Sean Johnson - Intentionally - The Education of Sean Johnson

This is the fourth in a series of posts on building a personal sanctuary. You can find the introduction here.

Cultivating Silence

Eventually, you reach a dry spot. You find yourself at a place where it’s impossibly tough to break through the curtain - you believe in God, you trust that He is loving and wants the best for His children….but you don’t feel Him. You don’t really feel like He’s there. Our God is loving, to be sure, but He’s also distant, cold.

It’s a tough problem to overcome. If you wanted to grow in your relationship with a spouse or loved one, it’d be difficult if there wasn’t a dialogue. And, if you’ve taken the advice in part two of this series, you might eventually get to a place where you find yourself frustrated - like you’re talking to a wall.

Where is He? Where is this Almighty God who formed mountains? Why can’t we hear Him?

Maybe we’re not listening.

In our world of constant busyness, of constant distraction, it’s no wonder so many of us feel lost. If you sat down with a friend over a glass of wine and had a conversation - an open, piercingly honest conversation - about what they believe, why they believe, and what their belief means in terms of their daily life…you’re likely to be disappointed.

It’s not that they’re stupid or shallow or ignorant about this world or their place in it. It’s not that they’re evil or that they’re loved any less. It’s most likely that they simply have been immersed in the world and haven’t had time to think about any of this. Or - more accurately - they can’t hear themselves think above the noise.

Let’s face it - the world can give us many nice things. I love a round of golf (sometimes I can go an entire round without wrapping my driver around a tree in a fit of frustration,) I can’t wait to make my own furniture, and I get a rush when I’m hurtling forward in a jetski at 80 miles per hour. I love a nice dinner with my girlfriend, I enjoy a funny (or not-so-funny) movie, and I always look forward to my annual trips back to see the guys.

But - and I didn’t get this until far too recently - my life isn’t in these things. It’s not in the stuff I make or buy or wear or eat. It’s not in my friends or my activities. It’s not in my job (although if you were to ask 10 random people to watch me for a day, they’d likely tell you otherwise.) These things are little pieces of the world, and I love them dearly. But confusing them for my life is suicide for my spirit.

There are few things that I know for sure, about God or life or anything else. One is that Dan Marino was the greatest quarterback who ever lived. And the other is that if I’m to grow in my spiritual life I must tear myself away. I must wake up from this dreamlike state spent ironing my shirts, walking to work, making my calls, sending my emails, going out for drinks, catching a flick, going to bed, rinsing and repeating.

The great writers of ancient Christianity made it a habit of actively seeking solitude. Christ Himself, on numerous occasions, would ‘go away to another place’ to be alone. Thousands of people were waiting for Him, and His ministry wasn’t going to last long. Why the repeated emphasis on his desire for ‘alone time?’

It could be that he was depressed, but the more likely answer is that there was very important role that solitude played. Remember, Christ’s life was in many ways meant to be an example for how we should relate to each other, to God, and to ourselves. If Christ consistently felt the need to be alone to communicate with God, we might be well advised to do the same.

There’s a story about Elijah talking to God. A great wind came, but God wasn’t in the wind. An earthquake came, but God wasn’t in the earthquake. Then a tiny whisper came, and God was in the whisper.

I wonder how often I’m able to hear that whisper, living in a small town like New York. My guess is rarely. But that whisper should be the sweetest, most anticipated thing in the world to me. Instead, I choose noise, chaos, mindless chatter about $200 pairs of jeans and plastic surgery. And then I wonder why I can’t hear God’s voice.

It bears repeating - solitude is a likely path to spiritual growth. By withdrawing from the demands of your daily life and working hard to create that ‘quiet place,’ you are doing your soul an immense favor.

During the brief period of my life where ideas abounded and words flew onto the page, I regularly took time to be alone. I had a habit of spending some time in the mornings, sitting in front of my window looking out at the trees, Bible in hand. I’d read, I’d ruminate, I’d think, I’d pray.

What took place in my quiet time was rarely earth-shattering - it wasn’t this “power Christianity” that so many people expect and find wanting. God is forever the great iconoclast - the all-powerful choosing to speak under his breath.

He doesn’t talk through a burning bush, telling you to free your people. He talks to you about that spat you had with your spouse. He subtly pushes you to respond to your co-worker’s sarcastic jabs in a different way. He encourages you to use your hard-earned money in a way you might not normally be inclined to. In a slow, almost imperceptable way, he is molding you into someone who expresses kindness, patience, humility, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control. He is molding you into an image of Christ.

But this can only happen if you’re willing to take the time to be still. He speaks to those who are willing to listen.