (Rom 6:19).

In the Bible, “the righteous” are a subset of humanity who share a distinct status with God along with all the privileges that come with that status.  We read, for instance, that the righteous enjoy special access to God ( Pr. 15.29) making their prayers particularly effective (James 5:16).  Righteousness is both an indicator as well as a determinant of God’s blessing in our lives.  The book of Samuel, for instance, tells us that it is according to righteousness that the Lord rewards every person (1Sa. 26:23).

Though we appropriate this gift by faith alone (Rom. 4:12), the Holy Spirit helps each of us find our own path of righteousness according to the value we place on, and the way we put into practice, the virtues we cherish.  The Psalmists therefore models the desire for such guidance when he asks God to “open for me the gates of righteousness” (Ps. 118:19).  Our participation is also a factor in cultivating this gift.  That is why the prophet Hosea encourages us to sow seeds of righteousness in our lives (Hos. 10:12).  Paul, as well, exhorts Timothy to “train” himself in righteousness (2Tim. 3:16).

Righteousness is exalted in heaven for the simple reason that it reflects the very character of God.  In righteousness we become more like God and are thus more able to perceive God in our lives.  God’s purity is recognized only to the degree that we are congruent with that purity (Mt. 5:8).  The prophet Malachi anticipates this when he says “in righteousness I will see your face” (Mal. 3:18).

Our ultimate destiny then is to more fully reflect God’s righteous character.  As Paul quite plainly tells the Ephesians, we were “created to be like God in true righteousness” (Eph. 4:24).  As we anticipate this destiny, may we hunger and thirst for such righteousness—the fruit of Jesus’ increasing influence in our lives.

Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him,
for we shall see him as he is.

1John 3:2

Etch-ing (ech’ing) n. 1. A process of engraving in which grooves are made onto a metal plate, either scratched with a needle or by the corrosive action of acid. The grooves are then filled with ink and pressed onto paper.

Years ago I took a course in etching and learned an important lesson about my relationship with God. It had to do with the deepening initiative of God’s love in my life and my feeble efforts to resist it. As I was working with a particular method of etching I recognized something very similar to the dynamics of my spiritual life.

In this form of etching, a metal plate is covered with beeswax. Once the wax has hardened, a fine needle is used to draw an image by scratching through the dried wax and exposing the bare metal. The resulting line is as thin as one could ever hope to draw. Once the drawing is finished the plate is then dropped into an acid bath. The acid etches the exposed parts of the metal, whereas the waxed parts are protected from the acid. The deeper the acid etches into the metal, the more ink the groove will hold, making a darker line on the final paper print.

As the metal is exposed to the acid an interesting phenomenon of oxidization takes place. The metal reacts to the acid and bubbles begin to form all along the lines of the drawing. This represents a minor problem for the artist as these bubbles create a protective layer over the line, preventing the acid from etching any deeper into the metal. If the artist wants the lines in the drawing to etch deeper, the bubbles must be removed with a feather, passing it gently over the plate. Once the bubbles are removed, the metal is once again exposed to the acid, allowing it to continue its deepening work.

As I observed the slow process of the acid etching into the metal I recognized how similar this was to the action of God in my life. As I watched the protective bubbles form over the lines I could see a similarity to my own ways of creating protective layers in my relationship with God—layers that shield me from the deepening action of love. And as the feather gently removed the bubbles from the line, exposing the metal once again to the acid, I also recognized the similar action of God’s hand gently removing the bubbles I use as a shield against His intimacy. Though God’s action exposes me to the very thing I am resisting, I know that the Lord does so in order that love might be etched more deeply in my life.

 The spiritual life, most simply defined, is the art and discipline of remaining present to God.  You would think nothing could be easier for us to do.  But to remain in the presence of God requires certain virtues that are congruent with divinity.  Foremost among these virtues is that of gentleness.

Gentleness makes us hospitable to God’s presence.  In his book Spirituality and the Gentle Life, Adrian Van Kaam affirms the benefits of cultivating such an inner disposition.   He writes,

Gentleness is an important condition for the spiritual life. The life of the spirit emerges and grows in gentility. A gentle life style affects all my ways. It changes my view of myself and others. It makes me work, speak, feel and act in a different manner. It creates an atmosphere that is truly conducive to worship and surrender.

