How God becomes real

This post has been in draft for several months. The problem is that I do not want to misrepresent others or myself or, if you like, I am not yet 100% convinced, and there does not even seem the possibility of ever becoming fully sure, about my subject. Which is: how and when and whether God speaks to us.

Since my previous post Hearing God speak I have been somewhat surprised to find serious investigation into this phenomenon. My title comes from the book by Tanya M. Luhrmann. You can listen to her 2015 TEDx talk. I challenge you to read her books and judge for yourself. In her Preface, and, as a taster, she writes: People don't (easily) have faith in gods and spirits. People do not, in fact, behave as if gods and spirits are real in the way that everyday objects are real... To have a sustained commitment to the reality of invisible agents... [e.g. God] someone must interpret the world through a special way of thinking, expecting, and remembering. I will call this a faith frame. That faith frame coexists alongside the ordinary ways people make sense of the world, and sometimes contradicts them. The priest says: this is my body, but it looks like a dry cracker. The sermon insists: my God can do anything, but God didn't stop the divorce. And so faith is hard - particularly when an invisible other is supposed to love you, care for you, and keep you safe. 

She goes on with six further points which form a roadmap to the following chapters, and then assures us that Nothing I say here speaks for or against the genuine reality of gods and spirits.

Luhrmann has done her homework. In her prequel "When God talks back" she writes: I found the church in my own backyard, a few blocks from where I lived in Chicago... I went in looking for a nondenominational church that taught people to hear God speak back, but I didn't go back for months after my first visit because nobody did anything to suggest they were much different from the people in the liberal mainstream churches I'd known as a child. Nobody spoke in tongues or fell over in spiritual bliss. The pastor... explained a book of the Bible chapter by chapter, as if he were lecturing to an undergraduate class... People were taking notes. Many of them had their Bibles out, and they were staring at the text as if they were trying to analyze a difficult poem. 

I finally went back for a second visit because I had done enough reading to figure out that this was in fact exactly the kind of church in which God was not a distant, abstract, principle but a person among persons. I stayed for two years. On a Sunday, the service in this church begins with music... at a church like the Vineyard, music is prayer. The church sets aside a full thirty minutes for the music at the beginning of the service, and they call this section of the service "worship?' There are no hymnals, just PowerPoint-projected lyrics of songs people know so well that many sing them with their eyes shut... The techies dim the lights. Some people stand, eyes closed, palms out and upward, swaying slightly, their cheeks sometimes wet with tears. Some sit and rest their foreheads on clasped hands. Some kneel in prayer. Occasionally someone lies prostrate or dances in the open space to the side of the seating area...

All this seems very familiar to me. Luhrmann goes on to say that what some claim as God speaking is in fact an artefact of the human brain - voices in the head or "self-talk" as described in Kahneman's book "Thinking Fast and Slow". But so saying she does not rule out the existence of God.

And neither do I. I am not an atheist. Yet. Indeed, how dare you or I question out of hand (as some do), and on not much more than a whim, the experience of others or even the Biblical record? But I do question the evidence I see (or fail to see) in myself; my lack of the calibre of faith that says "All things are possible for one who believes".  For I too have in the past reckoned that I have heard God speak only to become disillusioned by lack of corresponding action. Or maybe it is that action is on its way but I am just not patient enough.

I realise that I am repeating things I have alluded to in previous posts, like Orual's belligerent mantra: Did you ever remember whose the girl was? She was mine. Mine. Do you not know what the word means? Mine! You're thieves, seducers. That's my wrong. I'll not complain (not now) that you're blood-drinkers and man-eaters. I'm past that..."

"Enough," said the judge. 

There was utter silence all round me. And now for the first time I knew what I had been doing. While I was reading, it had, once and again, seemed strange to me that the reading took so long; for the book was a small one. Now I knew that I had been reading it over and over — perhaps a dozen times. I would have read it forever, quick as I could, starting the first word again almost before the last was out of my mouth, if the judge had not stopped me. And the voice I read it in was strange to my ears. There was given to me a certainty that this, at last, was my real voice. There was silence in the dark assembly long enough for me to have read my book out yet again. At last the judge spoke. 

