A Still Small Voice

There is a voice in my head that I believe is the voice of God. (See my previous two posts: The Voiceof God and Not My Voice.) One of the reasons I believe that it’s God’s voice and not my own internal monologue is that I can’t control it. I can’t will it to tell me something I want to know. I can’t even will it to speak to me at all.

Not My Voice

At first I was hesitant to believe that this voice I heard in my head was the actually God speaking to me. I’m still not one-hundred percent certain about it. At the time, there was only one way to find out if it was or if it wasn’t God speaking to me. So I started to listen.

The Voice of God

Trusting God implies that we know what God wants us to do. That’s not always so clear and it’s not hard to find different interpretations from different people. Where is that clear voice that speaks from another realm like it did for the people in the Bible?

The Everyday Call

The call to ministry isn’t always a thundering voice from the sky or a burning bush on the side of the road. In my case it was a slow accumulation of experiences and encouragement from people I respected. The most mundane and everyday things that people are paying attention to can contain the call to ministry.

I stood in front of my first grade classmates and launched into an incredible account of my weekend activities. It was time for Show & Tell. This was one of my favorite parts of the school day. I didn’t get to go up front every day but I did whenever I could. Sometimes I would bring something to show but most of the time I preferred to regale the class with adventurous tales of riding motorized mini-bikes through the woods, exploding firecrackers in glass bottles or attending some spectacular show that had been advertised on TV. I would talk until the teacher told me it was time to sit down so someone else could have a chance.

Had anyone been paying attention they might have thought I would grow up to be the World’s Most Interesting Man and make a living pitching Mexican beer. Evidently, no one was paying attention, including the teacher, because it would have been pretty easy to tell that I was making things up as I went along. Some might call it lying. They would be justified to do so. I prefer to think of it as the beginnings of my creative writing talents and practice for public speaking.

I found that I liked being at the front of the class or the front of the church. Of course, I was in the Sunday School Christmas program every year but I also volunteered to act in special dramas put on at the church. When I was old enough I signed up to be an acolyte for worship. The acolyte got to wear a special robe, light the candles, hand out the offering plates and collect the tiny glasses as people finished receiving communion. It wasn’t long before the pastor began asking me to help out at special services. Adults encouraged me and said that I did a good job which made me want to do more.

None of these things is particularly ground shaking. There isn’t a single one that I can point to and say, “That’s when I knew I would be a pastor.”  But when I look back at them I begin to see a pattern. I was encouraged through these things and was given opportunities to lead and serve. These were some of the experiences that led me into ordained ministry. And even though I never heard God’s voice speak to me as I did these things I can now comfortably say that God did indeed “call” me through these everyday events.

The Bible is full of stories where people hear God’s voice speak to them. Is it possible that God’s call came to them in one of these everyday events and when they looked back at what had happened they could “hear” what God was saying to them? What if the places where God speaks to people in the Bible were more common than we assume they were?

God spoke to Abraham through three travelers that he hosted by the Oaks of Mamre. Who hasn’t hosted someone in their home and found themselves in conversation late at night only to reflect on what it meant later? While Moses paid attention to a burning bush that appeared not to be consumed, God spoke. Who among us hasn’t seen some phenomenon that boggles our mind, makes us take a closer look and wonder aloud at what we are seeing? Yes, words came out of Balaam’s ass (I could say it was his donkey but the play on words here is way too rich) while Balaam was trying to go someplace and was frustrated by his animal’s refusal to move. Who hasn’t been frustrated at the roadblocks (often put in place by someone who resembles the aforementioned animal) and the inability to get around them, and then spent time wondering what to do next. God speaks to the prophets, to Peter, to Paul, to John of Patmos and to so many more through dreams and visions. Have you ever awakened with the memory of a dream so vivid that you return to it over and over again during the day and ask, “What does this mean?”

I’m not disputing that people actually heard words they understood to be from the voice of God. I’m simply saying that God doesn’t always come to us in big, grandiose ways but frequently in the everyday moments that are easily overlooked. God doesn’t always come in the earthquake or a whirlwind but instead comes in the still, small silence that takes shape when we take time to listen and reflect on what we have been through

Obliviously

This is the sixth post in a series about ways that I have missed the mark as a pastor. It is a response to several articles about why young adults are leaving the church. You can begin here if you want some background to this current article.

For being oblivious to the deeper concerns of your life that peek out at the edges of our conversations, I am sorry.

This one is on  me. Personally.

I’m just not very good at listening to what is buried in our conversations.

I know pastors who can scan their congregation during worship and identify the people who are struggling with something in life. They can, with just a word or a look as they shake hands, determine that something is amiss and they are sure to give a call or drop a note to invite that person to open up. And it isn’t just a gift that some pastors seem to have. I’m sure you know someone who just seems to be able to tell when you are down and they have this way of making you feel better in the midst of your suffering.

But it’s not me.

Oblivious is the right word here. I am usually so wrapped up in my own head that I can’t even tell you how I’m feeling, let alone be aware of what the people around me are feeling. No matter how hard I try (and believe me, I do) I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I don’t believe it’s a matter selfishness either. I believe that it’s a spiritual gift; one that I don’t have.

That doesn’t mean that I have an excuse to be unsympathetic. It just means that people need to spell things out in order for me to catch on. And a lot of times they can’t because they don’t know what’s bothering them. But other times it gets buried in our conversations because it’s hard to open up and let one’s self be vulnerable.

It sometimes amazes me that I still have a job when I think about the number of times someone thought they had opened up to me in a vulnerable way and I just missed it. Then my obliviousness is interpreted as uncaring or even contempt. By the time it finally gets back to me, and someone explains what I was supposed to see in the first place I have a lot of apologizing to do. And sometimes, unfortunately, it is not enough.

I wish I could blame this one on our shifting culture, or on the fact that I am busy making sure other aspects of my job are complete. But I can’t. This is just one that I’m not good at and I’m sorry. Just please don't stop trying.

And speaking of being vulnerable: Here are a couple of talks by professor and researcher Brene Brown on the subject. They are well worth the time to watch. Both videos are about 21 minutes apiece. I hope you enjoy them.