“Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name…” Philippians 2:9
A year or so ago, CutiePyeGirl uttered “Jesus” as the world often does (or in this case, some of the pupils at her school). My shocked and strong reaction communicated unreservedly that we as Christians prize the name of Jesus. She had parroted another, not understanding what she was saying. Perhaps I responded too strongly, but when I heard her even unknowingly take the Lord’s name in vain, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. After our discussion, she understood why Jesus is the name above every other name.
Jesus humbled himself completely by following his Father’s will that he should die on a cross; he was then exalted to the highest place in heaven and earth. And this is why his name is so precious. We’re saved by it. There’s power in it. To the Christian, even its mention brings peace, succor, love, and release.
Often when I can’t fall asleep, I’ll sing the name of Jesus in my head. This silent prayer stills my inner turmoil and gives me a sense of peace. Or I’ll pray the Jesus prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
How will you use the name of Jesus today?
Lord Jesus Christ, may our lips always bring you glory and praise. Forgive us when we malign you. Amen.
One from the archives. I wrote this for Quiet Spaces
in 2008; it later appeared in Woman Alive and then in
Inspiring Women Every Day. And now for its final
resting place…
The incongruity of reading a murder mystery during a time set apart for communion with God was finally too much even for me. I packed up K Is for Killer in my duffel bag and vowed not to open the zipper.
I was at my favorite place of retreat, where I had met God previously. There I had decided against entering a marriage commitment; there I had received a fresh filling of God’s Spirit; there had I entered his presence in quiet and gentle ways. This time, however, I felt far from the Lord. I knew in my head that he was there even if I didn’t feel his presence, but my heart wasn’t so sure.
I had been silent for hours but was not truly quiet—the voices screaming inside drowned out any still, small voice of God. I was filled with pain and doubt. “Are you really speaking to me, God?” I cried out. “Is that really you I’m hearing, or is it just my heart? Or something else? I don’t want to anchor my life on what’s not real. Are you there? Can I hear you?”
Anguish had filled me for weeks. I had announced that I was leaving the Christian organization I was working for to join another Christian group in a different city, but my plans had fallen through. Bottomed out, more like it. The opportunities I was pursuing evaporated as the doors slammed in my face. The embarrassment of announcing my intentions and then not leaving was painful, but more devastating was my belief that God had directed the move.
I yearned for God, yet couldn’t bear to approach him. After a few weeks, however, I knew I needed a place of quiet in which to face the pain and to seek God’s solace. Having made arrangements with the retreat centre, I began my time alone with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Yet here I was reading the latest Sue Grafton novel. I came to my senses and lugged my Bible, journal, and a blanket down to the nearby pond for a change of scene. After gazing at the serene waters and the wildlife around it, I was finally able to pour out my pain, disappointment, and confusion to the Lord. In the silence and solitude he met me; God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit surrounded and silenced me with his love and peace. Once again, my heart knew and believed.
It would take many years of growing in maturity before I would be more confident in discerning the still, small voice of God. But that day at the convent was a turning point in my relationship, for once again I was able to trust and receive assurance from him. It was only when I silenced the competing voices and offered up to the Lord my unrealized hopes and dreams that I was able to enter into a deep quiet and hear his voice.
The roar of the stillness
Why is the spiritual discipline of solitude and its close partner silence so difficult for us modern people? The answer is seemingly obvious—we have manifold possibilities with which to fill our lives, much of it via the online world and our smartphones. Technology surely contributes to the cacophony surrounding us, but a deeper answer resides in the condition of the human heart. Blaise Pascal was onto it back before Blackberries (in the 1600s) when he said that all our miseries derive from not being able to sit alone in a quiet room.
What do you hear? The Whispering Arch at the monastery at Clonmacnoise in the Republic of Ireland. According to legend, here the monks would listen to confessions; the confessor would stand at one end of the arch and the monk on the other side. Only the monk could hear the whispered sins.
Or Augustine of Hippo in his famous line from his Confessions puts it succinctly: “For you have formed us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you.” The God-shaped vacuum inside of us cries out to be filled. If we don’t turn to God, we will look to something else, such as pulp fiction, food, wine, sex, shopping, or even the building of God’s kingdom. Turning down the volume of the outside noise and taking away the comfort-crutches leaves us on our own, naked before God. And for many, like me on that day in the convent, that is chilling.
