“A person of God does not say things like that.”  

Clear.  Direct.  Straight to the heart.  Accurately delivered.  These words hit home.  Spoken by a man hanging out with a bunch of fellow prisoners.  Their faith traditions were not the same, nor were their nationalities, their genders, their reasons for standing in this space at this time on this day.  Was there even a thread that connected them at all?  He was a federal inmate and she was a student learning how to be a chaplain.  Their histories and futures did not match nor would they ever connect again, but there was something powerful in his statement.  He towered above her 5’2″ frame and yet without threat or movement, without aggression or anger, he immediately cut off any further conversation that would be had with his group of friends.  And that was where their connection was the same – both were trying to do the best for someone else, and both were doing so with little understanding of the other’s needs.  

“A person of God does not say things like that.”  

When she told fellow students and instructors about the interaction during a debrief session later that afternoon, they were quick to defend her.  Before going out, she had been told to put aside her fears and talk with anyone she could.  She’d been told that the residents and staff at this institution had been informed.  Students would be on site.  They’re going to be awkward and ask questions.  Show them what it’s like here.  So, in a way, he did.  First lesson of jail, not everyone is your friend and not every group is your own, and really, this was their home, not hers, so why wasn’t she showing more deference?  Yet the questions flew, “What right did he have to say such things?  Especially when she was doing her best?  Didn’t he know she was just a student?  He was the prisoner.  Who can tell another person what to say anyway?  Were his rights more important than your own?  Make sure you’re not trampled on in this world inside the walls.”  Who was being trampled?

“A person of God does not say things like that.”  

“No,” she replied.  “He was right.  I said ‘Shit’ just to fit in.   I wanted to be more relatable to the guys, said something that felt awkward even to me in the moment, and he called me on it.”  Was she going to ignore the truth simply because of where it came from?  She only wished that the opportunity to connect would return but in a more authentic way, though her intuition told her she had lost something that day.  She told herself she miss-stepped, that she really did need to evaluate why she said what she said and why it was coming out of her mouth.  

That was a part of her training too.  Every person in her group was encouraged to be honest with his or her self about why they wanted to go into ministry, why they asked certain questions, what their goals were in using a particular technique.  She was there to hone those skills and because of the excellent training, she was able to accurately understand that in that moment why she had not been true to God, herself, and the purpose of that interaction.  She felt good about recognising that piece which would help her in the future.  

Still, something niggled at the back of soul.  What does it mean to speak as a person belonging to God?  What does it mean to receive the words of others?  To learn and grow alongside of the people we provide ministry to and receive God’s love from?  Yes, she said something wrong in that particular conversation, but what was missing?  As she defended the man, she realised she was arguing for them to have grace on him.  It would take years before she realised he should have had grace on her too.

“A person of God does not say things like that.”

Over the next 10 years, she became an ordained pastor, served as a prison chaplain, raised her family, spoke in churches, and moved into her life with purpose.  The tools of good therapeutic relationships were used.  Sometimes she knew the services and one to one meetings had been brilliant.  Good spiritual care was provided.  It was a time of challenge, to be sure, but there was clarity and beauty in the journey and in the results.  

Other times, she wondered.  What could have been changed?  Was it enough?  Questions and expectations crept into her thoughts.  Self-evaluation became attacks.  Over time she became pretty brutal about how she thought of herself and her methods, cutting to shreds her beliefs and stitching together a repaired sense of who she was.  

A couple of events at work helped her to realise something wasn’t right.  When she faced threatening or traumatising events, she tried to find help but wasn’t heard.  She knew logically what had happened, could trace the scenario in her mind, but ultimately blamed herself, even as she knew she wasn’t at fault.  No new words from others could repair old words from the past that returned with a vengeance.  What does a person of God say now?  

It became clear.  Her stitching job was faulty at the seams.  They were too tight.  Almost scar-like.  It became harder and harder to just let herself speak without self-analysing every nuance and every action both of herself and those she worked with.  Volunteers, co-workers, clients, family, community.  Perfect stitches are hard to maintain when the fabric is being pulled from every angle.  Seams bulge, patterns distort, edges fray, loose threads appear. 

Well meaning folks suggested she needed to be more like the Mary, the friend of Jesus, described in Joanna Weaver’s book, “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World.”  The premise of the book is that every person should be seeking that place of listening and waiting on the words of Christ in a world of distractions and busyness.  Our purpose is to allow Christ to bring us our meaning and peace so that the rest of life has purpose and fulfilment.  

Was she as a chaplain not taking enough time to rest in God?  Probably.  Absolutely.  And also, no.  She read that story differently.  The great beauty of Mary sitting at Jesus’ feet was not that she was at peace in her situation, nor even at peace listening to Jesus when He was with her, but that Christ had called her to join the other disciples to be trained for ministry.  His pattern had been to travel town to town, resting at homes along the way.  At each home, He called His disciples to sit with Him and learn about living as God’s children in the Kingdom.  Mary sat with Him.  She was obedient, to the point of ridicule and question from family.  She also received a bold defence by Christ.  “Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”  (Luke 10:42)  

“A person of God does not say things like that.”