 Gentleness, of course, begins at home.  If we are not gentle with ourselves we cannot expect to be gentle with others, nor with God.  To be gentle with myself is to welcome all I see inside me as precious, fragile and vulnerable.  Van Kaam recognizes that we must approach our fragile self as God does—with gentleness and kindness.   He writes,

A first step to inner gentleness is to gratefully love myself as a unique divine gift and to admit and accept the very weakness which makes me the fragile earthen vessel of this treasure. Gentleness with self is possible only when I recognize and “own” the vulnerability of who I am.

To live gently is to live in Divine likeness.  Jesus said of Himself,  “I am gentle and humble in heart.”  When I lose my gentleness, I lose a basic point of fellowship with the presence of God.  Gentleness then is a pathway to prayer.  It is one of the means by which we remain in Christ’s love (Jn 15:1). 

But there are movements within me that are obstacles to this virtue—the turmoil that thwarts the gentleness of my relationship with God.  When it comes to the finesse of spirituality I often feel more like the proverbial “bull in a china shop.”   Van Kaam describes the humble and childlike disposition that gentleness requires of us.  He writes,

Most fragile is my presence to the Divine; only grace can maintain it. Awareness of the Divine is subtle and sublime, of such fragility and finesse that it may disappear the moment my willfulness and pride take over and try to force the felt presence of this Infinite Guest. The divine gift of gentility thus keeps at bay any arrogant movement on my part that might chase away the loving presence of the Holy.

To be gentle means to be hospitable to God’s spirit.  To maintain this state however requires that we be attentive to the ever-changing ground of our being so that we recognize early the first signs of its hardening.  If we don’t catch these changes at the onset they de-sensitize us to the subtle presence of God.  Van Kaam describes his own relationship to gentleness lost, and to its recovery.

I drop my prayers to gain time for action. I skip moments of rest and recollection. No longer do I find time to gently nurse my soul. I have put myself into captivity. Now is the time to call upon the Lord. He will bring me back from my captivity. He will grace me with gentility. Instead of my tasks captivating me, I shall carry them. He will help me to break their overly busy hold on my life, teaching me how I can maintain myself gently in regard to them. He will help me to still and quiet my soul, to nurse it back to life as gently as a nursing mother.

Gentleness in our lives fosters a more consistent awareness of relationship with God.  It is a virtue to be embraced by all who cherish the spiritual life. There are beautiful prayers throughout Van Kaam’s book that express a sincere desire for the gentle life.  I have compiled some of these below for you to claim for yourself in the coming weeks.  See what changes you notice in the disposition of your soul as you make gentleness a focus of your prayers.  Let it be the grace that you seek from God this week.  Explore for yourself how this Christ-like virtue helps you remain more consistently in God’s presence.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.                           

Mat. 11:29

Daily Prayers for a Gentle Soul                                                                        (from Adrian Van Kaam’s Spirituality and the Gentle Life)

• Let the awareness of your presence instill gentleness in my soul; gentleness toward myself too, the broken mirror of your love. Let me share in your forgiving presence of my fragile life.
• Give me the wisdom to make time in my day for a gentle nursing of my soul. Free me from the need for achievement.  Make my life less forceful, more gentle, centered in you alone.
• Let my life be a gentle preparation for the pure and precious moments of listening to you
• You who share my humanity, be my Master. Teach me how to be mild with my self and with others, and how to bear lightly my daily burden.
• Holy Spirit, teach me to be your gentle follower in all situations.

As Christians, we often operate more from of an Old Testament understanding of our relationship with God than that of the new covenant.  More often than not we picture Christianity as a life that we live for God.  We try, on our own, to be good Christians, doing things for God.  But to the degree that we are formed by the language of the New Testament we will recognize that this way of relating to God falls quite short of the Spirit-breathed life that Jesus envisages for us.  According to the grace of Pentecost, God is not only with us, but now, more proximately, within us.