Indeed, silence is frightening, Dallas Willard says in his fine book The Spirit of the Disciplines, “because it strips us as nothing else does, throwing us upon the stark realities of our life. It reminds us of death, which will cut us off from this world and leave only us and God.” He continues, “In solitude, we confront our own soul with its obscure forces and conflicts that escape our attention when we are interacting with others…. We can only survive solitude if we cling to Christ there.”
And that is what I found; when I finished falling, I landed on Christ. Never are there more welcoming arms; never is there a more solid foundation.
“Be still and know”
Many of us run from solitude and silence, but these disciplines are vital to a flourishing and robust spiritual life. Setting aside time in the day, week, month, and year to be alone with God will feed our souls as nothing else will. I hear you respond, “My schedule is already too full—I can’t possibly fit in another thing.” As a parent of young children, I can relate. At such stages of life—or, for example, if you’re caring for a sick loved one—an offsite retreat may be out of the question.
Richard Foster in his classic Celebration of Discipline speaks to this dilemma:
Solitude is more a state of mind and heart than it is a place…. If we possess inward solitude we do not fear being alone, for we know that we are not alone. Neither do we fear being with others, for they do not control us. In the midst of noise and confusion we are settled into a deep inner silence. Whether alone or among people, we always carry with us a portable sanctuary of the heart.
He recommends that we make the most of what he calls the “little solitudes” of the day, such as the early morning before the family awakes, during our morning cuppa, while in traffic or commuting, when we glimpse a tree or a flower. As he says, “These tiny snatches of time are often lost to us. What a pity! They can and should be redeemed.”
But maybe you are able to get away for a twenty-four hour (or longer) retreat for silence and solitude. I’ve always found the best settings to be those nestled in a lovely spot of nature, for there are fewer distractions and the surroundings themselves lead to worship of the Creator. The trees of the wood sing out in joy before the Lord; the sea roars and the fields rejoice. God’s handiwork is awe-inspiring and produces a grateful heart.
One of my strong petitions while on retreat (and not limited to then) is to enter into a deep silence so that I can hear the voice of the Lord and receive from him. I’m easily distracted and, like Martha while Jesus was visiting, “worried and upset about many things” (Luke 10.41). For me to release those niggles often takes a conscious effort in prayer, usually through writing out my meditations on a verse of Scripture or spending time praising the Lord in song. For example, in seeking quietness I might pray through a verse from Isaiah (30:15): “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength…” But sometimes what I need most is simply a nap – and that’s the most “spiritual” thing I can be doing.
Whether we’re able to get away for a couple of hours, a couple of days, or not at all, the practice of solitude and silence can bring us not only into communion with God, but into a newfound freedom. Through it we can be released from the need to fill our time with words, distractions, self-soothing behavior, or the pressing desire for the approval of others. For when Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” we can believe and know that he is speaking to us.
As we meet with the God of the universe, the One who bids us call him Abba, we are changed into his likeness. His presence is beyond compare—far and above any murder mystery.
You may know that I run the Woman Alive Book Club. This month’s interview (reproduced here, uncut, with thanks to Woman Alive) is with the prolific writer, RT Kendall (author of over 50 books). He was the senior minister of Westminster Chapel in London for 25 years. He lives with his wife in Tennessee, and continues to preach, teach, and write.
I pray a lot about writing books and seek the leadership of the Holy Spirit in the entire process. I refuse to write until I am gripped. Some of my books were sermons. My book God Meant it for Good was a series of Sunday-night sermons on the life of Joseph from Genesis 37-50. They were originally typed from a tape recorder, then edited to make them more readable. The same is true of All’s Well that Ends Well (life of Jacob) and A Man After God’s Own Heart (life of David). But other books I type at my computer. Sometimes a publisher will ask for a particular subject, sometimes I will get inspired to write on a subject. I like to think that at the bottom of all this is the anointing of the Holy Spirit. But at the end of the day no matter how inspired I may feel if people don’t purchase the books they won’t get read!
Total Forgiveness has sold the most copies (also in 20 languages) of my books and I have received the most letters from people who read it. That book has apparently healed marriages, got family members speaking to each other. I could almost have a book made up of testimonies of readers.
