


I am in my usual place. I close the door. My room feels secure.
I start to read. My mind hears the sound of my own voice. I am the narrator: “Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them . . .” Of course these are not my words, but I hear them in my own voice. I’ve been here before. The words continue, “. . . so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”
Because I’ve come to this place often. These words are as familiar as my morning coffee, yet each morning I can savor the smell and taste anew. I make a note in the margin of the book. “He sees in secret. He rewards.” I consider the fact he also sees the murder and adultery in my heart. Am I comfortable that he sees me in secret? There is danger and reward in what he sees. Other people see only the surface. They reward, too, with smiles and words of praise.
“Go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” The voice in my head sounds less like me--it begins to blend with another voice: one sure and steady. He’s telling me about my Father. He knows my Father very well, far better than me because I was separated from my Father at birth. But now I’m grown. I am trying to connect again. Your Father, he says, sees and rewards. Other people may see and reward, but it’s out in the open, where we can pretend to be anything we want. We can even pretend we have forgiven. Others might reward, but they do not see in secret.
I finish his words about my righteousness: he tells me to comb my hair, wash my face and fool my neighbors, “and your Father, who sees what is done in secret will reward you.” The voice in my head is now completely his, offering assurance and revelation:
He sees me, even in the secret place, and he longs to reward. I consider for a moment: could I trust anyone to see all of me, even in secret? Can I trust him? He says yes, and this is what I will take with me when I open the door and begin my day: “If I trust him to see me in secret, I will not need to be seen by men.”
At Students of Jesus Mondays are about meditation. We can set the course for our hearts all week long by choosing a theme to hold before God day by day. Mediation should be a normative part of Christian life, but many North American Christians are familiar only with study.
Richard Foster, a man who has given himself to training in spiritual formation, says simply, “Christian meditation is the ability to hear God’s voice and obey his word.” Hearing his voice need not be the same thing as reading the Bible.
We give ourselves to definitions, memorization and organization, but our hearts remain unmoved. For example, when the Magi asked the religious experts of King Herod’s court, “where is the Messiah to be born?” the Scribes were capable of giving a correct answer, but not one of them was moved to go with the Magi and worship at the feet of the Child Christ. God save us from that kind of knowledge. The paths to mediation are many, but I’d like to suggest a few starting points for those who have never considered the difference between book-learning and meditation:Your word, O LORD, is eternal;
it stands firm in the heavens.
Your faithfulness continues through all generations;
you established the earth, and it endures.
Your laws endure to this day,
for all things serve you.
If your law had not been my delight,
I would have perished in my affliction.
I will never forget your precepts,
for by them you have preserved my life.
Save me, for I am yours;
I have sought out your precepts.
The wicked are waiting to destroy me,
but I will ponder your statutes.
To all perfection I see a limit;
but your commands are boundless.
~ Psalm 118: 89-96
Have you ever been instructed by the things Jesus didn’t say? Jesus, the Master Teacher, wants to do more than simply convey information. He wants to draw us into his way of thinking. He wants us to participate with him in discovering the Kingdom of God.
Take just one example, say, when Jesus told Nicodemus, “You must be born again.” This is the seed of an idea: life with God begins like childbirth. I’ve always been astonished that those who treasure the phrase “born again” rarely develop the idea beyond the moment of conversion.
Birth doesn’t happen instantly. Before the moment of birth there is the travail of labor. Prior to labor there are months of gestation. After the moment of birth, the infant is in desperate need of attention: a clean environment, warmth, love and food. Beyond the first few moments a new-born child requires the community of family and the commitment of a mother and father. In “real life” each of these elements are critical. Remove any one of them and the child’s development is in peril. Each of these ideas could impact how we share the gospel or disciple new believers.
Could Jesus mean all that in the simple phrase, “You must be born again?” Well, he is pretty smart. When he uses metaphor or parable, I believe it’s an invitation for us to meditate upon his words and ask the Holy Spirit for illumination.
Even the few suggestions above do not exhaust the possibilities that flow from meditating on this single image. Decades later His disciple Peter encouraged us
You have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.” ~ I Peter 1:23Peter moved from the image of new birth to a seed. The seed capable of generating eternal life is itself imperishable (you can read more reflections on the seed here).
If you’re looking for a meditation path this week, why not take one image from the words of Jesus and explore the possibilities over and over again. Take the whole week! You may find that God’s word is living and active, revealing practical wisdom for your life. Don’t be surprised if the Holy Spirit becomes your guide!