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CHAPTER 1
Is This All There Is?
But now, O LORD, You are our Father, We are the clay, and You our potter; and all of us are the work of Your hand.
— Isaiah 64:8
The journey with Jesus: My journey questions surfaced in the most unlikely way — in a Quonset hut and a chicken coop, with a tall thin monk who talked about listening to God. It happened during the years when I pastored a Lutheran church in the Salt Lake City area. Not aware of any spiritual growth questions in me, I visited this Trappist monastery only because I heard they had quiet guest rooms where I could get away to study and work. Holy Trinity Abbey lies in a beautiful mountain valley, with eighteen hundred acres of prime farm and pasture land that the monks work to support themselves. The lush green fields are surrounded with high, snow - capped mountain peaks. The vistas were breathtaking, but I was a little disappointed with the facility: simple Quonset hut buildings, with foam insulation on the outside, placed in a quadrangle. The simplicity, silence, and smell of cows were later to become a hint of the kinds of transformations that the Lord had planned for me. But at this point, I just wanted to be alone and work.
The guest master, Father Emmanuel, showed me to my tiny room: a single bed, dresser, chair, desk, and a coat hook. Nothing fancy, for sure. At supper, I asked Father Emmanuel if I could worship with the monks, having no idea what I was asking. Only occasionally did a visiting Catholic priest chant the psalms with the monks, much less a Protestant — and a Lutheran at that! He explained, to my surprise, that the monks worshiped seven times a day, starting at 3:30 am . Was I really up for this?
That evening, Father Emmanuel ushered me past large wooden gates, into the two-story Quonset church, around rough wooden churchlike pews and into an area where rows of individual stalls were set facing each other, just before and perpendicular to the altar; two rows on the right, and two rows on the left. "I'll seat you next to Brother Boniface; he likes guests," whispered Father Emmanuel.
Here sat an "elderly" man, skinny, with bright blue eyes and a warm smile. Boniface's job was to show me what to read or sing or say and whether to sit or stand, at the appropriate time during the worship. It was a strange experience indeed. The Gregorian chanting of the psalms, reading from Scripture, and times of silence and prayer had a solemnity and the taste of mystery that was not typical of my church or the ones I had attended. As my day-and-a-half retreat progressed, I was struck by the deep sense of God's presence in the worship with the monks, in the solitude of my room, and in my walks in the surrounding hills.
What amazed me most was the nearly palpable love of Christ that I felt in standing next to Brother Boniface in "choir" (which is shorthand for the worship times or Offices). It was particularly unusual because there were none of the normal ways of communicating such love. The monks were in church to worship God, not to visit or fellowship. They didn't exchange words, or even glances if they could help it. Boniface winked at me once as he came to his stall, but never a word. Yet there was something intriguing, and I decided to come back to the monastery again.
A month or two later, I scheduled another visit. Again, I sat next to Brother Boniface in choir, seven times a day. Again, I felt that love. Finally, I couldn't help myself. I broke the rules and whispered to him at the end of choir, "I need to speak to you." He whispered back, "Eight-thirty, chicken coop," and walked off. I was dumbfounded. Was that am or pm ? Where was the chicken coop?
That evening, I confessed to Father Emmanuel my breach of silence with Brother Boniface and asked for some guidance. It turned out that Boniface took care of the chickens, and he finished his chores about 8:30 am. The next morning I was there.
The chicken coop turned out to be a huge barn that housed three thousand chickens in a fully automated egg operation. I found Brother Boniface, dressed in ragged overalls covering his monk habit, just finishing the candling of the eggs. After I had waited a few minutes, this tall thin monk came over to me, dropped to his knees, and asked for my blessing. Again dumbfounded, I muttered some sort of prayer for him. When he arose, I introduced myself and explained that I had felt the love of Jesus in him and wanted to meet him. As we walked out of the chicken coop and onto the road, he responded, "Oh, I felt the love of Jesus in you too, and wanted to meet you as well, but the Lord told me to wait until you asked."
Now, some folks talk like that, hearing God and all, but you wonder whether or not God really told them anything. I sensed that Brother Boniface, however, had asked God about meeting me, and that God in fact told him to wait. It caught my attention. How I longed for a relationship like that with God. My soul yearned to feel God's presence and hear His voice of guidance and instruction. Little did I realize that it was for this previously unrecognized yearning, my heart's desire that God had brought me to Holy Trinity Abbey and to Brother Boniface. We walked and talked some, and I was determined to return again.