There is not a pastor who does not have people say, “I know God forgives me but I cannot forgive myself.”Totally Forgiving Ourselves has set people free in a wonderful way, but I give God all the glory for this. It’s not me. I have had to do what I tell people to do – I had to forgive myself for not being the good parent I should have been when the children were growing up. I put my church and sermon preparation first thinking I was putting God first. I now believe if I had put my family first I would have preached just as well but I can’t get those years back. I have forgiven myself – I really have! And this has helped others to do the same.
I have been criticized for the title of my latest book – Totally Forgiving God – and I understand this. It sounds like God is guilty of something. But he is absolutely pure, just, and righteous. That said, he allows things to happen which he could have stopped (since he is omnipotent). We have to forgive him – set him free, let him off the hook – for the things he allowed to happen. The book is largely an exposition of the Book of Habakkuk and demonstrates how we must wait until the Last Day for God to clear his Name. I have received testimonies of people who said that book set them free.
We love Britain and would live there tomorrow if we could. It is too expensive. My best friends are in Britain; my happiest memories are in Britain. It was at Oxford I received my research degree; it was in London I was given an international platform. I would never have written a book had I been pastor elsewhere. So I am grateful to God for the privilege of having lived in England. Louise and I take every opportunity to visit when we can. The nostalgia is deep in us.
When I was young I identified with Joseph. Now that I am old I identify with Jacob. When I read about Jonah I say “I am Jonah” – the Jonah who went the opposite direction from what he was told to do; I am also the carnal Jonah who pouted from not being vindicated. My latest book to be published in the USA is on Elijah. I identify with him – a very self-centered man who took himself too seriously.
My book on David is called A Man After God’s Own Heart. I identify with him in many ways, especially in his days of preparation before he became King. But what I admire most about David was how he handled himself when in exile and let God do the vindicating.
Although I have not written a book on Paul – only preached from his letters – he is the one I look forward to talking with in heaven. I want to see what marks he will give me for how well I interpreted Romans, Galatians and all his Epistles. I will also ask him, “Did you write Hebrews?” (I think he did, but nobody agrees with me).
“Who, being in very nature God,did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!” Philippians 2:6–8
I love this modern sculpture of the human Jesus, held by his mother. From a cathedral in Germany – wish I took better notes back then! Think it was in Dresden.
We have come to one of the most well-known and well-loved passages from Paul’s letters, the humiliation and exaltation of Christ. Over the centuries, scholars have debated whether Paul based this part of his letter on an hymn of the early church. We can’t be sure, but we know that Paul longs that the church at Philippi would die to their own agendas and squabbles so that they could have the same mindset as Christ.
As Paul sits in chains, probably wondering if he’ll be executed, he emphasizes to the church at Philippi the saving and freeing work of Jesus. Though Jesus was of the same nature as God – they were of the same divine substance – he humbled himself and became a man. That Jesus became fully human while still being fully God meant that he could become a bridge between us and God; he lowered himself so that we could have union with God.
We’ll never be able to humble ourselves as much as Jesus did. But because he emptied himself, as we grow in his likeness, we too can grow in humility and servanthood. Our old self, marked by pride and ambition, recedes in the background as we increasingly exude gentleness and humility.
Ponder the deep sacrifice Jesus made in taking human form.
Lord Jesus Christ, you emptied yourself so that I might be free. May I share this freedom with others. Amen.
Ever notice how we feel envy at those just up a level from us, in our chosen field? So, for instance, I don’t feel jealous about Anne Graham Lotz’s publicity or multi-book contracts. She’s a planet away from where I think I could ever be as an author. But that new memoir doing the rounds by the woman living in Midwest of America? In unguarded moments I let myself wonder, could that have been me? Could I be the one living in the Midwest, the state in which I was born, close to my family of origin (taking part in family birthday celebrations and mother/sister shopping expeditions)? With my book jacket getting exposure and all those radio interviews and endorsements and reviews? With blogs and Facebook shares and retweets?
The view during a recent trip with treasured friends. How can I not give thanks?
But that’s not my life, my lot. And an author in the Midwest could look at me and say, Wow. She gets to lead a retreat in sunny Spain. She has stacks of free review books. She meets amazing authors. She lives in LONDON, after all. How cool is that? Castles and cathedrals and a multicultural city and the land of Mr Darcy.