The prophet Jeremiah foresaw the event that would radically alter the nature of human/spiritual experience. In Jeremiah’s prophecy we hear of a new way that God has made possible by changing the very locus wherein He meets us.  Comparing this new way with the old, Jeremiah writes,

“The time is coming,” declares the LORD,
“when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel
and with the house of Judah.
It will not be like the covenant I made with their forefathers.  (Jer . 31:31)

The old covenant, of course, is the external law that calls for our compliance.  It is this form of obedience, more than the law itself, that has been replaced by a more proximate means of God achieving His purpose in us.  Jeremiah elaborates on the distinctives of this new covenant.

“This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel
after that time,” declares the LORD.
“I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts.   (Jer. 31:33)

Jesus, as well, speaks of this distinction between the old and new initiatives of God when, referring to the Holy Spirit, He says, “You know Him, for He is with you, and will be in you.”  A very different spiritual potential exists for us ever since the day of Pentecost.   We are invited to a much more immediate relationship with God.

In his book, The School of the Holy Spirit, Jacques Philippe recognizes the attentive obedience that the Holy Spirit now calls us to.  He emphasizes the new modus operandus that this implies for those who live according to the new covenant.  Philippe writes,

We should endeavour, not to attain holiness as a result of our own efforts, but to let God act in us without our putting up any resistance against him; we should open ourselves as fully as possible to his grace, which sanctifies us, and be alert to recognize, welcome, and put into practice the inspirations of the Holy Spirit.

The new covenant invites us to cultivate a much more attentive life with God, and a joyful willingness to seek and heed His promptings.   We do so out of love and a growing desire to serve God as living expressions of His immediate will.  Philippe encourages the spiritual sensitivity that this will lead us to.  He writes,

Ultimately what will help us recognize and respond to God’s motions most easily and promptly is the interior development of a sort of “spiritual sense” which, to begin with, we may not have at all or may have only in a very rough form. We develop this sense by experience, and especially by faithfully and resolutely learning to follow our Lord in all things.

Jesus taught His disciples to listen for His voice and to not follow the voice of another (Jn. 10:4-5).  Philippe as well recognizes the precision that this attentiveness will bring to our lives.  He writes,

This “spiritual hearing” is an ability to recognize, among all the multiple, discordant voices that we hear inside us, the unique, unmistakable voice of Jesus. This sense is like a loving instinct that makes it easier for us to distinguish the voice of the Spouse, in the chorus of sounds that greet our ears.

It is the practice of attentiveness in prayer that sharpens this “spiritual sense” in us.  It fosters the humility by which “Christ must increase” as we decrease in our inner prominence.  Philippe encourages us to embrace the long process of incremental growth that this transformation will entail.

When souls have abandoned themselves to be led by the Holy Spirit he raises them little by little and guides them. At the beginning these souls do not know where they are being led but slowly, a light begins to shine within and allows them to see the guidance of God in all their actions, so that they have almost nothing else to do than let God do whatever he chooses in them and through them.

Through the prophet Jeremiah, we are invited to respond to God in a much more immediate way. “I will put my laws in your mind, and write them on your heart,” the Lord says.  What better way to reply but for us to say, “Write on Lord! We welcome your gracious initiative in our lives!”

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.   Heb. 12:2

As much as we try to avoid any hint of elitism in matters of faith the fact remains that there are more mature understandings and experiences of faith that we are called to grow in.  There truly are milkier and meatier forms of Christianity and the writer of the book of Hebrews calls us to make clear distinctions between what is elemental to our faith and what is the more solid food that leads to maturity.  From beginning to full maturity the progression of our faith is something that needs to be clearly taught and understood by all who journey towards God.

Whereas Catholic and Orthodox believers have deep-rooted traditions of holiness, with many persuasions of saints to look to as models of maturity, Protestants are often left with a much more curtailed vision of the spiritual life.  After learning the elemental teachings of the faith, our main objective often seems limited to converting others so that, in turn, we can teach these same elemental truths to them.  Though there is nothing wrong with this goal in itself, if it becomes the only thrust of our spirituality it will inevitably represent a thin expression of our faith.

