Every once in a while you read something that sticks with you. Not just for a little while, but permanently. It's rare. Very rare. But it happens.
I was in college when I read a prayer written by Virgil Fry at Lifeline Chaplaincy in Houston. This was long before I met Virgil, and certainly long before I ever thought I would be living in Houston. The prayer was called "Mountains, Valleys, and Places In-Between." I cannot for the life of me find it. But I still remember that image, and it has carried me through some dark times in my own walk with God.
Some days are like mountains; some days are like valleys. Most of the time is somewhere in-between.
But in-between can get tiring.
When you are on the metaphorical mountain with God, you want to shout joyous praise; when you are in the valley of the shadow of death, you go to God regularly, sometimes non-stop for comfort, even with pain-soaked questions.
But in-between can get dangerous.
In-between is a place of routines where boredom sets in. Boredom leads to complacency, even sin. If God is a living stream, sin is a shallow puddle.
Two weeks ago I wrote "Uninspired" because I was feeling... well... uninspired.
Last week was a great week of contact with God.
I confess to you, O faithful bloggerland reader, that yesterday I was once again feeling a little uninspired. And yesterday afternoon it hit me as to why I have been feeling this way. As Led Zeppelin so eloquently sang it, "It's nobody's fault but mine." (That quote has stuck with me permanently as well. Virgil can sleep well tonight knowing that he ranks right up there with Led Zeppelin.)
So why am I telling you all this? The answer goes back to what I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I think for most of us Christians, a walk of faith takes work. I know exactly why I have been feeling uninspired lately. I have not been praying like I should. I have not read anything inspiring in a couple of weeks. And for the past couple of weeks I have found myself in that all-too-tempting preacher place where you just read the Bible in order to support the sermon. I like my sermons. I think they have been good lately. But ask any preacher: Just reading and praying in order to prop up the sermon is like cooking a meal for everyone else that you yourself decide not to eat. In the preaching world, you can get away with that for a while, but not for long. It starts to drain you.
But that's actually a good thing. I thank God for hunger. It's a natural instinct that reminds us to eat. That's true of real food, but it may be even more true of spiritual food. Our souls are like sacred stomachs that cry out to us when we are not feeding ourselves like we should.
Ask any preacher who has done this for more than a decade, and he or she will be glad to tell you what it is like to preach on an empty soul. We will then tell you that--"Thanks be to God"--those times do not last. And for me personally, those times are actually growing shorter, and farther apart.
But they do come.
I came in early to the office this morning to spend some time alone. Quiet time. Praying time. Time in the Word. For three hours I was reminded that the bread of life is always fresh out of the oven. It is there for the taking any time we want.
So why do so many of us church types decide to go hungry, or eat food that spoils? And then on top of that, why do so many of us church types blame our hunger on God or the church when the problem oftentimes has more to do with our own spiritual anorexia? It does not have to be that way.
If you are feeling like you are going through life on an empty spiritual stomach, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that bread of life is available to you right now, whether you find yourself on a mountain, in the valley, or most likely, somewhere in-between. Here's some bread. Take it. It's yours.
The bad news is that your church, your family, or your friends are not going to do this for you. Your church can encourage you. Your friends will love you. Your family will put up with you. But you have to bite into the bread of life for yourself.
Dude, all this talk about bread is is making me hungry. I want a real piece of bread. But I think I will wash it down with Psalm 104:
The Lord makes springs pour water into the ravines;
it flows between the mountains.
They give water to all the beasts of the field;
the wild donkeys quench their thirst.
The birds of the sky nest by the waters;
they sing among the branches.
He waters the mountains from his upper chambers;
the land is satisfied by the fruit of his work.
He makes grass grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to cultivate—
bringing forth food from the earth:
wine that gladdens human hearts,
oil to make their faces shine,
and bread that sustains their hearts.