Why aren’t we content? Why do we compare? Why do we let what is healthy get covered in an insidious green slime? Why do we let envy eat away at what is God’s gift for us? I don’t want to let this deadly sin reign in my life. And deadly this sin is – when I exercise it, I become a smaller person. Less interested in others. Not grateful for the manifold gifts God bestows on me. Not walking with God in wonder, practicing his presence, with him ushering in the Kingdom.
And so I choose to bless that author in the Midwest. I pray she will make connections with her readers and that God will be glorified. That she will add to the discussion of life and faith and what is true and good and beautiful.
And I will count my blessings. My family, here and across the ocean. My circles of friends. The words I get to write. The trips I get to take. The books I get to review. A front tooth presented to me by CutiePyeGirl yesterday, complete with a sloppy kiss. The surprise affirmation the Vicar-with-whom-I-sleep just received. The glimpses of Oxford Street I took in yesterday after my author meeting – the lights and activity and man-sized Lego Santa. The unbidden, “I love you” from PyelotBoy.
And with King David, I say
Lord, you’re my portion
You’re my cup
You make my lot secure.
And Lord, those boundary lines?
They’re in pleasant places.
Thank you.
I’m content.
I’m grateful.
I’m yours.
How bout you? What feelings are you letting reign today?
I returned home from our wonderful week in Northumberland, feeling spent from a summer and autumn filled with good things: Our family’s five weeks in the States. Leading a meaningful and sun-filled retreat in Spain. A trip to the States to play with my high-school friends at the lake where they filmed Dirty Dancing and to celebrate family birthdays. And most recently our jaunt up to the wilds of the Northeast of England, venturing into the rugged coast and atmospheric castles.
Photo by cod_gabriel as found on flickr
Although I knew I was facing a first-world problem of exhaustion from too much fun and travel, I was wiped out. And so I wasted more time than I like to admit early this week watching episode after episode of Scandal, a drama based in my former home of Washington, DC. The storylines gripped me and I loved seeing the beautiful buildings of my former stomping grounds. But watching so many episodes when I should have been spending my time with more fruitful pursuits – gardening or decluttering would have been more fulfilling – left me with another shame hangover.
Shame hangover – such a descriptive term, which Brené Brown employs in her acclaimed TED talks and book Daring Greatly. I spoke last week of my shame hangover related to my flapping mouth and unholy moments while at Holy Island, which many of you responded to with forgiving love and sometimes a knowing, “I’ve been there.”
Shame can stick to us like a new set of clothes, ones we don that can become sealed into our skin. So familiar they can become that we don’t know how to operate without them. And so like Eustace Scrubb in CS Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, we need to remove them with God’s help, in a sometimes painful manner. Eustace, you may recall, had been turned into a dragon through his dragony greed and selfishness. He meets a lion (Aslan), who asks him to undress. Eustace peels off a few layers of dragon – of selfishness and pride – but remains a dragon. The only way to undragon is for Aslan to bring about a deeper cure – one that sinks deep to his heart and hurts greatly, but brings about a new person.
I’ve been thinking lately about the old self and the new, for not only at our conversion do we shed our old self with its sinful practices and take on the new self. This process of putting on the new self is continual, as the apostle Paul writes to the church at Ephesus: “You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in the true righteousness and holiness.” (4:22-24)
His verbs are active in the Greek – we put off our old self and put on the new. Our new clothes are no longer the rags of shame, but the royal robes of daughters and sons. Indeed, we are clothed with Jesus himself. But we don’t always wear our new robes. We slink back to the rags, perhaps through exhaustion or weariness. When we tire of the shame hangover, we can release it over to God, asking for forgiveness and for him to fill us with his Holy Spirit, that we might be empowered to live the forgiven life.
So as I get back to a structured routine, one not filled with countless episodes of spin-doctors, I come before God and ask him to help me wear his richly colored robes as I shed the ragged shame-inducing garments. Here’s to being forgiven!
A statue from a cathedral in Germany (sorry, can’t remember which one), depicting the Trinity.
“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus…” Philippians 2:5
How can fallen human beings have the same mindset of Christ, he who was without sin? “Impossible!” we might think. And it would be impossible, but for the mystery of Christ’s incarnation and for the filling of the Holy Spirit in the life of the believer. Paul writes of this truth in another epistle, “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27), or as Jesus prayed for his disciples – and for us – on the night before he died, “I in them and you in me” (John 17:23). Jesus dwells in us, just as he dwells in the Father. This is the wonderful embracing dance of the Trinity, who welcomes us into their circle of love.