"Are you answered?" he said. 

"Yes," said I.  [Lewis "Till we have faces"]

My own mantra is relevant because (as I once intimated) upon it hangs, to a large degree, my ability to hear from God.  In that instance, looking back, I thought I had heard God; now I find that my judgment has shifted, that I am more inclined to admit that I may have deluded myself. And, oh, what freedom, what release comes with such acknowledgment!  And yet, and yet... there definitely was a need that my deluded self had cared so much about. Any freedom I gained was entirely selfish. The whole episode remains one of my most intense and poignant personal battles and contributes to my views expressed in this post. Perhaps one day in looking back it will all make more sense.

---oOo---

You'll find plenty of other material on the internet dealing with "how to hear God" from slushy evangelical advice-columnists to die-hard atheist denial. I prefer to try to analyse what goes on inside me and what I reckon goes in inside those I interact with. Or to check out the Biblical record (for examples see here) where I find the Voice was often external to the subject. Whilst undeniably miraculous, it is hard to explain such accounts solely in terms of imagination. In some accounts the Voice was in a dream which, I grant, could be imagination. Even when the channel was not specified like "the word of the LORD came to the prophet Zechariah...", in this case what follows is 14 chapters of verbiage plus a few visions which do not sound to me like self-talk. So I reckon that, should God actually speak to you, you ought not to be in any doubt. Gideon doubted his ability to fulfill what the angel said, but there is no suggestion that he doubted that he had heard.

The prevalence in evangelical or charismatic folk to expect God to speak inside their heads colours their concept of a "personal relationship" with God or Jesus. I can, if I choose, carry out a dialogue in my head. If I then associate one side with God speaking, my perceived relationship with God becomes more pally. Which sucks. For if God exists at all, He surely is all powerful, all knowing, far above anything my puny mind can imagine. Whereas inside my head I can dictate what this perceived "other" should say. If you don't believe me, try it!

I've already noted that Google and God not only start with the same letter. What if, when AI has reached maturity and has become ubiquitous, God is supplanted by something akin to Jane (who speaks to Ender via a jewel in his ear) who first found herself between the stars, her thoughts playing among the vibrations of the philotic strands of the ansible net. The computers of the Hundred Worlds were hands and feet, eyes and ears to her. She spoke every language that had ever been committed to computers and read every book in every library on every world [Orson Scott Card: Speaker for the Dead]?

Here's another web-identity "thoughtcontrol777" who questions how God is perceived to speak and writes: ...I began “searching” and became a born again Christian shortly thereafter. I remained in the church for twenty years, and it dramatically shaped who I was. There were many times as a Christian that I did not feel that I was myself, but rather just a poor version of trying to be someone else. But I was a fully committed and indoctrinated Christian: I was baptised in water, I spoke in tongues and I performed what I considered at the time to be the gifts of the spirit... I studied the Bible... Since leaving the church I have not missed it. I feel like I am me again and can attest that there is freedom outside of Christ Jesus. I am regretful of how much of my life was wasted in pointless church services, prayer meetings and administrative meetings for the church. 

And in their web page "The Voice of God" writes:

One of the most confusing aspects about living as a modern day Evangelical/Charismatic Christian is dealing with the issue of the voice of God. Many Evangelicals and basically all Pentecostals or Charismatics believe that God actually speaks to people personally. However, God does not typically speak in an audible voice but rather as a “still small voice” that a person hears only inside themselves. Literally, it is a voice inside their head. Many Christians claim to hear this voice, indeed I myself believed that I was hearing it for a number of years during my Christian life. But likewise other Christians, perhaps more discerning, acknowledge that they do not hear the voice of God.

During the latter part of my Christian experience I noticed that whenever I would ask God for advice on something important I would never get an answer. But I would hear “what I thought was” the voice of God in regards to other random unimportant things. This was baffling... So I began to put the voice to the test asking God to reveal certain things to me so that I knew that it was him who was actually speaking. Or, to show me signs. There were no occurrences in which the still small voice was able to accurately tell me anything about the future. And the signs were a no-show. This process took a number of years but at the end of it I stopped listening. If God was not going to accurately talk to me then why should I listen?

