The Sound of Silence

The expression 'personal relationship with God' is one I hear often. And it is a good challenge to those who see God as a far off deity that made the world and left, or for those who want nothing to do with God at all. God is personally interested in humanity, and in you.

 The downside of this expression, I have found in my own life, is that it has a tendency to remove the reverence I might, and should, have for God. And if the God I worship does indeed exist, he deserves utter reverence; he has the power and right to sweep the carpet from underneath the feet of the universe whenever he so chooses. He has in his control the destiny of every living thing, he exists eternally and beyond anything we can comprehend. Our response to this must be one of trepidation and awe.

Somehow, "God" has become second hand for "personal assistant". I have found in my own life a tendency to make it all about my 'personal relationship with God'. I am so desperate to know what it is God wants me to do with my life, I am so desperate to seek spiritual discipline. I seek God's will in my life for direction and forgiveness, for comfort, for peace. I chat away about my own life so freely to God. But it is generally about me. It is a relationship and a faith centred around what I might gain- where I might go next; which career will be fulfilling, which wife I might enjoy the most, which Church I might be most respected in. If I'm honest, I use 'God' to serve my own needs often.

Jesus says: "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." 

Should I seek God's will for my life? I should seek first his kingdom. Should I sell all my possessions and go serve the poor? I should seek first his kingdom. Should I seek to be spiritual disciplined? I should seek first his kingdom. Should I apply for this job? Should I marry this girl? Should I go on this conference? Should I go into Church leadership? I should seek first his kingdom. This statement is a conversation stopper for any question I might ask. I should seek first the kingdom of God. Whatever the question is- that is the answer.

Kierkegaard suggests that the response to this is silence. Silence before God; utter reverence of the one who created everything. It seems to me an apt response to the kingdom of God. His glory surely silences and puts into perspective whatever it is that is keeping us up at night. When we seek first the kingdom of God, the worries of this world surely fade into nothingness, like staring at an endless sky of glittering stars which go on for billions and trillions of miles. How absurd does my life and worries start to look when I stare into the kingdom of God?

God is not my personal assistant. He is not a disposable item I use to assist my short time on planet earth, an interest I take up to make my life more manageable and fulfilling. I want 2012 to be a year when I can say with confidence that I am seeking first his kingdom. I want to be able to say I sought God in silence, with reverence and that I was a part of something bigger, something gloriously eternal.

 2012 is crying out for people who are prepared to break the spirit of individualism; in our culture, in our Church, in our world. What would it look like if we sought after the kingdom of God first, and left our own desires and will behind for 2012? What would it look like for the answer to every question I might ask to be- "Seek first the kingdom of God".

Don't neglect the personal, deep and intimate nature of God this year. It is life changing and life giving. Don't stop praying about every worry you might have. I am not claiming we ought to leave behind 'personal relationship with God', but rather that we get a bit of perspective on it. It is for his sake, not for yours. It is for his sake that you are changed, it is for the kingdom of God, not for the kingdom of Josh. 

Helplessness Blues

I'm wondering recently if at times our view of 'the gospel' is inherently selfish and individualistic. I wonder if concentrating on my own salvation and restoration as the full extent of God's rescue that we miss something astounding.

My 'shift' in thinking is summarized really poignantly by a song I've obsessively listened to since it was released. Occasionally you find a piece of music which speaks exactly where you are at, as if you'd written it yourself- the opening line of 'Helplessness Blues' by the Fleet foxes is:

"I was raised up believing, I was somehow unique like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes unique in each way you can see. And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather by a functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me. "

I don't think that Robin Pecknold is singing about the majesty of God's rescue plan for humanity for a second. But for me it epitomizes something that's been running round my head for a while; what if our focus on my redemption from sin is at times an unhealthy one. Don't get me wrong, I'm not for a second saying that Jesus didn't die for me, that he didn't forgive my sin or that the gospel isn't about freedom from sin.

Let me put it this way. Suppose someone creates the most beautiful jigsaw puzzle that's ever been created. It's a unique work of art, carefully crafted; each piece individually molded and shaped to fit the other. Each piece carefully and intricately detailed, painted and beautifully glazed. Now suppose there's billions of pieces to this jigsaw, and each human being is allotted a piece of the jigsaw. I could marvel at the beauty of my piece in the jigsaw, how sublime it was, how detailed and how I am so blessed to receive it. I might even spend my time trying to tell those around me how beautiful their pieces were, and help them to see.

In my mind, if I only do this, I have the risk of missing the beauty of the jigsaw as a whole; my beautiful piece of jigsaw is tiny, you wouldn't even really notice if it was missing. And despite it's beauty, it just doesn't compare to the beauty of the whole jigsaw.

Maybe we have a tendency to do this with 'the gospel'. It is breathtaking that God loves me, Josh Cockayne, so much that he would die for my sins. But how much more breathtaking is the full picture than that? So much of the imagery in the New Testament is about the Church, about the restoration of Israel, about the Bride of Christ. At the end of the day, if I was missing from the Bride of Christ, it wouldn't look much different, it wouldn't be that much less beautiful. I'm humbled to be a cog, a speck, a jigsaw piece in the redemption of humanity.

At the end of the day, God came to rescue us not me. It's not that I'm denying that God cares for me, or that I matter to him, but rather that focusing on me and how great it is that I've been forgiven is dull compared to the majesty of God's saving plan for humanity.

The 'me centered' gospel not only misses something majestic, it also makes us incredibly blind in some ways. It becomes all about each individual, and creates a one-up-man-ship evangelism. I remember a guy I once met who tallied how many souls he'd saved in the front of his bible, like medals on an army uniform. At the end of the day, his work might be impressive, but compared to the body of Christ, it's pathetic. Although we never say it, there is sometimes an underlying competitiveness about Christianity, who can reach the most people, who can pray the best prayers, who can make the most profound point in cell group.

I wonder when I'll realize that it's not really about me. That God never intended to save 'Josh Cockayne'. I've heard people say that "if you were the only person on earth, Jesus would have still died for you". I'm not sure if that's actually true to be honest. The 'gospel' in its richness and its fullness is about humanity and not about humans. It's about the Bride and not about her dress, it's not about how good she's done her hair or how nice her shoes are. Whether you like it or not, we come as a whole, we come as a Church, and as a bride. We need to start thinking a bit more like one.

And at the end of the day, it's true, I would actually much rather be a functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me.