When we learn to continually call to mind the amazing truth that God lives in us, our outlook changes and we begin to see the world through God’s eyes. A thought drops into our head from seemingly nowhere, filled with insight and wisdom that we would have to admit is beyond us. Peace washes over us in the midst of harsh circumstances. We find the strength to forgive the friend who betrayed us. We humble ourselves and put first the needs of our spouse, friend, stranger or child. We receive help at the precise moment of our need.
How might having Christ’s mind change your world today?
Lord Jesus Christ, help us to remain in you even as you remain in us. May we keep your commandments and remain in your love. Amen.
As I walked into the converted railway station, I caught my breath. Was this paradise?
People nestled around a crackling fire, gathering their hot drinks and cookies to settle in with a good book. I looked at the shelves, hardly knowing where to stay my gaze, titles vying for my attention. My fleeting glance took in a new biography about Anne Frank. A Second World War book my husband would like. The Kazuo Ishiguro novel I had lent out before reading and never got back.
I ventured past the first room, my senses on overload. Above me was a massive mural of famous authors, commissioned by the owners. On the top of the stacks ran a miniature train, chugging along. Snippets of poetry sang from the walls and on signs between the stacks. I could hardly breathe, trying to take it all in.
Philosophy, religion, biography, fiction. I moved into the main room not knowing where to start. All these volumes, so much love and care poured into their creation, then cast off by their first (or second, or third) owners. Now here to be discovered and loved again. Those from centuries gone by, locked in cabinets, their prices dear. Books from recent years, carefully arranged by category and alphabet.
I wandered throughout the stacks, fingering books, overwhelmed. After jumping from section to section, unable to form a systematic plan of browsing, I came upon an article from the Newcastle Journal featuring the owners of this amazing secondhand bookshop in Alnwick, Northumberland. Reading it filled my craving for setting and character related to this magnificent place, and my heartbeat started to slow.
Barter Books was the brainchild of an American woman and an Englishman – a strikingly good combination, I’d say. Mary and Stuart Manley met on a trans-Atlantic flight when Stuart, captured by the intriguing woman across the way, tried to figure out a way to meet her. He pondered through the first in-flight film and then hatched a plan. He dropped a note in her lap, saying, “If you want to talk to me, raise your hand.” Although she had requested a seat on her own, wanting to spend the time reading, she thought, “This is too good – so I raised my hand.” They talked the whole flight and married three years later.
Stuart’s passion had been for model trains, and he ran a small shop in the old Alnwick rail station for ten years, struggling to stay afloat with issues of cash-flow and never reaching comfortable success. Mary loved books, and on a trip to Lindisfarne to do some voluntary work she came up with the idea of starting a secondhand bookshop. “I thought maybe I could start a secondhand bookshop and call it Barter Books, have a little barter system.”
Spot the train?
They started it in a tiny part of the building, and it soon became apparent that second-hand books were the way to go. They sold off the rail models, which cleared off their overdraft and enabled them to invest in remodeling the railway station – a strategy they have employed since they started the bookshop in 1991. As Mary says, “We’d make a bit of money and then throw it back into the shop. We still do – it’s our pleasure really and it’s good business too.”
The rail station was built in the 1880s and closed in 1968. It’s a massive structure for a small town, brought about by the influence of the Percy family, who have held the title of Duke or Earl of Northumberland since the Middle Ages. Stuart says, “They built this station because of the Duke of Northumberland and to impress visiting royalty and that kind of thing, so that it would be a showpiece for the North East Railway. It was only a 7,000 population town – it hardly merits a wooden hut never mind a twin-barrelled 32,000 square feet railway station.”
The poster, which found fame through word-of-mouth excitement by visitors to Barter Books.
Barter Books not only breathes new life into a disused railway station and feeds booklovers’ obsession, it birthed a modern phenomenon. Early in the millennium, Stuart bought a lot of books at auction. Although the books weren’t worth much, a folded poster in one of them was: the now ubiquitous poster from the Second World War, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” They thought it was wonderful so hung it on the wall, and people started asking where they could buy it. They made copies and it became hugely famous. As Stuart says, “We had no idea when we found it that it was going to grow into such a monster.”
Mary adds, “We haven’t got rich on it because it’s out of copyright. In fact, we’ve learned what sharks there are out there. One man tried to sue us for selling any of it, because he wanted to establish a copyright for himself. You really learn.”