A sad conclusion. 

So, whilst I am done with the voice in my head being divine, I hope to remain open minded and unbiased enough to acknowledge God should He manifest, cognisant of those religious leaders who failed to recognise Jesus despite the miracles.

Now we are seventy

I crossed the round number age of 64 without any fuss despite the Beatles' rendition, because few are familiar with binary. But on having passed my 70th birthday (and Ali is just passed 71) a special brunch was put on for us this morning and accolades were read out. I found the experience quite overwhelming, humbling, that so many folk genuinely cared for, indeed love us.

Early in the morning I had discovered the arrangement in my photo and that was enough to make strong emotions rise in me, bringing to my remembrance:

"Ah!" roared Aslan. "You have conquered me. You have great hearts. Not for the sake of your dignity, Reepicheep, but for the love that is between you and your people, and still more for the kindness your people showed me long ago when you ate away the cords that bound me on the Stone Table (and it was then, though you have long forgotten it, that you began to be Talking Mice), you shall have your tail again.

There are a several resonances with my experience in this passage: one only will I draw attention to here, that it should be possible by our love for each other to conquer Aslan. 

That said, I find it a strange thing that I am now in my 70's. When I was younger I associated this age with decrepit, doddering, forgetful... The last one sticks but I'm still me inside.

Hearing God speak

I wrote this post some while ago but did not publish it at the time, possibly because I was afraid of the possible repercussions of "coming out" in this respect. But since I am now working on a sequel I figured I had better publish this first so that I can refer back to it. The whole story that I want to convey will thus become rather long and drawn out, but so it must if I am to be faithful to my inner convictions (or lack of them). Let he be blessed who reads it all and can convince me otherwise.

She of the Green Kirtle

There are folk who live here that claim that God (or Jesus maybe) speaks to them on a regular basis. It is not my place to judge them - perhaps God does often speak to them which would of course be wonderful. True, there have been occasions when I have thought God was leading me - here I refer to an inner conviction (or at least a feeling), not an audible voice. But as I intimated in my recent post I now wonder if even this was in fact just wishful thinking, and thus I also wonder if these folk blessed by frequent conversations with Almighty God are also imagining it.

I am not talking about the word of God as in the Scripture which we understand is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, and in which long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son. Such is God's general word to us whereas I am talking about specific direction from God to an individual.

A quick Google search on God's voice will uncover countless "Christian" sites - whacky and more staid and the sort that make you puke. These list the trad evangelical methods of "hearing God" that I had drummed into me as a young person and which include the supposed Still Small Voice. On the other hand, sites like this one claim that listening for God’s voice in your heart is a very new development and it’s deeply flawed.

The human mind is capable of all manner of strange artefacts - individuals we used to call "lunatic", now given PC euphemisms, who hear voices in their head; times when I have thought I had seen something "out of the corner of my eye" but then on looking more intently it is gone; vivid dreams that possibly have meaning, certainly have cause. And the "voice" of my inner conscience that deliberates my thought process, and with which I can (if I like) converse with. Perhaps this is what other folk think is God speaking? If so then it strikes me that it reflects a particularly poor sort of God, and this reminds me of the pretty poor world of She of the Green Kirtle.

Sure, you'll find many instances in the Bible of God, or an angel sent by God, speaking to this one or that. Like with Gideon. But if you consider the time period spanned by the Bible you'll find that these instances were relatively infrequent, indeed the exception and not the norm. Granted, Jesus said "my sheep hear my voice" and possibly meant this to include after his ascension, but he didn't say how often.

In this article, one that quotes Dallas Willard who seems to have been a big name in American evangelicalism, Bill Gaultiere writes "It’s hard to imagine an intimate relationship with Christ that does not include regular experiences of hearing his voice. An interactive relationship with God is conversational...". Later he writes "Today he is still speaking to our hearts in 'gentle whispers' (1 Kings 19:12)". The reference is to Elijah's "still small voice" often quoted by those who promote the personal relationship deal. But I am not at all sure that Elijah frequently heard God speak like this.