If you were living in the earlier centuries of Christianity and wanted to grow in your faith you would seek out a saint—one who was mature in the wisdom of God and who had grown in prayer to become an expression of God’s proximity that others could learn and model themselves from them.  Such men and women were not uncommon though you would likely have to make the effort to seek them beyond the confines of the city or of the institutional church.

Many of these saints became teachers around whom disciples who sought maturity in their faith gathered.  It was the hunger of the student, more than anything else, that created the many schools of prayer that now anchor our Christian history.  As these saints modeled the fruit of spirituality in their lives, a real longing for maturity was encouraged in others by tangible examples of what the spiritual life might actually look like, and by a teaching that came from the first-hand experience of those whose own pilgrimage to God blazed a trail for others to follow.

If we compare the quest for holiness we see in historical Christianity to some of the objectives expressed in many of our present-day models of growth and maturity we find that pep rallies, motivational seminars, conferences and classroom teaching seem to be something of quite a different order.   Have we lost sight of the far-reaching possibilities that exist for maturity in our faith, and of the need to identify the Way of the saints—those who particularly express the fruit of a Christ-united life?

The book of Hebrews encourages us to move beyond the elemental teachings of our faith and to embark on the grand journey that leads to a life more united with God’s.  This also represents the way forward for the 21st century Christian.  We too need to be reminded that spiritual growth is not a matter of learning the elemental truths of faith over and over again, but of modeling for one another the bred-in-the-bone reality of what a life devoted to God might actually look like.

Who are the Christians who will once again blaze such trails for us?  Who, through their own mature faith, will model for us a sanctity beyond the beginnings of faith?  Who will offer themselves to bear such fruit for the sake of others?  In every generation the Lord calls forth such men and women.  The Holy Spirit whispers in each of our hearts, “Who among you would be a saint?”  May those who have ears, hear God’s word to them this day.

Who is he who will devote himself to be close to me?    Jer. 30:21

Jesus’ charge to the Pharisees—that they were more concerned with the outside appearance of their “cup” than with what was inside—is one that, in some measure, applies to everyone.  We are all quite adept at the subtle art of veneer as we consciously or unconsciously polish the outside of our cups.  Psychology calls such maneuvering, “impression management.”  To recognize and readily confess this human tendency is to welcome the hope that Jesus might free us from the motivations that make such recourses seem necessary in the first place.

Impression management is the process of choices we make to control the opinions others form of us. It is a conscious attempt to influence perceptions by regulating information, or by ‘bending” the truth to create a more favorable impression. In public relations, for instance, it manipulates data in order to maintain a company’s public image.  In statistics or science, it sometimes distorts the results of research to suggest a preferred outcome, what is often called a “social desirability bias”.

One of the main architects of the study of impression management is Dr. Erving Goffman.  In his book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Dr. Goffman recognizes the preponderance of advice available to anyone who wants to perfect this art.  He writes,

Many of the best selling self-help books deal with how to exert social influence by making the right impression on others.  They tell us how to look, how to dress; what to say and how to say it; how to move, when to smile or raise an eyebrow; and all manner of information that seems vital if we are to do well at the game of life, winning and keeping lovers, money, power, friends, etc.  The common thread through all of this is the notion that, in order to survive and prosper, we must get people to form the “right” impression about us.

Goffman identifies three main motives that govern our tendency to manipulate self-presentation.  The first is ingratiation, when we try to display our good qualities and conceal our faults so that others will like us more.  The second is intimidation when, for instance, we intentionally show anger or displeasure in order to get our own way or to get others to change their behaviour. And the third is supplication, when we try to act vulnerable and helpless so that people will feel sympathy and come to our aid.  These three motives represent different ways we try to bend the truth in our favour.   They each succumb to the temptation that sees truth as a means to an end rather than an objective and immutable end in itself.

Jesus recognized these tendencies in us and counseled us away from the duplicity that they foster.  Once we begin to enjoy success in manipulating others we risk being caught in the life-long trap of feeling that we can—and therefore must—manage impressions in order to elicit the responses we want in others.  This duplicity, more than anything, augments the sense of separation we feel from others and from God.  As long as we presume to hold the strings of other people’s affections, we will never know, nor be able to rest in, the reality of a love that is freely given.

Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; anything beyond this
comes from the evil one.

