Crucible Faith

Now that I’m headed quickly into middle age*, I've been thinking about the fact that I can look at every Christian I know well, and I remember them telling me about a time in their lives when there was nothing there for them but God. When what was precious was taken from them, and they were alone . . . except for the Lord. And when they chose to keep following anyway.

I can name time after time, in the lives of people I love, when they have had that crucible experience.

Sometimes it was incredible physical pain, other times it was incredible isolation, or destruction of a vital relationship . . . but every time, they faced the question, “well, do I still trust, or not?”

And they trusted. And they kept walking, walking alongside Him.

But seriously. So many Christians. They all have that experience. The circumstances are unique, but the experience isn’t.

And then they go through it again and again. But after the first time, they know. It’s like from there on out, they know. They know HIM. There’s this bedrock there, and it doesn’t change.

You can see it in their faces, if you know to look. And you can hear it in their voices when they’re in extremity, or when they describe being in extremity.

And it’s not that they’re not knocked backwards. It’s not that they’re not hurt or confused or terrified or that they make it out of their pain without sinning by complaining or fearing or self-indulgence or mistakes, or whatever.

It’s just that they’re anchored. They know. They know HIM.

It’s like there’s something eternal in their souls, something that’s anchored to something outside the mutability of this world.

And I say, “it’s like”, and by that I mean exactly, “it is.”

But . . . do you know what I mean? Have you seen this on people’s faces and heard it in their voices when they share their stories?

They’ve been through the fire, and they know they’re going to go through again (though they pray for mercy), but there is a steadiness deep down in their souls, because they know that they’re not going through it alone.

They might still be whiny or annoying or infuriating to you. You might not like them.

But you recognize that thing in them. And you love them for it.

They’ve been through a time when they had nothing and no one. They were absolutely alone in their pain – because even if you have friends near you in your pain, none of them can really be there, with you, IN your pain – they were all alone . . . except for the presence of God. And even then, that presence might have felt like a distant, academic reality.

But He was there, and they believed it, and now they’ll never face pain the same way again.

It’s just different, after an experience like that.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

*Stop laughing, Mom. 

Faithful to the Work

photo credit: Betsy Barber

I had the pleasure recently of meeting with a staff member of my university's alumni office. She and I talked together for about an hour, about what I'd done since graduation, and about the possibility of me interacting with some of the current students who hope to become writers.

It was a lot of fun, and I love the idea of being able to give back to the institution that I feel gave me so much.

But one of the most interesting questions she asked me was about how my writing and my devotional life fit together. Or, more to the point, how I kept my sense of self-worth centered in God's love, instead of in the success or failure of my writing work.

What was so interesting to me was that I actually had an answer. I didn't know I had an answer until I  heard it coming out of my mouth.

I said, "It's about being faithful to the work, not to the outcome."

And even as I type that, I think it must be something I heard somewhere else, from someone much wiser than I am.*

Because it feels so true, and so right.

You can't guarantee success. You can't decide that something is going to work. You can't will things into existence.

You have no "Fiat ME."

Only God can do that. Deus volt works.  ME volt doesn't.  (Yes, yes. Excuse my terrible fake Latin.)

But you can choose - in the moment, through God's grace - to say "yes" to the work. You can choose to say "yes" to his invitation to do with all your might what he has given you to do.

By his grace, you can choose to be faithful.

And that's plenty to hope for, right there.


Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

*And now, I'm thinking it's something I first heard from Mother Teresa. IIRC, she said, "We are not called to be successful. We are only called to be faithful."  See? I knew it wasn't me!  :)

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

This morning we were up and out of the house early, before the sun was even all the way up. At church, the children all agreed that we should sit in the front, and I agreed too, because sometimes having a better view of what's going on at the front captivates the children's attention.

There were ashes, and I looked down the row of kneeling figures, and was sorrowful to remember, again, that they would all die. But then there was the peace, and communion, and I remembered that our great and good Lord had come down to become one of us, so that we would not have to die alone, nor forever. Oh the graciousness of God.

And so I wish you a good and holy Lent. I'm not excited about the season, exactly, but I'm so glad that it's here, because my own greed and gluttony and sloth have been weighing on me, and I'm so grateful that the church says, "stop it, now," and all I have to say is "okay."

It's time to be clean. Time to let go of my stuff and just listen to the Lord. Time to soak in the scripture and look in the faces of those I love, and especially at the face of the One who loves me most of all.

May you have a good and holy Lent. May God's grace be with us all. We need it, oh so badly.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell


P.S. If Lent has crept up on you, and you're still wondering what it is or how to celebrate it, here are some more places where you can find some inspiration and guidance, or just words for when you don't have any:

-"The Lent Project": a devotion a day, incorporating art, scripture, and music.
-"What to Give Up for Lent": some good advice
-"Lent 2014": a longer list of resources.

Links: Lament, either/or, and more!

