Domestic Inspection & Hearing God II
I'm in Connecticut right now, inspecting the new domestic environs of Ms. Julie Suh, Esq., and Dr. Jason Br0mer. I love the house! Let Julie's posts (from a place of wallpaper-induced shock) not mislead you: the house is adorable, inside and out. They have hardwood floors, wide old-fashioned woodwork everywhere, pretty windows, and a guestroom for me. What more could an ever-present houseguest ask for?
Julie and I are getting more prayer time in. I've been in a bit of a funk lately--sort of dull to hear and not that enthused about praying. But the other night, I experienced a comforting testament to God's patience with dullness; as Julie prayed, I saw pictures in my mind of the images she was praying about, just before she gave voice to them. It seemed like some kind of encouragement that the Holy Spirit was guiding our prayers.
Our hearing is so fragile a gift, and our cultivation of it so uncertain and improvisational. A friend of mine was recently telling me about a critique he'd heard, of worship songs that use virtually erotic language. Such language, it was argued, might misdirect the worshiper, stimulating unseemly emotions. Have we welcomed such language in our churches because our culture is steeped in pornography, and it's all we can hear well enough to respond to?
It strikes me that perhaps the critic had it backwards; that what we should worry about is not the language of desire in our worship music, but rather the conception of desire as primarily (even solely) sexual. This constriction of the meaning of desire, I think, is much more dangerous to the development of our souls than the vulgarities of our culture might be. We know enough at least to try to resist the vulgarity, but our desires for intimacy are far more shyly explored, hesitant to blossom, and easily shamed.
Perhaps we've only learned to express these desires in quasi-erotic terms, but then Solomon seemed to have the same problem. More on this later.
Julie and I are getting more prayer time in. I've been in a bit of a funk lately--sort of dull to hear and not that enthused about praying. But the other night, I experienced a comforting testament to God's patience with dullness; as Julie prayed, I saw pictures in my mind of the images she was praying about, just before she gave voice to them. It seemed like some kind of encouragement that the Holy Spirit was guiding our prayers.
Our hearing is so fragile a gift, and our cultivation of it so uncertain and improvisational. A friend of mine was recently telling me about a critique he'd heard, of worship songs that use virtually erotic language. Such language, it was argued, might misdirect the worshiper, stimulating unseemly emotions. Have we welcomed such language in our churches because our culture is steeped in pornography, and it's all we can hear well enough to respond to?
It strikes me that perhaps the critic had it backwards; that what we should worry about is not the language of desire in our worship music, but rather the conception of desire as primarily (even solely) sexual. This constriction of the meaning of desire, I think, is much more dangerous to the development of our souls than the vulgarities of our culture might be. We know enough at least to try to resist the vulgarity, but our desires for intimacy are far more shyly explored, hesitant to blossom, and easily shamed.
Perhaps we've only learned to express these desires in quasi-erotic terms, but then Solomon seemed to have the same problem. More on this later.
posted by Tara | 11:47 AM
4 Comments:
I'm so glad that the house pleases you. I didn't know that I spoke of the house in such a disparaging manner.
Oh, it was just the "inside photos too ugly to post" comment that I was thinking of.
Very interesting stuff, T. I'm so glad to hear you're getting good prayer time in. I've been feeling similarly to you -- I need to find a good prayer buddy.
God bless your time with 'the Js.'
Good thoughts, Lee. We live in a culture where most of us have never really hungered or thirsted; perhaps that's why those metaphors don't have the force they would for people struggling to survive through droughts and desert years . . .
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