The thing is, having been brought up a staunch evangelical I feel like I ought to often hear God's voice even though my experience says otherwise. Which is sort of devastating in a way that a non-evangelical could never understand. My prayer life becomes less conversational. It becomes harder to take seriously those who really believe God speaks to them as often as their best friend. And I wonder if the foundations are cracking under my feet.

Bereavement

Bereavement is the experience of losing someone important to us and is characterised by grief. But losing anything of importance can result in similar albeit milder emotions. Although my retirement from Microlite began over a year ago, it is only recently that nearly all electronics and programming work has rather suddenly ceased. Then there was the decision to step down from leadership in our local church, reduced activity in helping home-schoolers, and even the loss of stamina associated with ageing. It feels a bit like those cartoons in which the ground is removed from under characters but it is only after a second or two that they start falling. I am beginning to feel that falling effect.

I’ve been re-reading Lewis’s “A grief observed”. He writes: if my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards.

It is all too easy to find temporary fulfilment in work, ministry, relationships, hobbies, but when those things are taken away we wonder what life really is all about.

Three feasts and Ungit

This post is sort of a continuation of an earlier one.

Three Castles

A few miles from us there is a castle called Three Castles. The name is thought to be because this is the last remaining one of three: a second is visible on a historic map, the third is a mystery.

Three Lakes

A few more miles and in the Wicklow Mountains is Three Lakes which, we are told, is a lake, although in fact there is a second smaller lake close by. But not three.

Denomination: a religious group that has slightly different beliefs from other groups that share the same religion. On that basis the church I go to, and a few others worldwide that are loosely connected, constitute a denomination. Except that they claim they are not denominational. The same argument might apply to the church my parents took me to as a child. And both claim to be the bees knees when it comes to doctrine - although at least one must be wrong.

What is 'different' about the church I go to is that it is "third feast" (as opposed to "third wave") as in the three feast periods mentioned in the Old Testament which loosely equate to the initial salvation experience (Passover), baptism in the Spirit (Pentecost) and going on to perfection (Tabernacles). This is of course a very simplistic summary. Perfection is not a new idea - John Wesley and all Methodists who adhere to his doctrine advocate it. Exactly what is meant by perfection is another thing. Some have claimed that, on reaching "perfection" they would in this life live forever, although I have not yet noticed anyone doing this. And anyway there is something decidedly fishy about claiming oneself is perfect.

It's not that I disagree with the third feast idea. For one thing it sets a vision of holiness (perfection) to which one can at least aspire even if without divine help it is humanly impossible. But I've heard this preaching for around 40 years and do not see a corresponding amount of progress. Not in my life anyway. Whilst a believer can and doubtless should experience the first two, the third remains obstinately in the future. And yet I want to go on, to become better, I want it to have been true that I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.

Long ago, when we were living in London, I remember there was teaching in our group on likening our Christian journey to the children of Israel travelling from Egypt (code-name for the world system) to the promised land. This teaching continued over many weeks and then one day the preacher reckoned we were actually entering the promised land. But nothing that I noticed had changed, and it left me anticlimactic, like, what next? It also taught me not to trust preachers.

Presently the little door on my right opened and a woman, a peasant, came in... She looked as if she had cried all night, and in her hands she held a live pigeon. One of the lesser priests came forward at once, took the tiny offering from her, slit it open with his stone knife, splashed the little shower of blood over Ungit... The peasant woman sank down on her face at Ungit's feet. She lay there a very long time, so shaking that anyone could tell how bitterly she wept. But the weeping ceased. She rose up on her knees and put back her hair from her face and took a long breath... 

"Has Ungit comforted you, child?" I asked. 

"Oh yes, Queen," said the woman, her face almost brightening, "Oh yes. Ungit has given me great comfort. There's no goddess like Ungit." 

"Do you always pray to that Ungit," said I (nodding toward the shapeless stone), "and not to that?" Here I nodded towards our new image, standing tall and straight in her robes and (whatever the Fox might say of it) the loveliest thing our land has ever seen. 

"Oh, always this, Queen," said she. "That other, the Greek Ungit, she wouldn't understand my speech. She's only for nobles and learned men. There's no comfort in her." 