The amazing author mural, which took two years to paint.
Pulse regulated, I was ready to browse the books, on the lookout for gems. I worked from one room to the other, spending the most time in the religion and biography sections. I was bemused to see a compilation book from my division when I was an editor at HarperCollins in the religion stacks, but was disappointed that the books on writing were on the paltry side. (Later, after I had made my purchase and was nearly ready to go, I discovered in a separate room the volumes on bookbinding and typesetting – an area to explore during my next visit.) I toyed with buying an early copy of Cranford by “Mrs Gaskell,” but decided I shouldn’t spend the money and bought the £2 film-tie-in paperback instead.
Your local bookshop might not live in a former railway station, but it too will house gems that only need uncovering. If we don’t support these vital repositories of stories, learning, and enrichment, they will become relics of an age gone by.
Thanks to Mary Manley for permission to include her and Stuart’s quotes from the interview with the Newcastle Journal. I happened upon her in the First Waiting Room during my second visit and enjoyed our conversation, two Midwesterners now living in the UK.
PyelotBoy, CutiePyeGirl, and I have had fun reading through some of my blogs this week. They’ve been enraptured by my writing (ha!), listening intently as I recounted my embarrassing encounter at the tea room in Lindisfarne. So they wanted to introduce themselves. PyelotBoy typed his first draft without me (but as I harp on again and again with my authors, good writing is rewriting, so I helped him with that) and CutiePyeGirl dictated hers to me. Enjoy!
My amazing blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As barely any people know who I am in Amy’s stories, I am often referred to as PyelotBoy, a name which our friend Mike Jowett made up.
If you would like to learn more about me then read on!!!!!
I am ten years old. I love sport, especially football/soccer [editor’s note: he loves American football too, but the Premier League unfortunately takes precedent], but like my dad I like cricket. If you have anything to ask me about football/soccer I could probably answer the question correctly.
My birthday was just recently and I got an iPod touch as well as a the new Chelsea kit which you can find a picture of on Facebook (if you are my mom’s friend).
Like my dad, I also know a lot about history and I already have plans for later on in life about history. When I am older I want to be a history lecturer at uni. An amazing fact I know about the Victorians: that the 7th earl of Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, was the president of the ragged school union. He also has a statue of him made from copper coins, which is called the Eros because he loved the poor.
I am dyspraxic, so it makes it very hard to do certain things such as cutting and drawing so I am not very creative. I was diagnosed in July of this year so now I am finding it a bit easier because at school they help me more.
All About a Princess
Hi! I love art and I am good at it. My name here is CutiePyeGirl. I like school and I love my teacher because she is nice. Maths is my second favorite thing to do. I like a show called Strictly Come Dancing because it shows my favorite sport. My favorite couples on Strictly Come Dancing are a girl called Abbey and a boy called Aljaz, and also Susanna and Kevin. There was a girl called Deborah and a boy called Robin who were in a dance-off and they went out of the competition. I was sad when they left.
I have been on loads of adventures and they were fun. I went to America this summer and we had a roadtrip. We had a swap-over of our house with people in Minnesota. I went to a place called Arrowwood and they had two swimming pools. We went to the playground next door to the golf area. I got to see my grandparents and cousins and aunt and uncles.
I love singing, especially Jesse J’s “Pricetag” and I also like “Plastic Bag.” My favorite channel is CBBC.
I woke with a shame hangover. As thoughts of the previous day came rushing back to me, my face flushed with heat.
We were traveling on a budget – not uncommon for clergy and those doing so-called Christian work.* We were sharing lunch in a small coffee shop on Holy Island (Lindisfarne), having purchased some hot soup and drinks to supplement our sandwiches, which we (well, I) consumed with a tinge of shame. The quarters were crowded and we were verily on top of a couple who were enjoying their cream tea next to us.