Mat. 5:37

There is a stage in a child’s development that researchers recognize as one of infancy’s most significant foundations.  It is the capacity to retain the knowledge of something that has been hidden from sight, which usually develops in infants between eight or nine months old.  The field of cognitive development calls this the capacity for object permanence.

Object permanence is the understanding that something continues to exist even it can no longer be seen, heard, or touched.  If we failed to develop this capacity, objects or events would have no separate, permanent existence of their own, and no relationship to us other than in the present moment.  There are three stages in its development that also offer helpful insights into the growth of our own capacity for object permanence when it comes to the presence of God in our lives.

In the beginning stage of development, once an object is removed from a baby’s view the infant might, at first, continue to look at the place where the object was.  But its attention will soon turn elsewhere.  In its relationship to the outside world, the adage of “out of sight, out of mind” fully applies.  This could well describe our early stages of maturity with regards to the presence of God.   We are awakened to the fact of God whenever we recognize evidence that suggests the presence of His hand in our lives, but we soon fall asleep to this fact once that evidence is no longer tangible.

At a second stage of development a baby will reach out for an object that is partially hidden. This shows that the infant recognizes that the object is still there, even if it is not fully visible.  This is perhaps the stage most of us find ourselves in with regards to our relationship with God.  We recognize the signs of Divine initiative that are hidden in life.  From these glimpses we then conjecture the reality that is implied—that God must somehow be hidden behind these signs.

At a later stage, a baby will search for a desired object even if it has been fully hidden from view.  The infant knows that the object exists even though it is no longer visible. The child will usually look to where the object was last hidden, even if it is now hidden somewhere else.  It will then look elsewhere, hopeful of finding what it now recognizes as something that truly exists, even though it is hidden.

Parents, of course, have for years contributed to the development of object permanence with young babies. Games of peek-a-boo with a three month old are delightful because the child is so pleasantly surprised each time the parent hides their face in their hands and then suddenly “reappears.”  Does God similarly delight at our sense of surprise every time He suddenly “reappears” in our lives?”  Children over five or six months will often reverse this game.  They hide under a blanket and expect that their parents can’t possibly find them, since the child cannot see the parent.  Is this a game that we also play with God at times?

And finally, there is a curious downside to this acquired capacity for object permanence that also parallels the maturing of our spiritual growth.  Before this is developed, a baby will not necessarily cry when the mother leaves the room.  At around eight months however, the child will more likely show signs of separation anxiety whenever the mother leaves.  The child now realizes that something it once had is gone—the presence of its mother.  This might also speak to our own maturing relationship with God.  We too often experience a form of separation anxiety when we feel that God has “left the room.”

David once compared his relationship to God to that of  “a weaned child with its mother” (Ps. 131:2).  It speaks of a mature disposition of faith.   May we as well learn to rest in the assurance that God is always present with us, even when He seems hidden.

God did this so that we would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us.

Act 17:27

The inner disposition of peace and clarity that we discover through contemplative prayer is, on a certain level, an experience that is common to all people and accessible to anyone regardless of their understanding or relationship to faith.   It is simply a place of inner equilibrium in the relationship of self with self where truth becomes more focused as we still our hearts.

The fact that we also encounter something similar in contemplative prayer should not lead us to confuse it with the goal of prayer—which is true relationship with God.  Inner peace is simply one of the many states of soul possible in our human experience.  To some, this state might suggest an invitation to explore a deeper intimacy with God but it does not necessarily lead to that attraction for all people.

Regardless of where it subsequently leads, everyone is born with a deep longing for such peace.  God has created in each of us a strong instinct that suggests that such a state actually exists and that it is within our reach.  It is easy to believe that the Lord uses the sense of “home” that this instinct implies in order to attract us to the notion of eternity that He has put in our hearts.

One of the best popular descriptions of the equilibrium of self to self that I have heard comes from the pen of Canadian folksinger Laura Smith in a song called, “I Go There,” in which she identifies this state of soul as a place where personal truth comes into focus.  It is a place where we finally let go of all the definitions and false images that we carry throughout the day in our relationship to the active life.  Smith describes the freedomt she experiences in these times.