Lewis's Till we have Faces is his most pertinent fiction. If you, his reader, do not immediately identify with Orual's introversion then you're made of sterner stuff than I am. As usual in his fiction, Lewis wisely leaves it to the reader to elaborate. We cannot tell if the comfort this peasant woman gained was real or just a product of her sub-conscience but, either way, the new fangled, painted, Greek image of Ungit didn't do the trick. And maybe new fangled teaching isn't working for me apart from some small admiration for its colourful paintwork. I'll be denounced heretical for this admission no doubt. Perhaps my problem is unbelief, of which the Bible has many negative things to say. But I have tried to believe - help thou my unbelief.

Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.

The last temptation of Christ

Winchester Royal County Hospital was where I was born, where at age 6 my tonsils were removed and where my mother took me for speech therapy.

Winchester Royal County Hospital

We have just finished our annual convention - for those of you unfamiliar with such things think lots of long sermons strung together with praise and good food. True, some of this "word" touched me but, frankly, some did not. What I mean is - I sit there for over an hour and think - what was all that about? Mind you, I have not heard anyone else here admit such defeat: what I am hearing is that it was all wonderful. But then neither have I let on except herewith and to Ali. Surely needless verbosity is not implicit in "it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe"? For one who speaks little I wonder why it has to take so long to convey what is often such a simple message.

When I was small they said I was slow to talk and got along by pointing and grunting whenever I wanted something. They said I was lazy. Hence the speech therapy. Since then I've come a long way but still can find speaking difficult. I don't think ahead fast enough so I loose out in arguments and need notes if speaking publicly. As a result I tend to give up and too easily leave it to the many others with louder voices.

I can identify with my namesake who, when a university gave him an honorary doctorate, said "I cannot find the words to thank you, but if there was an organ here I could thank you". This man was similarly inept with words and social skills.

There is immense pressure to conform to the norm and yet the same person found the freedom to say "He is Brahms, and my profound respect. But I am myself and I prefer my own stuff" and "They want me to compose in a different way; I could, but I must not. Out of thousands, God gave talent to me. One day, I shall have to give an account of myself. How would the Father in Heaven judge me if I followed others and not Him?" If only I had the guts to accept my lot - but, hang on, I do accept it else why this post? - if only the louder others could accept that some of us are not so articulate as they are...

There is similar social pressure to wear shoes. In theory I go along with this "I cannot tell a lie, it's the sensuality, the physical sensation, the pure pleasure of it, combined with not only a sense of liberation and freedom, but I have also recently embraced the nonconforming aspect of it." But during the convention I got tired of people looking down at my feet and making comments. Even when wearing sandals I was asked were my feet cold? I wasn't quick enough to parry (see above) but afterwards thought I should have asked why neither of us was wearing gloves or balaclava.

Paul McCartney said "I used to think anyone doing anything weird was weird. Now I know that it is the people that call others weird that are weird."

And "Steve Jobs' message through his barefoot habit is that he is different and that he is not stuck in the system like others. I have read somewhere that Steve Jobs went to do an important deal without his shoes and that this annoyed the person he was meeting so much."

I'm halfway through reading the controversial historical novel The Last Temptation of Christ. Though unashamedly inaccurate, it conveys rather well the struggles Jesus must have gone through to resist the temptations of the flesh, although the English translation leaves much to be desired. It portrays a very human Jesus even if somewhat stereotyped. I can identify a bit with this sort of holiness because I, too, am human.

If, then you or I "through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live" - if then you or I ever managed to do this mortify thing, would any of our colourful character be left? Are my peculiarities posited in my flesh? Surely it ought not leave us void, as if "Aslan has come and is not like the Aslan we have believed in and longed for? Or as if the sun rose one day and were a black sun. Or as if you drank water and it were dry water"? And yet we Christian folk continually bandy about this mortifying yet never achieving it, seemingly ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.

For me, if only it could be that "this poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles." 

Mediocre

"Well, sir," said the Cabby very slowly, "a chap don't exactly know till he's been tried. I dare say I might turn out ever such a soft 'un. Never did no fighting except with my fists. I'd try -that is, I 'ope I'd try - to do my bit."