"The Language of Lament":

After many years of reading and study, I have yet to find a single word in scripture that is trite. Not one. Yet I see such words, I hear them, I cringe at them in so many parts of the larger Christian community. I choose to believe that the motives behind such words are good ones, that perhaps those who use truisms, clichés, and bromides have not yet been introduced to the lovely language we’re given, the words and questions that comprise over half of the ancient psalter, language that speaks for us when we cannot find our voice.

"The Lure of Either/Or":

Yeah, it’s a little more complicated than teaching people, “Just do X, and there will be no problem.” It really would be easier if we could just tell girls, “Cover up, missy. The end” or if we could just tell boys, “Do right, sonny. The end.” But we can’t do that. The world doesn’t work that way.

"Yes, God Will Give You More Than You Can Handle":

A few months ago, I sat with a good friend who had just learned of his son’s terminal diagnosis. He wept and said, “I’d do anything to give my life for him.” It was one of the most powerless feelings I have ever experienced. All we could do was sit together and weep.

"Faith Outside the Bubble":

"The riddles of God," said G. K. Chesterton, "are more satisfying than the answers of man." This sparkling one-liner from the 20th century's best theological journalist could serve as a motto for Matthew Lee Anderson's new work, The End of Our Exploring: A Book About Questioning and the Confidence of Faith (Moody Publishers). Like C. S. Lewis before him, Anderson sets out to explore a middle way between free-floating skepticism and dogmatic certainty. The first perspective sees any form of commitment as betraying integrity, holding that the wise are characterized by permanent questioning. The other refuses to think about questions, seeing them as a slippery slope leading slowly but surely to unbelief. 

"That’s not autism: It’s simply a brainy, introverted boy":

In our extroverted culture, where being a “team player” and a “people person” are seen as linchpins of normalcy, the notion that a brainy, introverted boy might legitimately prefer the world of ideas over the world of people is hard for most people to accept. Parents of such boys may feel terribly uneasy about their tendency to want to be alone and try to push their sons to be sociable and to make more friends. But if you get to know such boys, they would much rather be alone reading, writing, or pursuing projects that stimulate their intellect than be socializing with peers who are not their intellectual equals. However, once they come into contact with a kindred spirit, someone who is a true intellectual equal with whom they can share the fullness of their ideas, that person just might become a lifelong friend. Around such kindred spirits, brainy, introverted boys can perk up and appear more extroverted and outgoing, wanting to talk as well as to listen. With people who share their interests, especially people who possess equal or greater knowledge in these areas, brainy, introverted boys can display quite normal social skills.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

links: heresy vs. schism, what you can fit in the day, simplicity and more

First off, a short little meditation by David Mills, blogging over at First Things. Here's an excerpt:

Back when I was an Episcopal activist, both liberals who were busy gutting the Episcopal Church of its traditional beliefs and conservatives who didn’t want to challenge them were fond of intoning “Schism is worse than heresy.” It was a little odd to hear this from members of a tradition that began in a break with the Church of which it had been a part over what its leaders thought to be heresies.

But the real problem with the claim was theological: that heresy is itself an act of schism. It is a break with the tradition, a rejection of what had been the shared and official belief, a willful refusal to remain in unity with one’s brothers, a transfer of allegiance and obedience to a new and alien ideology.

I'd've copied more, but it's only about four paragraphs long anyway; I encourage you to follow the link and read the second half. It's brilliant. And sad.

Then, more brilliance from Patricia Wrede. You may have heard the rocks-sand-water-in-a-jar parable before, but I, at least, have never heard it told with this ending. If you ever feel like you're doing too much, or not getting done the things you think are most important, you'll want to go and read this.

Next, Auntie Leila on how we need to be less patient with our children. And . . . in the way she means it, I absolutely agree. Go read this wise woman's words.

Quotidian Moments has a short, simple post about, well, simplicity. I really liked this part, where she's talking about why she doesn't use Tapestry of Grace, even though it's a good program:

This is why I need simplicity, and it's why I have to define simplicity as what is simple for me. When I find some things overwhelming, I don't always know why. I have no idea why I can work with K12 fairly easily while TOG makes me feel jittery just looking at it. I just know I have to respect that. If I absolutely HAD to work with TOG, say, my husband really wanted me to or something, I'm sure I could make it work. But then, that would be different. Making things work is something different.

There's a sort of freedom in not needing to be involved with something that would be a burden, even if it is good in itself.

You've probably heard that muscle weighs less than fat, which isn't true, but here's a nifty photo showing what is true: that muscles takes up a lot less space than fat. I just think it's a neat visual.

This post on Conversion Diary offers a striking new perspective on the people who just happen to be in our lives (or, in other words, nothing's that random). In all honesty, this post has helped me even this week. 

This might be a bit connected to my current series (is it a series? It might be a series) on education and character . . . at least a bit. Anyway, go read about how "Christian faith is essentially thinking".

And, on that point, I'll leave off. I'll have a new post on homeschooling and character growth up soon, because I don't think I"ve changed my mind completely, but your comments and points are certainly refining my thinking on the subject, and helping me see what the ladies I met might have been getting at. I'm still mulling it all over, and I'm very grateful for the help you've contributed to that mulling-over process. Thank you!

Peace of Christ to you,

Jessica Snell