They were decked out with the requisite waterproofs to protect against the fierce North Sea winds, which they now had mostly shed as they nursed their hot drinks. The woman delivered a string of comments and observations to her unsuspecting or long-suffering companion: “So do you think the gentleman at the hotel was in his seventies? Oh, look, they’re sitting out there in the cold. Oh, they have a dog. That must be why. It’s so windy out there. How’s your scone? I meant to tell you a story about Roger and Elspeth…”
Snatches of conversation drifted over, and I caught them unwillingly, wanting instead to focus on my family and my own lunch while feeling conspicuous, guessing that later over tea, we would be the subject of her conversation: “Oh, did you see that family at lunch? They brought their own sandwiches and ate them at the restaurant. I wonder if they don’t have much money. The little girl spilled her hot chocolate all over, didn’t she. Shame. They were British, but not the mother. She was American, I think. The boy refused to eat the roll they had brought. How old do you think the children were? I suppose primary school…”
Something about her continual chatting drained me, and I was eager to leave and experience the space of the island. Finally lunch consumed, spilled hot chocolate cleaned, we left to explore the Priory and the Scriptorium. We enjoyed the majestic ruins of the centuries-old Priory, trying to imagine the early Christians and their life in these fierce conditions. A few hours later, my husband’s drinks routine made a 4pm stop for tea essential. “I don’t want to go back to that same place,” I said. “We were all on top of each other.” And I felt some guilt for having brought our own food into their establishment earlier.
We found a coffee shop bulging with paraphernalia. Old newspaper articles covered the walls, along with fishing traps and cricket bats. The place was empty save for one woman in the corner, turned away from us.
Cakes and tea bought, we settled in the other corner. I had tucked away the exasperation at lunchtime, and now presented my family with my self-important observations: “Oh, I’m so glad we have space here. I felt so hemmed in at lunch. And that woman next to us. Goodness, she just kept going on and on, talking about so many people. Two hands, PyelotBoy; you’ll spill your tea. Her husband didn’t seem to get a word in edgewise. She just kept talking and talking…”
Rant off my chest, I turned to my tea. But I had missed a crucial piece of information that PyelotBoy had keenly observed as we entered the café: that our lone shared café dweller, now silent, was actually… that woman. Of all of the people on the island, we were together again.
He tried to tell me over our tea, and slowly the realization dawned. I had loudly disparaged of “that woman,” and with only us in the café, she couldn’t have helped but hear my cutting comments. The minutes ticked away slowly, shame creeping into my pores. PyelotBoy, in contrast, could hardly contain his glee at my gaffe – very funny from a ten-year-old’s point of view.
I suffered in silence, and eventually the woman got up, thanked the proprietor for a lovely cup of tea, and excused herself to the loo. I thought she’d never leave. I grabbed as a cover the English Heritage children’s activity sheet from the Priory, searching for anything to distract the attention off of me and my shameful act. Reading aloud from it, I used it to shield me from any accusing glance of the woman as she left the café.
I kept checking the reflection in the glass to see if she was leaving. Finally relief washed over me when she walked out, accompanied by PyelotBoy’s peal of laughter, “Mom, you said all of that in front of her! She heard you talk about her!”
“I know. I’m mortified. That was so terrible. I feel so bad! Guys, let me tell you what that was. That’s called gossiping. I gossiped about someone and she actually heard me. Please learn from my mistakes, for that was sooo wrong.”
“I love to gossip!” PyelotBoy said, in that preteen state of silliness, wanting to oppose his parents and wind them up but not fully ensconced yet in teen rebellion.
“But look at what gossip can do,” I said. “That woman must have heard me, and think of how I must’ve hurt her, with me saying how she talked and talked about everyone. Well, she’ll certainly have something to tell her husband now. Not good. I never should have said that.”
“We know what your sorry prayer is going to be tonight!” said my husband with a laugh.
“Yep, no question. I feel horrible.”
And that shame stayed wrapped around me, like a coat I couldn’t cast off, for the rest of the day and evening. I had modeled bad behavior to the kids. Here on Holy Island I was distinctly not holy. I could only hope that my kids would see the effect of shame. And sin. And the forgiveness God gives.
That constricting and leaden cloak remained until I took it off with God’s help. I poured out my heart before him, asking for forgiveness and expressing my sorrow over my caustic words. By Jesus dying on the cross, I could be free of the weight of the shame; it would now not seep into the very fabric of who I was. I no longer would be called Gossip, but Beloved.
Have your words caused you to stumble? How have you found relief?
*I don’t like to describe it as such for all work, whether in the general marketplace or that of ministry, can be done for the glory of God and therefore be termed Christian. And yes, although on a budget, I acknowledge that we spend a significant portion of our finances on travel as we love experiencing the world and opening up our children’s eyes.
