Breaking the Sound of Silence

Whether or not anyone has noticed, my corner of the blogosphere has been eerily silent for almost two years. Sometimes, of course, we are silent for a reason. Other times, we have much we wish to say but don't find the time or the words to say it. Still other times, like the one I've been going through, we don't intend the silence at all and are as surprised as anyone when we discover its hold.

At some point over the past two years, I realized why I wasn't writing here. It wasn't that I was afraid of how my words would be received by others; no, I finally woke up to the fact that I was scared of how my words would sound to me.

I don't mean to suggest that I was afraid of all the things that typically frighten writers who care about how their words sound. I've always had those fears and suspect I always will. No, this was a new fear, a fear that gnawed at everything holding the world together for me, and I simply didn't trust myself to write what I was actually feeling and thinking. I feared doing so would commit me to thoughts that were difficult to own.

You see, it's been a trying two years. Some days, my anger at somebody's actions or words shook me. Other days, grief burrowed into the depths of my heart, causing an ache that lingers still. And then there were those days when things conspired in such a way to make me question everything about who I am or what I value.

I suspect you know what I'm talking about. You've been there, I'm sure.

Along the way, I stopped trusting my words. Slowly, though, I came to understand what someone meant when they wrote this: "When we engage in the making of sounds we put ourselves at the mercy of others, we become vulnerable in different ways." It meant coming to grips with the fact that our words--no matter how trivially we may use or abuse them--always reveal deeper theological questions about who we are, what frightens us, and where we place our trust.

By this simple post, I have broken the silence which has held this space for too long. For now, that is enough.

A Book That Should Be Widely Read


Called to Be Human: Letters to My Children on Living a Christian Life, by Michael Jinkins. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2009. ISBN 978-0-8028-6300-3. (Reviewed by John P. Leggett.)


When his children were baptized, Michael Jinkins promised that he would live the Christian faith in his own life. He also promised to share that faith with his children. In a sense, this book is a powerful witness to the embodiment of those promises.

In the first in the series of letters to his children, Jinkins suggests that everyone—especially parents—“ought to be able to render an account of what we believe,” of what we would be willing to live and die for. He then explains that he intends to provide just such an account of his own faith in the letters which follow. Before doing so, however, he reminds them that “others, like neighbors gathered around the mailbox,” will be reading their letters over their shoulders. I am convinced that those who gather will not be disappointed.

As he describes it, Jinkins wrote this book because his children—and other young adults—are asking Big Questions. They are, he writes, wondering about things like the purpose of life, and what to believe in, and how to understand their lives vocationally. As Jinkins suggests, the biggest questions are getting even bigger these days, which makes the search for answers all the more commendable.

If, however, you go to this book hoping to find simple, easily defined answers for those Big Questions, you will be sorely disappointed. While some may have chosen those Big Questions as an opportunity to proffer Big Answers, Jinkins resists that temptation. In fact, the humility which marks this book throughout can be seen even before it really begins. It may seem a small thing, but the author writes that the book addresses the Big Questions that young adults are asking, which is a far cry from writing that it answers them.

While it may not give the answers some would seek, the book does something far more compelling. It allows us to see what the Christian faith looks like in the flesh of an ordinary father as he shares that faith with his children. Along the way, it also holds up the beauty and vulnerability of a father’s love—a love which is clearly seen in every letter he writes.

In his opening letter “to everybody else,” Jinkins begins to lay the foundation of the letters to his children which follow. He does so by simply telling us that he is “a person of faith,” but it doesn’t take long to discover that his is not the “no-questions, everything’s-nailed-down” sort of faith that masquerades as the real thing far too often. Statements like “I trust more than I know” reveal a modesty that should not be mistaken for a lack of conviction. As Jinkins would put it, while his beliefs may have become more modest in their claims over the years, those same beliefs have become more extravagant in their hopes.

Two sentences from the book provide the perfect lens for the book as a whole: “We’re not meant to understand Christian faith as an inquisition into the faults and failings of our neighbors, nor interpret the gospel of Jesus Christ as a conditional contract intended to exclude others, nor to see the way of God as an imperial victory march over the backs of those who differ from us. Rather, I think we’re to see it is a lifelong expression of gratitude toward God that takes the form of generosity toward others” (109).

While the book was written to address the Big Questions young adults are asking, there is still much here of benefit to those outside of that demographic. It would be extremely helpful for any parent seeking to commend the Christian faith for their child, as well as for all members in the congregation. After all, the promises that parents make at the font are linked to the congregation’s promise to teach them to know and follow Christ.

Every parent knows that we can’t force or command our children to be people of faith. We can, however, commend it to our children by offering them a compelling vision of what faith looks in our own lives. As Jinkins puts it, witness-bearing is a part of the vocation of parenthood.

In an aside near the end of the book, Jinkins refers to a publisher’s study that revealed that the average pastor reads only three books a year today. If that’s true (and I sure hope it isn’t!), this book should be one of them.

Waiting for Christmas

As a child I remember counting down the days as Christmas drew nearer. It seemed as if the day would never arrive. Knowing that Christmas morning meant family, gifts, and the family tradition of hot cross buns, I couldn’t wait for that joyous day to arrive. It was a day to celebrate the birth of God into the world—a reason for unbridled joy.