Well, Jesus seemed to think otherwise.  So what did it mean to speak as a person of God, to live as a person of God?  In a world of religious leaders who said she was equal but who were not used to working as equals?  In a world of parenting, where moms get questioned by every person in their lives? In a world of fast-talking, secret-toting, faith-shifting inmates, staff, volunteers and community leaders?  In a space where leadership skills needed to be deftly inter-woven with psychological training, personal security, and concreteness of personal beliefs?  When her health concerns caused her exhaustion and stretched her own faith in a life-giving God?  What did it mean to speak as a person of God when those worlds sometimes collided and she felt like she was the lone thread hanging off the edge of the tapestry just waiting to be pulled off and cut away? 

“A woman of God does not say things like that?”

She knew she was to serve God with her whole being.  Many of us know this, but what does it mean?  When we really dig deeply, we know that our understanding of God and our faith practice changes over the years.  At which point do we serve God most fully?  Is the past self not good enough, or the current portrayal flawed too deeply?  In our minds, we know that God uses us all along our journey, his messages to us altering and morphing to teach us in our different stages of life.  Do we understand this truth in our souls?  Could it be that He had new things to say about our voices as well?   Could it be that, given a context prepared and shaped by the Lord, a person of God might say all kinds of things, redeem all kinds of thoughts, words, actions and people?  Could it be that the speaker might be redeemed as well?

What does a God-approved voice sound like?  As a chaplain it carries with it the weight of expectations from history and from media.  Chaplains have been part of the military, medical and correctional landscape for a very long time.  Today, there are chaplains in a variety of fields, including those of the traditional roles, but also on the street ministering in shelters, in large businesses, at universities, in government institutions, in law enforcement, disaster management, and even with sports teams.   Chaplains are not the same as pastors, though many also carry that title.  Their role is not to convert, but to listen and to guide when requested.  They are a sympathetic ear for those who have no one left to talk to.  Many have received degrees from universities and are trained in specialties like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, complex grief, multi-faith communication, and clinical counselling techniques.  They are officially endorsed by their faith communities while also working along the fringes of the systems.  Chaplains are the ones called upon at the worst moments and in the moments of boredom.  They are sought out when life is changing and when it has not changed in a long time.  Chaplains carry a duty to humility, of gentleness in the handling of another’s story and of the gift of listening for God’s heart in the midst of that story.  

So what does a chaplain’s voice sound like?  Does that voice carry with it the depth of our human longing and a search to see ourselves woven into the very fabric of God’s masterpiece?  Does it call others to listen for God’s voice in the crowd?  Does it speak up for those on the fringes?  Does it speak the language of the men and women who find themselves under her cloak of care?  Does it tell the truth, in love, and sometimes in unusual ways?  Does it then give voice to those who have been silenced?  

Yes.  That’s what a person of God does sound like.  That’s what a chaplain does fight for.  That’s what a woman of God does say.

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So who’s voice are we listening to?

Walking into a beautifully appointed church building, it’s easy to imagine we are showing up to hear from God.  On our best days we greet our friends, share pleasantries with newcomers and then settle into our seats.  On fantastic days, we engage in beautiful, soul touching worship music and have our hearts challenged through eloquent words spoken by someone who has put time and effort into crafting  the perfect sermon.  We hear, learn, and apply.  Hear, learn, apply.  Hear.  Learn.  Apply.  It becomes rote.  At some point, it becomes easy to simply hear the thing and make it mine.  Yet, there is a question still.  Did we hear from God?  Did He speak to us?  Or was it hear, learn, apply?  

It’s almost a habit to slip into this mode.  We do want to serve God.  We want to honor Him by obeying.  We love our Maker and our Saviour.  We do the thing.  We work the job.  We show up.  But the gentle questions of today are these.  When was the last time you heard from Him?  Do you want to?  These questions are not meant to condemn.  They’re meant to re-awaken a longing.  

Do you feel it?  Do you remember the last time you knew that God was talking to you?  Do you remember where you were or what was going on around you? 

Were you sitting in church and the words of the songs hit you so hard you glanced up to see if others knew they were sung directly for your situation?  Were you sitting with your family and the preacher’s words made you just want to jump up and hug your teenager even though you knew he didn’t ever want to be that uncool?  

Or was it something a little less than expected?  Did God speak to you through the slurred words of the man who told you to cherish family because it was easy to lose it?  Perhaps it was in the most beautiful prayer you’ve ever heard uttered through the profanity laced words of a new believer?  Maybe it was in the accusation of a child telling you she misses you or in the silent plea of an elder as his stomach growls?  Has God touched your heart?  Called you out?  Drawn you to change?  Given you purpose?  Invited you to partnership and compassion once again?

You see, we need to hear things from God.  We need His words.  We need His commands and His corrections.  But we also need to reconnect with His heart.  He so longs to connect with His people and so He speaks to us all the time.  When Scriptures tell us that all Creation cries out, they are telling us that there is a relationship between Him and us and the world, set up so that He and we may love one another well.   In our longing to be loved, we can be held by Him.  In our desperation to be heard, He listens.  In our search for purpose, He gives direction.  He shares Himself with us and invites us to share our lives with Him.  

Who can and does God use?  Who can and does God speak through?  What circumstances and story does he use to teach?  What messages does He tell us through these events and voices?  And are we listening?

These are the questions of this blog.  These are the journeys of the heart.