During the third visit some months later, I found myself weeping almost constantly. To my embarrassment, I snuffled and sniffed through choir, alone in my room, or walking in the hills around the monastery. Strangely, the tears didn't seem to be connected with any particular emotion. A Scripture verse, a flower, or nothing at all could set me off. When it was my scheduled time to leave, I called my wife, Charlotte, and said, "I don't know what is going on, but whatever God is doing, it isn't done yet, and I'm not ready to come home." Then, and since, I have realized how wonderfully blessed I am by a wife who trusts me to God. A day or so later, I talked again to Father Emmanuel, telling him about my almost constant tears. What did it mean? After some quiet reflection, he responded, "Tom, I think Jesus may be calling you closer to His heart. Just listen and do what He says." Listen? How do I do that? God was not in the habit of speaking out loud to me or giving me writing on the wall.
Later I asked Brother Boniface about listening to God. He responded, "Well, that's what prayer is all about. Certainly, what God has to say to us is more important than what we have to say to God; He already knows what we need." Again, his words rang with experience and spiritual authority, not mere platitudes he read somewhere. I realized that, beyond the printed words of Scripture, I had no idea of how to "listen to God." Furthermore, my prayers weren't really about listening, but about telling God what to do and when to do it, as if He didn't already know.
As I reflected, it seemed my spiritual life had been this steady plodding, and I now I was mounting the crest of a hill to see a phenomenal vista ahead of me; one I had never guessed existed, a relationship with God in which I could hear His voice. I had further to go in my spiritual growth than I could have imagined. But there was a sense of hope, and even excitement, and adventure, as I glimpsed the life God wants for me. I recalled Paul's prayer for us in Ephesians:
... that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.
— Ephesians 3:16 – 19
Really Knowing God
I realized that I wanted much more than to hear God's voice of instruction and to follow Him. I wanted to really know Him, to experience His love so profoundly that it would push out my own self - hatred and enable me to truly love those around me.
At first I visited the monastery a few days every couple of months; then it became three days a month, and later four week-long retreats a year. During my retreats, I would meet each day with "Bon." We would talk about our spiritual lives, particularly about prayer. It became increasingly apparent to me that there was quite a different quality to Brother Boniface's prayer life (really a life of prayer) than I had been exposed to before. Since my adult conversion, I had been taught that prayer was talking to God; for Brother Boniface, it was more listening to God, enjoying God.
My new thirst for God created a new problem, however. Where could I learn about how to listen to God and experience Him? I had been involved in the Charismatic Movement, which certainly was experiential. But the emphasis on the spiritual gifts focused on "doing for God." I hungered for deeper insight and experience into "being with God."
I had come to understand the importance of ministering in the power of the Holy Spirit, beyond the abilities of our human gifting. But it had also become increasingly clear to me that it was necessary to minister responsively, that is to say, in response to the particular way in which Jesus leads, as a sheep hears and follows his Shepherd. I saw that church programs and strategies were often, if not always, inadequate in their ability to enable us to follow Christ through the intricacies of our rapidly changing world. The phrase "What would Jesus do?" would not cut it. How could I possibly know beyond the bounds of basic morality or imitation of what I read in the Scriptures?
If I were to follow Jesus, in actuality I must follow Him the way He follows the Father: "Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of Himself, unless it is something He sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, these things the Son also does in like manner" (John 5:19). On the Mount of Transfiguration, God told Peter, James, and John to listen to Jesus (cf. Matt. 17:5; Mark 9:7). God's word to us is still the same today. This encounter with a monk who spent his life listening to God made me realize that I was being called to serve God on a whole new level. This new level was not about greater skills, but about an intimacy with God that would enable me to hear His voice and truly come to know Him in the process. This new life would require a new me. It would take a transformation of my heart from a headstrong pastor who tried to earn self-esteem through performance, to a receptive and free follower of Jesus. The Potter faced major work with this lump of clay.
I found encouragement among the monks and participation in an international movement called Renovaré. Renovaré, led by Richard Foster, hosted conferences all over the country, with speakers such as Dallas Willard and Eugene Peterson. Through these writers and their books, spiritual disciplines became a new part of my experience. With some of my friends, I started a Renovaré covenant group, where we read certain spiritual classics, shared our spiritual experience, and prayed for one another's spiritual growth. I began reading the mystics, the Desert Fathers, the Church Fathers, and many contemporary writers on prayer and the spiritual life. As I began experimenting with Christian meditation and contemplation, I found that God entered the prayer closet of my heart with words, thoughts, feelings, and most profoundly, a sweet silence.