As a child, I had trouble understanding why we couldn’t start opening the gifts a few days (or weeks) early. What was the point of waiting? If Christmas is such a joyful time, why not enjoy it sooner?

Obviously, this question is not unique to children. We in the worshiping community also have a tendency to rush things a bit. That’s why I easily understand when people wonder why we don’t just start our celebrating earlier since we know what’s down the road. Really, it’s a fair question. After all, we live in a world filled with the presence of Christ. But, the church’s season of Advent waiting serves to heighten in us the awareness of our need for a savior, a savior whose birth we will celebrate on Christmas Eve.

And so we wait. We hear again the beautiful visions of Isaiah about a child born to us that will bring peace. We listen again to John the Baptist’s fiery sermons about repentance and the nearness of God’s kingdom. We marvel again at the splendor of Mary’s song about God setting things right. And, if we’re not careful, we’ll forget that Isaiah sang of peace in the midst of war. We’ll forget that John spoke in the wilderness. We’ll forget that Mary sang about the poor being lifted up while they were still being held down. Make no mistake: There will be unbridled joy on Christmas Eve, but we in the church dare not rush past these important voices on our way to the manger.

May God enable our Advent waiting to be filled with expectant hope. And, as you consider what gifts to give those you love, remember to give the gifts which ultimately transform the world: offer peace; give hope; embrace forgiveness; show patience; share laughter. May God’s richest blessings surround you during these days of waiting which will soon give way to unbridled joy.

Grace and peace,
Pastor Leggett

Romans 13:11—“Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near.”

Beth Nielsen Chapman wrote a song that begins this way:

All alone I didn’t like the feeling
All alone I sat and cried
All alone I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside.

In a song about grief and loss which in the end offers comfort and hope, she has captured the mood and timbre of the season of Advent. We are, you and I, walking through this season of waiting and hoping for God’s promised messiah to come and save us. The temptation for the church is to rush through these dark days of longing to celebrate the glorious light of Christmas morning. Most of us would rather sing the triumphant refrain of God’s people, “Joy to the world the Lord is come,” than to join the pleading strains of “Let all mortal flesh keep silence.”
What we must not fail to remember, however, is that the message of good news of God’s salvation are first heard in the darkness of night. When Isaiah broke God’s silence by saying, “Comfort, comfort my people,” he spoke to a people languishing in the darkness of exile, wracked by the pain of a crumbled world. When the angel announced to Mary that she was to bear the anointed one, Mary broke into song about God setting things right and lifting up the lowly. When John the Baptist, in echoes of Isaiah’s words from long before, spoke of the day when God would come to save the people from their misery, he was speaking to a people in desperate need of help.

And so it is for us. Many of us sit in the ruins of a world that is crumbling around us, gripped by the pains of death and despair, or broken dreams and dashed hopes. But here is what our Advent celebration proclaims: The night is far gone; the day is near. Each week as we have lit one more candle than the week before, we have proclaimed the good news that the darkness of night is fading away and the light of the world is coming, the light that no darkness shall ever overcome.

We gather to join our voices to Mary’s song of hope that God will make things right, and to affirm the truth once more, the truth that we are not left alone to find meaning in the center of the pain we feel inside. We have Emmanuel, God with us.
And so we remember during these days of Advent to stand up straight against the darkest night as we lift our voices in the longing cry of God’s people: “O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by thine advent here; and drive away the shades of night, and pierce the clouds and bring us light! Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!”

During this season of Advent and Christmas, may God fill you with unending joy and peace as you continuously discover the countless ways God becomes flesh among us.



Prayer
Grant us, O God, that our waiting would be tinged with hope as our longing merges with your longing for a world made whole. We offer you our prayer through Jesus Christ, the light of the world. Amen.

The Rest of the Story

My sermon this past Sunday was the second in a series of seven from the book of Proverbs. I was preaching from the first chapter of Proverbs, where the parent is giving some instructions in wisdom to the child who is about to leave home. Here's how I set up and told a story from my college days in that sermon:

"According to the book of Proverbs, every step in life is a choice, and each choice has a consequence. And the parent understands that it is in a very real sense a choice between life and death.

When I went away to college, I attended Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, TX. They had a great forestry department, and since I was planning to spend my life in the woods, that’s where I went. And I chose to live in the dorm closest to the forestry building. It was Dorm 14. (Quite an original name, don’t you think?)

It didn’t take long to discover that my dorm actually did have a pretty original name. It wasn’t called Dorm 14 on campus. No, it was called The Zoo. It had been given that name by a magazine that had listed it among the top ten wildest dorms on any college campus at the time.

So there I was, having been sent out from my parents’ home to Dorm 14—to the Zoo, and the first Saturday night came and I was hunkered down in my room and I could hear the chaos outside. My room was near the middle of the hall, and when I opened the door, a clear choice opened before me. I could hear the decadence raging from one direction, and relative quiet in the other, and there were voices calling to me from both directions.

