CYNICS AND SCEPTICS
It’s a phrase that’s bandied about too frequently in Christian circles: ‘the Lord told me.’ We’ve all met those breathlessly confident souls who imply everything they do is directed by the voice of God. The Almighty is not just on speaking terms with them, but positively chatty; the cosmic choreographer, seemingly issuing commands about the minute details of their everyday life. It’s difficult to question them: like the Blues Brothers, they’re on a mission from God, so they’re insistent about their frequent revelations. Sometimes they affirm God has told them to even do bizarre and illogical things, and they stifle any discussion or potential disagreement.
Those who insist that the Lord is an extra-terrestrial tweeter can inflict great pain. I remember being in a church service when an enthusiastic lady grabbed a guitar and shared a song that, she declared, the Lord had given her the night before, instructing her to share it. Eleven unpoetic verses and a chorus that involved some high-pitched shrieking later, the shell-shocked congregation privately concluded that, if the Lord had indeed given her that song, it was probably because He didn’t want it. But sometimes the pain goes deeper than the eardrums.
I’ve been given more than my fair share of ‘prophecies’ that were utterly incomprehensible, which is awkward when you’re on the receiving end. It’s difficult to know how to respond when a wannabe prophet announces he has seen a picture of a one-legged Japanese bassoonist balancing a bowl of custard on his head, and then enquires, ‘Does this mean anything to you?’ It does indeed mean something: someone should call the NHS helpline immediately. And others have been casualties of what might have just been well-meaning over-enthusiasm: directed, diagnosed, corrected or condemned by people who insist God has told them to behave in this way.
All of this means I have tended to veer towards cynicism when people announce God has told them something, which is an unhelpful overreaction. Healthy scepticism is useful when people announce they’ve heard the word of the Lord, because we need to test and prove what is offered, rather than swallowing it wholesale. Spirituality is a call to abandon everything, but not to kiss our brains goodbye. But I want to stay open to God speaking to me through others, and be available to those subtle nudges, impressions, hunches and prompts that are sometimes the direct work of the Holy Spirit in me, lest I miss a genuine whisper from heaven. And that might be very bad indeed, as I learned when I met Peter and Riekie. For them, a hint from heaven was literally a lifesaver.
A bright, joyful couple, now living in Spain, Peter and Riekie’s easy smiles and relaxed demeanour could suggest they’ve had a carefree life, which would not be true. During a retreat that I led, Riekie described her childhood as a catalogue of sexual abuse. Her description was stark: ‘Growing up, abuse seemed to follow me.’ And then came the dark day when, home alone, she was raped by a man who had been doing some casual work around their house. Threatening her with a screwdriver, her assailant tied her to a bed, and began the awful assault. Riekie’s one-year-old child was in the next room, and she feared for the safety of her baby, and said so. The rapist paused his assault to make sure the child was safe, but then continued the terrible attack.
But it was then that the telephone rang. And rang again. And again.
It was Peter, who was at work. There was absolutely no reason for him to be calling – Riekie was supposed to be out collecting the children in the late afternoon school run, but Peter could not escape a persistent, overwhelming urge to phone home. And so, he just kept calling. When there was no reply, Peter hung up, and called again. The rapist, distracted by the constant jangling of the phone, abandoned the assault and made his escape. Other rapes had occurred in the area, some resulting in terrible injuries inflicted by screwdrivers, others in AIDS infections; some victims were murdered. Riekie wonders what her fate might have been if Peter had not responded to that inner nudge when he did.
The day before the incident, (which was anything but incidental) Peter had felt he should specifically pray that God would protect Riekie from rape. For twenty-one long years that followed, he had wrestled with anger towards God because the attack had happened. And then, during the retreat, it suddenly dawned on him: he had been the answer to his own prayer. Obviously, the answer was not as he would have wanted it – he would have preferred the attack had never happened in the first place – but the internal nudge brought intervention into what might have been an even worse tragedy.
But in case all of this seems a little too neat, let’s acknowledge God doesn’t always speak, intervene, or rescue. The telephone doesn’t always ring at the vital moment. Today, awful things will happen, not only to good people, but to God’s people. Peter and Riekie’s story doesn’t guarantee God will always be the knight in shining armour; no telephone rang during the traumatic episodes in her childhood. Some of my readers might feel a touch or a surge of anger as I share their story, because you have suffered terrible abuse, and no phone rang. I don’t know why that is, but I know this for sure: it was certainly not your fault. But, even though answered prayer always presents difficulty, because every answer begs the question, ‘Then why was that plea for help not answered?’ nevertheless, Peter’s obedience to that nudge teaches me this: God speaks. ET is famous for the phrase, ‘Phone home.’ But if God wants to whisper it, or anything else, or give me an inkling, a hint, or a nudge, then I’d like to have ears to hear, and a readiness to respond.