by James Webb
I have an overactive imagination. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it isn’t. It’s helpful for my writing, for one thing, but on the other hand, it’s very easy for me to miss what God is doing right in front of my face because I’ve drifted off into one daydream or another. Read more
(Our church’s annual Week of Prayer (we do pray at other times too) rolled around again, and once more I was asked to write one of the devotional reflections for the week. I’m posting it as this week’s blog post, just because I can.)
Let’s start these devotions for the Week of Prayer in an unconventional way – with some words from the 14th century Persian poet, Hafiz:
Fear is the cheapest room in the house
I would like to see you living
In better conditions.
I don’t know about you, but I can imagine God saying these exact words to each and every one of us. In fact, He does say these words, or words like them, through Paul in Romans 8:14:
“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the spirit of sonship.”
Fear is the cheapest room in the house, and God would like to see us living in better conditions.
Fear is a powerful thing. Fear makes us work hard. From a distance, frightened people look motivated, conscientious and diligent. But God would like to see us living in better conditions.
Too many of us let our lives be controlled by fear. Fear of failure, fear of poverty, fear of criticism, fear of embarrassment, fear of conflict. So many different fears. But God would like to see us living in better conditions.
As we head into this week, know that prayer is one of the gifts given by God to help keep fear out of our hearts; to help us take those first steps towards fearless living. It says as much in Philippians 4:6 & 7:
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
Perhaps this week will finally be the time for you to make the move into some more suitable accommodation?
The other day I was walking aimlessly around the church building, and I found myself wandering down a corridor I had never been down before. I’m not usually the adventurous type, but I thought I’d see where it ended up. At the end of the corridor was a big, thick, old wooden door. As I said, I’m not the adventurous type, but I took a look anyway.
The door opened into a large room, and it was absolutely full of people. There were all kinds in there, old and young, men and women. Anyone that you could imagine was there, and they were all busy with something. There was a group of people painting the walls, and a group of people setting out chairs, and a group of people cleaning the carpets, and all sorts of things going on.
I thought they must be preparing for some type of church service or something. Everyone was working so hard, and the room looked amazing. I mean, it’s hard to get the feel of a room right sometimes, but these people had nailed it. The way that everything was set out, the colours of the walls and carpet, the clean windows, the smell. I don’t know exactly what it was, but it was without a doubt, hands-down, the best room I had ever seen anywhere in any church ever.
I stood in the doorway watching them work for a while. One of the painters ended up near me, meticulously applying some magnolia to the wall beside to the door.
“What time does it start?” I said.
“What?” he said without looking at me. He was giving all of his concentration to the painting.
“The service, or whatever it is you have here. What time does it start?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It must be soon though? The way everyone’s working so hard.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, how long have you been doing this?” I said.
He stopped painting long enough to shrug. “A while. Days. Months. Maybe longer.”
“Months?” I looked around the room. All these people working so hard. For months? “But it shouldn’t take months to get a room ready, should it?”
“The wall could always do with another coat,” he said. “You know how it is. You’ve just finished and then you notice a patch that needs touching up. A fingerprint or smear that needs covering. It’s the same with the carpet. And you’d be surprised at how much work has to go into getting the chairs just right.”
“But why?” I said.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Why are you doing this?”
He finally turned his attention to me. “Because the room has to be ready. We have to work hard to get the room ready. It’s the way to please God.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah,” the man said. “God wants us to work hard. It pleases Him. Then we get to go and be with Him forever.”
“Huh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s how it is. Would you like to join us? The guys in the kitchen could always do with one more. There’s just so much washing up.”
“No,you’re alright,” I said. I looked at the watch I wasn’t wearing. “I think I’ll be going now.”
“It’s your soul,” said the man. He went back to his painting.
I backed out of the room and carefully shut the door. As I turned to leave, I saw the sign above the door. It was quite small. I hadn’t noticed it before. It read ‘Welcome to Hell’.
Some of you may remember that about three years ago, Imogen wrote God a letter, the primary outcome of which seemed to be my scarring my daughter for life – or so I had thought. One day, about a year afterwards, she announced that she wanted to write to God again. It turned out that actually receiving a reply seemed to be a factor in her wanting to write a second letter. It ended up similar in content to the first one, primarily concerned with Space Hoppers it seemed. This caused me a little discouragement – I had hoped for more theological growth over the the prior twelve months (When I was four years old I was already reading Calvin’s Institutes – in the original French) but you can’t have everything.
Then it was my turn to freak out a little. What had I started? Now I would have to write a reply, like last time. I wasn’t sure where to go with it. Imogen is our fifth child, and pretty much the only one I think I haven’t managed to break so far, but if I went around pretending to be God all the time then her odds weren’t great. In the end I sat down and thought, “What do I think God would want to say to Imogen at this moment?” and it all came quite easily after that.
It doesn’t matter how clever we are, or aren’t. How eloquent and well-read. How persuasive. None of that matters, not really. We will never be more influential or powerful in our words than when we are doing nothing more than giving a voice to what the Holy Spirit is already whispering to somebody’s heart.
“What should I say?” is a decent question.
“What do I think God would want to say to this person at this moment?” is a better one.
So how was your 2018?
A while ago I suggested that there was only one question worth asking myself in any end-of-year reflection. It’s not so much about what happened, but rather how I responded. Did I grow in 2018?
As for those things that did happen, the last quarter of the year was hugely significant. We’ve been back from Australia for four years now, and most of that time has been spent waiting for God to make clear what kind of things I should be doing next. Every now and then I would try to take matters into my own hands, and bring order out of chaos. It didn’t work. God pushed back. But since the summer, the wheels have been turning.
Since the end of August, I have started (and finished) the first draft of a novel – something I have avoided for years, because writing a book that was just one story seemed so intimidating. Since the end of August, we’ve moved into a new home that is much more suitable for our oversized family. Since the end of August, I have been offered a position as an ‘Associate Bible Teacher’ in our church, and as of January will be working part-time in this role. In other words, the days since the end of August have been constructive, focused and have given some shape to the coming months of 2019. I like shape. It agrees with me.
Seeing things fall into place has been satisfying, like placing the final piece of a particularly awkward jigsaw puzzle, but that’s not the most important thing is it?
Have I grown in 2018?
I think so, yes. I’ve had my faith stretched in some good ways, and I’ve seen God work. 2018 has not left me unchanged. And that is, as always, the most important thing.