Mediocre - adj. of only average quality; not very good.

Thus, by definition, most people are mediocre. Me too. "He's putting himself down again", I hear you say or, "talking about himself again"... Well, it is my blog and you do not have to read it. Anyway I am just saying what's true. I might be a jack of all trades but I am master of none. I think my dad was much the same so maybe he's to blame.

I love (some) music but my understanding, repertoire and ability is very limited.

I love good food and even once cooked a meal in a startup restaurant. But maybe because I don't like stuff one is meant to like (under-cooked cow, sea-bugs, broccoli, olives...) I could never become a chef.

I love making or mending things but I don't have the patience to become a craftsman.

I enjoy running and the solitude and time with God it affords, this being the only "sport" I have ever found remotely enjoyable let alone been able to do. But even at school I clocked in only average in the annual cross country race, and nowadays youngsters whiz past me on foot or bike.

True, I excelled in Physics and Maths at school, left Oxford with honours and a got prestigious engineering job but even there my abilities were eclipsed by that of some of peers.

Since then I've earnt a living doing contract design work but I'm not rich yet. And I thought I was good at programming until I read about SOLID.

I thank God for my four wonderful children and what they have achieved, each experts in their field, but, although I meant well, I cannot take credit and sometimes I cringe when I look back.

I get involved in our local church out of what I hope is a right desire but only God knows how effective this is for I don't see much evidence.

Not that I'm complaining, being happy enough to let the world go by. Maybe if I had persevered at music, or tackled post graduate work at Oxford, or not resigned from the BBC, or had a few more children to practice parenthood on, or gone to seminary to become a preacher...

I wonder - is it OK to be only of average quality and not very good at anything at all?

American football coach George Allen noted that "most men succeed because they are determined to". Sure - I'm not giving up yet!

Something inside reminds me that "Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, 'You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.' Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions."

Repetition

C S Lewis, story teller par excellence

No I am not doing a pep talk on C S Lewis. There are too many others out there doing that, and doubtless better than ever I could.  Suffice it to say that his fiction had a significant part in moulding my upbringing.  In this post I am merely using his insight.

Although repetition can be used to good effect, for example in education or to convey a superlative in poetry, some things are too good to be repeated in too small a timeframe.

"Now he had come to a part of the wood where great globes of yellow fruit hung from the trees... He picked one of them... Then by accident one of his fingers punctured it and went through into coldness. After a moment's hesitation he put the ' little aperture to his lips. He had meant to extract the smallest, experimental sip, but the first taste put his caution all to flight... It was like the discovery of a totally new genus of pleasures, something unheard of among men, out of all reckoning, beyond all covenant. For one draught of this on Earth wars would be fought and nations betrayed. It could not be classified. He could never tell us, when he came back to the world of men, whether it was sharp or sweet, savoury or voluptuous, creamy or piercing. 'Not like that' was all he could ever say to such inquiries. As he let the empty gourd fall from his hand and was about to pluck a second one, it came into his head that he was now neither hungry nor thirsty. And yet to repeat a pleasure so intense and almost so spiritual seemed an obvious thing to do. His reason, or what we commonly take to be reason in our own world, was all in favour of tasting this miracle again; the child-like innocence of fruit, the labours he had undergone, the uncertainty of the future, all seemed to commend the action. Yet something seemed opposed to this 'reason'. It is difficult to suppose that this opposition came from desire, for what desire would turn from so much deliciousness? But for whatever cause, it appeared to him better not to taste again. Perhaps the experience had been so complete that repetition would be a vulgarity - like asking to hear the same symphony twice in a day."  Lewis, Perelandra.

I concur wholly with this principle.  Sometimes even a long interval may not validate a repetition - I would love to repeat the walk I described in Euphoria but I doubt if the magic would work again even after so many years. Somehow forced repetition does not satisfy. The thrill in listening to Rachmaninov's second piano concerto wears thin if repeated too soon. The ecstatic first few bites into a crisp rhubarb crumble served with clotted cream dull in that unnecessary second portion (memories of last Sunday).

Without doubt we were created to enjoy delight to the full. But perhaps forced repetition is the divide between delight and lust.