What is more, I found that the qualitative nature of my relationship with God began to change radically. I was growing spiritually and relationally, not just at an intellectual level. The ongoing experience raised even more questions for me about what the process of spiritual growth or formation is all about, and my reading began to expand. My life began to explode with the awareness of God's presence. As I learned to become attentive to the presence of God in my "prayer closet," I found that my heart also spotted Him in daily life. I remember climbing Mt. Timpanogos, just south of Salt Lake City, with my boys. We were camped near Emerald Lake at about ten thousand feet. Early in the morning, I suddenly awoke, as if beckoned. I pulled on my coat and crawled out of the tent to meet the frosty morning, just before sunrise. I walked to a rock at the water's edge, sat down, prayed, and waited for the sunrise. As the first rays of the sun hit my face, I heard loud noises all around me. I slowly opened my eyes to see beautiful long-horned mountain goats coming to the water to drink. Seemingly unnoticed, I sat perfectly still as they came within a few feet of me. The sight was awesome, and I felt privileged to be so close to these rarely seen creatures, usually glimpsed high on some distant cliff. As I sat still on my rock in the sun, God seemed to say, "I made them for you to enjoy, because I love you." The rest of the climb seemed like a walk in a mystical garden, planted and cultured just for me; the Gardner was climbing with me.
The Call to Follow Jesus Specifically
During these same years, the call to listen to God and follow him spilled over into my church and ministry. In the midst of a struggle among our staff and elders to know God's direction on a specific issue, we retreated to the monastery for four days to listen to God and to one another. We each started out on various sides of the issue. However, after four days, God had miraculously brought us absolutely to one mind. We wrote a document entitled "Reflections from the Abbey," which we brought back to our elders with an explanation of what God had done. It began a change in the way we led that is still foundational for that congregation today.
About the same time, I began hearing about pastor friends who were seeing "spiritual directors." Spiritual direction was something new to me. I learned that a spiritual director is trained to understand the Christian life and listen to God in the context of listening to other people. Reflective questions help the directee discern God's hand in the circumstances they discuss. These Protestant pastors sought out mostly Catholic monks and nuns to talk with about their lives. As I inquired about their experience of spiritual direction, I found two things. First, these spiritual direction conversations seemed generally helpful. Second, it appeared there were only a few cases where the direction or focus of those conversations was the same. Many had a decidedly psychological bent to them. Some included discussion of spiritual disciplines, but not all. One common theme was the directees' deep hunger to move forward spiritually. Most of the men and women I talked to were like me: they yearned for a greater experience of the reality of God and a more complete integration of their faith in everyday life. They wanted to become "spiritually mature."
But the strange thing was that few of them agreed on what being spiritually mature meant. Some said that maturity was becoming holier. Some talked about character. Others said it was about leading a healthier lifestyle. For some, spiritual growth was about becoming more useful to God, better disciples, preachers, evangelists. Most had no idea about where their spiritual growth was headed at all. They sought spiritual direction for a time, but most stopped for a variety of reasons. There was little talk of the completion of some process or the reaching of some goal.
My heart shouted, "What is spiritual growth really all about?" I remember reading Thomas Dubay in Fire Within , where he explains that the most significant spiritual growth is often discerned by the believer as backsliding. That's exactly how I felt: always fighting backsliding. As I learned more, I realized I often wrongly interpreted my spiritual experiences, assuming that because I was confused or discouraged something must be amiss. But by what criteria should I understand what God is doing in me?
As I explored further, I found that the same spiritual hunger I was experiencing was far-reaching in other Christians as well. Christian colleges, seminaries, and specialized institutes around the country had recently begun offering courses in spiritual formation and certificates in spiritual direction. But as I reviewed many of these programs, their curricula indicated what I had already discovered: there was little consensus on either the method or the goal of spiritual formation.
This fuzziness and confusion reflected what I've always felt about the Christian education curriculum of my denomination. It included lots of good material about the Bible, Christian morality, and Christian doctrine and theology, but it did not describe the Christian journey's method or goal. I realized that if we took much of our discipleship teaching literally, we could well believe that the Christian life is simply about conversion, biblical knowledge, morals, witnessing to one's faith, and, for a few, work on a church committee. The implication is that once these basics are under control, life will fall into place and all will go well.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Mansions of the Heart"
by .
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