We Christians love words. We sing them; we read them; we speak and listen to large numbers of words during our worship. Member, Bob Strayer, adds to them here as he reflects about the uses of words, of language, and o
f the rational thinking that words make possible. All of this in the context of our spiritual journeys. How is language useful as we seek after God? And in what ways might language be limiting, distracting, or even misleading as we consider our relationship to the Divine? Bob’s reflections follow.
You are probably aware that in Western Christianity, there has long been a considerable debate about this subject. The Christian faith was born in a Middle East that was permeated by Greek rationalism, by the philosophical traditions of Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle and their faith in the power of reason and language to puzzle out the mysteries of the world. Some early Christian thinkers were suspicious and wanted to keep a sharp distinction between the new faith and the ideas of the Greeks. In the second century, the North African church leader named Tertullian asked a famous question: “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” If Tertullian was skeptical about the usefulness of language and reason, the more common notion was that the ideas of the Greeks could be a “handmaiden” to faith, more fully uncovering the truths of Christianity. Medieval theologians such as Thomas Aquinas actively made use of Greek philosophy to express Christian ideas in a systematic way.
But enough about history! What about us? How might we understand language and reason in our own, perhaps more modest journeys toward the Divine?
Maybe the first thing to say about this question is that words, language, and the capacity for rational thought are, without any doubt, wonderful gifts from God. They are part of our endowment as human beings, part of the image of God imprinted in each of us. These capacities mark us as distinct from God’s other creatures, and they have made possible the marvelous creations of human culture—its science, technology, literature, and more.
Furthermore, language and thought can be spiritually helpful. How could we express praise, wonder, joy, and love without words or language? You may remember the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem to the loud acclaim of the crowds. The Pharisees apparently found all of this too noisy and asked Jesus to put a stop to the clamor. His reply: “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” In the Psalms, we are invited “to make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” Praise and gratitude are essential elements of all spiritual paths, and language makes it possible to express them. Praise be to God.
And then we Christians, like Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and many others, are people of the book. We have inherited sacred texts, in our case the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments. The language of those texts has become second nature to many of us, drilled deep into our understanding of the world. We call on these words in times of deep distress, and in not a few cases they are the last words we utter as we depart this world : “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” “Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.” The words of Scripture such as these have become for us a vehicle of Divine grace and revelation. We meet God in the pages, and in the words, of the Bible.
Most of us probably do not believe that every word of the Bible came directly from the mouth of God. And so we find our ability to reason helpful in sorting out that which is universal and meaningful to us from that which is particular to the time and place when it was written. I for one am enormously grateful to those Christian thinkers and pastors, our own Jane Grady very much included, who have allowed me to be a modern reasonably educated man and a believer at the same time. I respect the faith of my fundamentalist mother, but I cannot accept its literal and rather narrow conception of Christian way. If her understanding of the Christian path was the only one available to me, I am afraid that I could not be a part of it. And so, language and reason are useful in clearing away unnecessary obstacles to faith and in helping us to apply ancient truths to contemporary situations.
But even if they were not dictated from on high, words can be vehicles for Spirit–words of Scripture, words about Scripture, and words exchanged from heart to heart among ourselves. They are points of entry or “ways in” to the presence of God and to genuine encounter with one another. Have you not on occasion felt your heart warmed by a familiar passage of Scripture? Have you not found inspiration or encouragement from something you have read? And have you not experienced those three simple words– “I love you”—as something of infinite and surpassing value?
Words carry meaning, but they also convey presence. There is a lovely saying in the Islamic tradition in which God is speaking: “I am as my servant imagines me to be.” To me at least, this suggests that there is something of God in every conception of the Divine. We are so imprinted with the image of God that our every imagination of Him contains some element of truth—never complete, never full, never exclusive—but something. Great humility is called for in every word we speak about God.
So words, language, and the capacity for reason and inquiry are great gifts, and they can be instruments of spiritual growth and personal connection. BUT … language is limited; words are inadequate; and reason is a weak and fallible instrument when it comes to things of the heart and spirit. We believe, after all, that the great God of the cosmos lies far beyond our capacity to capture in words, creeds, or formulations. “Such knowledge,” says the writer of the Psalms, “is too wonderful for me; it is high and I cannot attain it.” And in the Old Testament book of Isaiah, God says: “To whom then will you compare me, that I should be like him.” In short, God exists outside of our categories of thought and language. At best, our conceptions of God simply point in the general direction of the Divine. That is why the Scriptures, and most spiritual teaching, come to us as parable, stories, metaphor, and poetry rather than precise description or verbal formulas.
And yet, we are sometimes inclined to give great weight and significance to our formulations, our creeds, our texts, our language about God. Consider how much of Christian history has involved bitter controversy, and sometimes great violence, about words, about competing conceptions of God. Much of this is, frankly, idolatry. I grew up in a Christian environment that idolized the Bible, or our particular take on the Bible. We in the Union Baptist Church in Pumpkin Center, PA had the truth about God and everyone else was lacking, deficient, and wrong. But it is not only the “fundamentalists” who are prone to idolatry. In my strong aversion to literalists and fundamentalists, I too may idolize my own more “progressive” and inclusive conceptions. Words and ideas too often become weapons in our struggles with one another rather than pointers to God.
The more important point here is that conceptions of any kind—mine or yours or theirs—are of limited usefulness when it comes to the experience of God. It simply doesn’t matter very much what you think about the Bible or Jesus or theology; the real question is what have you experienced of God? Speaking about prayer, St. Paul says that “the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” In relationship to God or to one another, words cannot convey the deepest movements of the heart. Are you not sometimes at a loss for words, do you not run out of language, when trying to express your love for a parent, child, friend, or beloved partner? The great poet Rumi said that when it comes to love, the pen falters and dust accumulates on all my metaphors. We might well say the same about our paltry efforts to describe God.
Spiritual life is entry into a realm of mystery. And mystery is different from ignorance. Ignorance can be corrected with additional information or data. Mystery, on the other hand, lies beyond the reach of scientific validity or empirical proof. Listen to that great poet of mystery, Mary Oliver:
“What I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled—to cast aside the weight of facts…And maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe that I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery…. And I do.”
When we come to worship on Sunday morning, we seek to experience the mystery that is God. Every aspect of our service is intended to enhance that sense of mystery—these beautiful windows, the flower arrangements, periods of silence, David’s music and that of the choir, collective prayer, Jane’s sermons. Entry into that mystery is all the proof we need. Efforts at precision in language, or claims of some exclusive “truth” about God can easily get in the way of experiencing that mystery and lead us into the domain of pride, arrogance, and idolatry.
But I want to close on a more positive and practical note about language and spiritual life. It has been my experience that Protestant Christians such as us are remarkably reluctant to talk about God with one another. And surely there is some wisdom in that reluctance, for the experience of God is intimate, personal, and difficult to express. And yet, sharing from the heart about matters of the heart can be rich, meaningful, helpful, and even inspiring. Talking together—perhaps we could call it “spiritual conversation”—can be a part of worship. It can help us to create a sense of the church as a spiritual community. And so, in Jane’s absence, I am inviting you to a brief period of reflection together after the service. No agenda and no expectations—just a chance to say what may have touched you about the service, how our worship together relates to your life in the here and now. In doing so we will be practicing what Jesus taught when he said: “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” Amen.
(This inspiration was adapted from Robert Strayer’s sermon notes, dated September 4, 2011.)