There’s a place that I go
Not for pleasure, not for show
No I just take comfort there

It’s a marvelous place
I forget about my face and the clothes I wear
I arrive there naked as the day I was born
I’m relieved at the door of disguises I’ve worn

She then expresses the delight she feels at once again recovering something of her true self.

There is no hall of mirrors but I do see myself
I’m delighted by my reflection
I am not somebody else
No I’m the person I always wanted to be
The person I always wanted to be

Inner truth is a place where we recover not only the self we have lost, but also our sense of destiny—the “person I always wanted to be.”  This, of course, is something we discover even more precisely through prayer.  In bringing to light the person we more truly are, God uses prayer to expose the things that otherwise distort our true selves.  Smith celebrates the attraction that such a place holds for her.

When I’m feeling the need to look deep into my heart
I hear a celebration and I’m invited to take part
I watch as my hopes triumph over my fears
And I dance with the child I lost touch with though the years
Ah the person I always wanted to be
Yeah the person I always wanted to be

Even if it’s found only within the relationship of self to self, inner peace is a state of soul that people who practice various forms of meditation, including art, gardening or simply watching a sunset can all attest to.   It might not be accurate, in Christian theology, to define this as a “spiritual” experience if, by that term, we mean a state that has been produced in us by the direct work of the Holy Spirit.  But it is a place, nevertheless, that can be said to prepare us for subsequent encounter with the immediacy of God.  Those who have caught a glimpse of its relationship to eternity recognize how every human being, as Laura Smith identifies, is invited to submit to the direction these longings beckon us to.  From such a place of stillness we are more likely hear God’s call and to be more inclined to give ourselves to the mystery of God’s subtle grace in our lives.

I find it easy to look forward to another year of serving the ministry of Imago Dei.  More than ever I am convinced of the importance of encouraging Christians to offer themselves more fully to Christ through prayer, and of the evident blessing that comes to those who “seek first the kingdom of God.”  Jesus said we would know a spirit by its fruit, and it is the fruit of genuine spiritual vitality I see all around me that gives me such enthusiasm.

Such was the motivation for the apostle Paul in his ministry as well.  Recognizing spiritual growth in the lives of people he had directly or indirectly encouraged gave him confidence in his own competence as a “minister of the new covenant.”  He felt blessed because he knew that others were being blessed by God.  And, in this, he recognized God’s validation of the ways he had served these people.

In a similar way, we too, in the ministry of Imago Dei, can celebrate the maturing of Christians who have come to appreciate God’s ways through the encouragement of prayer and spiritual direction that ID represents.  We too, like Paul, can say that God has written many of you on our hearts as a way of encouraging the work we do.  The fact that our garden bears fruit assures us that God has blessed us with some measure of “competence” to minister in these matters.

The spiritual environment we find ourselves in is, happily, a fertile one.  Over the past seven years, many of us have experienced significant transformation and vital growth in our relationship with God.  Immersed in the rich vocabulary of spiritual theology we have found affirmation for our spiritual direction as well as new ways to understand and participate with the movements of God in our life.  Some of us have gone on to further studies in contemplative theology, equipping ourselves, out of love for God, for the sake of others.  Some have received training to become spiritual directors themselves through the seed that God has nurtured in our midst.  Some have also recognized in themselves the heart of the Shepherd as they gather people together to encourage the practice of prayer.

For these many reasons, as we begin a new year of ministry together, we are confident of God’s good favour and of the Lord’s encouragement for us to continue in the path we are on.   The blessings we see all around us assure us that the emphasis we represent is a good one that will continue to bear good fruit in the coming year.

With these thoughts in mind, as you prepare to serve God in the months ahead, consider how, in a reciprocal way, your own spiritual growth encourages those around you.  How does this inspire you to love others by heeding your own desire to bear God’s fruit in your life?   How can we serve one another by simply staying the course God has called us to?  And how can we continue, throughout the year, to identify and celebrate the fruit of God’s blessing in each other’s lives?  The spiritual growth we see all around us, after all, is the greatest indicator of the “competence,” or validation, of the path we share.

Neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God,
who makes things grow.
1Cor. 3:7