Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Exposing Sin to the Light

Some of us are fortunate enough to have had an experience in our lives where, as John Wesley said about his Aldersgate experience, “I felt I did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”[1]  I was in twelfth grade, one of the disciples in our church youth group’s production of Godspell.  Each disciple played various roles as the story of Jesus was told, and one of the roles I played was that of the woman caught in the act of adultery (John 8:2-11).  I will never forget the upheld hands of my fellow disciples holding imaginary rocks; I’ll never forget the hatred in the eyes of my friends who were ready to stone me to death...  I’ll never forget the feeling I had as I watched each one drop his or her hand and turn away, unable to cast the first stone.  No one condemned me.  In that moment I knew with certainty that Jesus Christ loved me – even me!  I knew – deep down in the very core of my being – that my sins were forgiven.

I shared this story with the youth in my confirmation class recently and it led me back to the eighth chapter of John.  I realized as I reread it that I had never really considered what it would feel like to expose a sin that had been hidden.  The woman’s adultery – something that had happened in the cover of darkness – was brought into the light early in the morning as Jesus taught in the temple.  I wonder if the woman felt shame and humiliation as she stood before this angry crowd.  Or perhaps anger or embarrassment?  Maybe she was simply bewildered by the rapid sequence of events.  After all, she had been caught in the very act of committing adultery.  No matter what, it must have been excruciatingly painful standing before a mocking crowd as Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger in the sand.  Her sin had been brought into the light, and one way or the other things would never be the same.

As I reflected on this story I did something I rarely do – I flipped on the TV to take a break.  Oprah was on, talking to Olympic gold medalist Greg Louganis.[2]  Greg came out on the Oprah show in 1995, revealing that he was both gay and HIV positive.  This week he was reflecting on that day, so many years ago.  He spoke both of the terror of sharing the truth about himself, and the relief of no longer needing to live in the midst of never-ending lies.  Regardless of whether we view homosexuality as sinful or not, Greg had been living in deep darkness – a life of deception weighed heavily on him.  He took a huge risk when he spoke the truth, and discovered profound healing.

I have worked with several women who have experienced abuse.  One described the way that her partner intentionally hit her, bruising her in places that could be concealed by her clothing, but never touching her face.  When she tried to bring this abuse into the light, the abuse actually got worse.  Then he ‘accidentally’ bruised her face, and the truth came out.  Like the woman caught in the act of adultery, she was forced to bring the abuse – and all the baggage that came with it – into the light.  It was a very painful time for everyone involved, but with time and therapy and prayer she began to find healing and wholeness. Telling the truth about her situation helped to free her from a terrible secret.

What does it feel like to expose a truth that has been hidden?  What happens when something that has occurred under the cover of darkness is brought into the light?  It seems to me that this is when the lies and deception end, and honesty and truthfulness begin. As Greg Louganis said, he no longer needed to edit himself, but could speak the truth.  This must have been profoundly freeing.  As for the woman who was left standing next to Jesus, she had been given new life – a chance to start over.  Jesus tells her, “Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.” The truth, in the midst of an angry, murderous crowd, had revealed that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). The truth, in the midst of all her disgrace and pain, had set her free.

This morning I was reading from Ephesians 5: “Live as children of light... Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly; but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light” (v. 8, 11-14).  Light – truth – freedom – healing.  All this, just for exposing the unfruitful works of darkness – the hidden truths, the carefully concealed brokenness, and even the outright sin – to the light.  And this is only the beginning.  Don’t forget about the amazing gift of God’s abundant love and ceaseless forgiveness. 
 

[1] The Journal of John Wesley, May 24, 1738.
[2] http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/Gay-Issues-on-The-Oprah-Show/1

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Gasping for Prayer


Sometimes praying takes no effort at all.  Praying can be automatic, instinctive, natural – like breathing.  The words are simply there, the posture (kneeling or sitting or standing, hands folded or upheld) is effortless, the communication is easy.  God is powerfully present and actively listening.  As Marie Barnett sings:
This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me.[1]
Prayer is living and breathing – a part of who I am.  Prayer is powerful and beautiful – God with me.  Sometimes praying takes no effort at all.

But sometimes I feel mute and deaf and blind to prayer.  There are no words in my mouth and the words on the page are meaningless.  The Psalms, the Collects, and even the Lord’s Prayer might as well be in a foreign language – there is no understanding.  If God is speaking, I’m not hearing anything.  My posture is restless – my knees hurt and I lack the strength to hold up my hands.  Communication seems all but impossible.  In these times when prayer simply escapes me, I long for a breath of fresh air; it feels like I’m gasping for prayer. 

Habit leads me to read the Psalms.  A pattern of morning prayer leads me to read a Collect or two.  After all, I believe:
This is my daily bread
This is my daily bread
Your very Word spoken to me.
And yet, sometimes God’s Word simply does not speak to me through these patterns and habits. I breathe in, longing to speak.  I gasp, longing to be filled once again with the wind of God.  And I still feel breathless – dry and empty – unable to pray.

The amazing thing is that when the senses I rely on don’t seem to be working, God finds another way.  Shortly after sunset tonight, as I walked across the bridge over the Haw River, the full moon was reflecting brightly on the water and that wind of God touched me in the beauty of that moment.  God found another way.  Earlier today, I listened to the FolkPsalm[2] band sing psalms of lament and praise in Goodson Chapel.  The Word of God spoke to me in the sharp contrasts: “How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”[3] versus “Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.”[4]  Together, in the heaviness of one and the joy of the other, God spoke a breath of fresh air.  God found another way.



[1] CCLI Song No. 1874117, © 1995 Mercy / Vineyard Publishing (Admin. by Music Services, Inc.)
[2] http://folkpsalm.com/
[3] Psalm 13:2 (NRSV)
[4] Psalm 36:5 (NRSV)