Sunday, February 6

Last Sunday our worship service was especially moving. Psalm 19, and of course Isaiah, are powerful poetry that I wait for, and one of the pleasures of the 9:30 AM service is to hear the readings in Andrew Johnston's trained and intelligent voice. We can listen fearlessly, confident that he will make sense of Paul's most convoluted reasonings, while never, never barking his vocal cards on a nasty bit of protruding syntax.

The sermon began, like many newspaper articles at this time of year, with reference to fitness--spiritual fitness, though, and the daily exercises required for it. One of these is listening, and I thought about the different feeling that I get from the words "listening" and "hearing." "Listening" seems to be about focus and attention consciously directed outside the self. "Hearing" has a sense of allowing words to enter into body and mind, where over time they may be transformative. That, in fact, was the message.

A moderate among the 4th-Century desert fathers (mothers too, Andrew said, but did anyone save the fragments the women left behind?), Abba Poemen spoke about the way hard stone yields over time to yielding drops of water, which wear it away, as the tender Word of God, heard again and again, softens our stony hearts. Andrew reminded us that the Christian Bible is not itself the Word of God, as my Presbyterian grandfather would have it, but a witness to the Word who is Christ.

The desert Christians broke free from the comforts of an official and acknowledged religion. While they came together for worship, they found their own ways to God, hearing his voice in the silence. We need to find spaces in our noisy lives to listen for the whispers of God and courage to be led where perhaps the church has not yet been brave enough to go.

After the service I found a corner where I could drink my coffee in calmness and joy. Now to keep that feeling for the rest of the week!