Which way would I go? I was standing there—a critical choice to be made—and it was in every way a choice with consequences."

Ever since the service ended, people have been asking me: "You never told us what happened! Which way did you go?" Some thought the answer was hidden in one of the verses of the hymn which followed. Others had a guess about which way I went, but they wanted certainty. Still others (on both sides) hoped I had chosen what they would have done.

Now for the rest of the story...As I mentioned, there were voices calling to me from both directions. One voice calling from the right end of the hallway (which was the quiet end) was Scott's, someone I had never met even though he was the star basketball player in my graduating class in high school. I recognized him, of course, along with his brother Steve who was now his college roommate.

I accepted his invitation to join them for dinner out that evening, and the two of them soon became great friends to me, and they helped me to "hold fast to the right," at least most of the time. We did, of course, have our fair share of college adventure...but those are stories for another day.

While I Was Away...

OK, so it's been a while since my last post. I had big plans to keep writing while away from home, including vividly exciting details about traveling with three young children to exotic destinations--like the in-laws' house and Montreat. But shortly before my first post, I came across this story that made me rethink that plan.

So here's the travel scoop:

1. We had a great visit with Alayne's family. They enjoyed seeing the kids, hugging Alayne, and putting up with me.


2. Our time with the Joiners--albeit too short--was life-giving in every way. They are the best host family that one could ever hope to know.


3. The time spent as a family in Montreat for the Worship and Music Conference was beneficial in several ways. An added treat was having the tremendous assortment of Massanutten choir members and the music staff around as well.

While it was great to get away, it's been wonderful to be back home. I'm enjoying the Proverbs series that I'm doing this summer, and--for the first time in my almost 6 years at Massanutten--have taken the time to get my office and library organized. Perhaps I'll post a picture of that before the randomness returns.

I am grateful for the blessings that surround me--whether at home or away. I am hopeful that the days ahead will provide the blessing of time to write about the myriad ways God continues to overwhelm me with grace.

If It's Required for Your GPS...

I have a GPS for the car and it's helped me find my way more times than I can count. But it's also led me astray a time or two.

I've had it long enough now that every time I turn it on it electronically "shouts" that I really should update the maps. After all, it seems to say to me, things do change--even streets or highways. For whatever reason, I have refused to update so far. I keep thinking that what I now have is working just fine, so why change? I admit to a certain fear that I will regret this failure to update some day, but it's not so large that it's prompted me to do so yet.

Perhaps that's why I've noticed a lot of articles lately about how these devices--which are supposed to get us safely from one place to another--can end up getting us in trouble. It seems that more drivers than not will go with what the GPS tells them rather than trust their own eyes.

I've read (or heard) numerous reports about following what the GPS directs no matter what common sense or your senses are telling you. Even when the road turns from pavement to gravel to dirt to a sudden end, drivers keep plodding along, trusting that what's been programmed is surely right, though things are changing all around them.

It strikes me that too many Christians are driving around with an outdated GPS, which could stand for Growth Prematurely Stopped.

Most of us carry around a certain programming that we believe sets the course for our lives of faith. It may have been formed in the home or in the community of faith; it may have been nurtured from birth or crafted after adulthood. However or whenever, we were shaped in a certain way and we tend to move in that direction no matter what is going on around us.

That way of thinking might work except for 2 things. One, some of the things people have been programmed to believe are abominations in every sense of the word. And two, things change and our understanding deepens.

The life of discipleship, if it is to be faithful, requires continued growth through the disciplines of worship and study and service. It means staying connected to a community of believers who join with you to discern God's claim on and direction for your life. It means refusing to insist that what you've always believed in the past is what you have to keep on believing until the day you die, trusting that God's Spirit working in and through the community can lead you into new and deeper understandings of the truth.

If regular updating is required of our GPS's, surely it should be required for any Christian or congregation or denomination seeking to discern who God is calling them to be or what God is asking them to do.

One important thing about the updating process. Even when you update, some things remain unchanged. And there is a certain confidence in knowing that what you believe now is based on what you hear God speaking in the context of the community today--and not just something that you parrot back because you heard it long ago and haven't dared to question it since.

When a Congregation Dreams Dreams

The congregation with whom I serve has spent the months of April and May in an extensive visioning process. On Pentecost Sunday--the day for seeing visions and dreaming dreams--we will complete and offer a survey inviting participants in the faith community to share their dreams for Massanutten in God's good future. (You may see the survey we will complete here.)

I have to say that it's been an amazing visioning process so far. We have had an incredibly enthusiastic and skilled Planning Team and our deacons and elders have all participated eagerly in the process. I have already seen what dreaming of the future can produce in renewed energy and focus.

What has been most encouraging, however, is that it is helping us to renew our focus on the mission of the church--to transform lives by extending the love of God and the love of neighbor in the world. We've been able to talk about the powerful ways that God has worked through our congregation in generations past, and how God's steadfast love and faithfulness continue to mark our journey together.

Please remember the congregation's visioning process in your prayers, that we would live into the fullness of what our mission statement invites us to do--"to join boldly with the Spirit's work in the world."

And, of course, don't forget to share your dreams with us.