students of jesus

Back in the days when DJ’s were still on the radio and spun vinyl 45’s, I turned up the volume in my car—loud.

When one teenager tells another to turn the radio down, you know it’s loud. My best friend tried to get the point across: “Ray, if you can hear the static from the needle in the groove, it’s too loud.” These days, ear buds do the trick: I still get the volume I crave. When it comes to music I still believe the 60’s mantra, if it’s too loud you’re too old.

This was my attitude about following Jesus, too. Crank it up, Lord. Gimme all you got. Christianity was for in-your-face linebackers. Thumpin’ bass or heavy metal, there was no question about the mission. I loved power verses and no-questions-asked Holy Ghost direction. In short, I may have been born again, but I was a child of my times as well.

Every advertiser in America screams for our attention. TV commercials boost the volume; our cars have become half transportation, half nightclub—and we like it that way. We wake up to music and go to sleep with Jimmy Fallon and The Roots. If something’s important, we roll it out with flash and dazzle. Every announcement is accompanied by shouting. It’s the way of our world.

There is, however, another world, where the greatest news is whispered. The Kingdom of God speaks the language of the still small voice. Deep joy is in the quiet. The heavens may declare the glory of God, but they never make a sound. As his Kingdom is worked into me, I discover the true music is in the rests, not the downbeat.

There was a time when the silence meant God wasn’t speaking. Now, in the quiet, he’s all I hear. Elijah was the prophet of shock and awe, but perhaps it was a way to ignore his own depression. Eventually his fears drove him into seclusion. There he discovered the presence of God not in fire, nor earthquake, nor the whirling of the wind. He heard the whisper of God. It strengthened him and nudged him forward.

Stillness and peace are signs of the Spirit’s presence. For every Pentecost there are fifty days in the prayer closet. The prayer closet is not meant to be a place to hide from the world, but a place where we hide the world from ourselves. An anchorman once asked Mother Teresa what she said during prayer. She answered, “I listen.” The interviewer followed-up, “Well then, what does God say?” Mother Teresa smiled. “He listens.”

It turns out the Father is a pretty good listener. “You know me when I sit and when I rise,” said David. “You perceive my thoughts from afar.” Imagine the mutual quiet. Imagine the joy unspeakable.

My friend Heather Kraus observed, “Jesus’ promise of ‘I will give you rest’ is not the same as ‘I will give you answers.” I suspect some of his best answers do not come with words. My friend Adam Russell says, "Any fool can hear it when God shouts, only the lover can hear him whisper."

Waiting on God is not passive, it’s the mark of an active soul alive to the ways of God. Isaiah tried to slow people down in his day:

In repentance and rest you will be saved,
In quietness and trust is your strength.

But his gentleness was lost on a noisy people:

But you were not willing,
And you said, “No, for we will flee on horses,”
Therefore you shall flee!
“And we will ride on swift horses,” (Isaiah 30:15-16)

In Isaiah’s day the movers and shakers took the bull by the horns until the bull ran them over. Even vigorous young men stumble and fall. Strength is overrated. Stillness is missed altogether. But those who power down, log out, and disconnect will renew their strength.

God does some of his best work at sunrise, and he never says a word about it. Each morning the heavens declare the glory of God without the benefit of advertising, hype, or self-promotion.

The heavens declare the glory of God;
       the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
 Day after day they pour forth speech;
       night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
       where their voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
       their words to the ends of the world.
       In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun,
 which is like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavilion,
       like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
 It rises at one end of the heavens
       and makes its circuit to the other;
       nothing is hidden from its heat. (Psalm 19: 1-6)

There are those who say, "Good morning, Lord!" while others say, "Good Lord, it's morning!" His mercies are available to both groups. Only one group will see his glory.

I learned this from a friend: “In the past I loved his words, now I love his voice.” I’ve tried to go about the business of the day while still tuning my ear to hear his voice. I’ve discovered what Psalm 19 has been trying to say all along: it’s God’s nature to speak, and his voice fills the earth.

Daybreak is only one example: spectacular and quiet. Like resurrection. We are reminded each day that God delights in new possibilities. Each morning the message comes again: because of his great love we are not consumed, his mercies are new every morning. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

Dawn differs from daybreak, and his voice speaks again: the transition from night to day is subtle. It’s slow. Dawn is process, not an event. The hope of transformation is displayed each day, reminding us that coming alive in Jesus Christ is not like flipping a light switch, but rather like the coming of the sun. “The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter till the full light of day.” (Proverbs 4:18)

Nor does he stop speaking just because the day is begun. King David saw the sun trace across the sky, felt its warmth on his face, and heard the voice of God. His voice engages all the senses.  By his light we not only see, we can actually feel the warmth of his love. It can grow into a blaze of glory.

Once we come alive to the sound of his voice in the earth, we discover it everywhere. One of my friends heard the sound of the Spirit as he planted flowers. He stopped for just a moment, felt the breeze on his neck and heard the its sound in the leaves. To be aware of the breeze is to be aware of his presence. It's a matter of training ourselves to take notice.

The voice of God is available to everyone. The heavens encircle the earth. All of humankind is included. Each of us can see his works. Rich and poor alike can see the sunrise or sunset. Rich and poor alike can ignore the majesty as well. The heavens encircle the earth, enabling people of every tribe and tongue to discover his goodness. He speaks without language to the hearts of men. Children are attuned to the wonder; the busy-ness of adults drowns the still small voice.

Nor does he speak only in the day. Once my ear was attuned I found myself worshipping God under the night sky. I heard the silent speech of the stars. The still of the night is vibrant with his presence. There’s a difference between God’s greatness and his love. Some people are impressed by God’s power and might, the wise fall down in worship at the realization of his love. The sight of a single star in the evening is enough to provoke awe at God’s greatness. A sky filled with stars declares his unfailing love.

I went to bed that night, unaware his voice was even yet still speaking, “He gives to his beloved even in their sleep.”

My prayer the next morning became, “Lord, let me love your voice.”

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.”

When I was young I depended on other people to wake me up.

My mother would tip-toe into my room and call my name softly, with a voice that was more of a question than a command: “Ray?” . . . Pause. “Ray?!?” . . . Another pause. “It’s time to get up, Darling.” Quiet pause. “Your breakfast is ready.”

My father, on the other hand, didn’t even use the doorknob. The door would burst open, hit the wall, and vibrate in place. He snapped the light on. It shone like a spotlight. With the voice of a thousand waters my Dad would say, “Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes!”

Now I am older, and most mornings God is there to meet me as I open my eyes. I am beginning to experience what Isaiah wrote:
He wakens me morning by morning,
wakens my ear to listen like one being taught.
These words come from Isaiah 50:4, which are surely about Jesus.

I like to imagine how Jesus woke up each day. I imagine that he began his day with the voice of God in his ear. Not as a some structured discipline, where he would drag himself into the Father’s presence. No, I like to imagine that Jesus opened his eyes, and immediately tuned his ear to hear the one voice that mattered more than any other.

It’s the voice I want to hear first each day.