Thirst

I recently spent a wonderful week at Duke Divinity School for study leave and blogged about the "holy discomfort" I felt during one of the worship services I attended in Goodson Chapel and about how that was probably a very good experience for me to have.  Well, there were also moments of quiet reflection and stillness that suited me much better, and during one of those periods of silence in the chapel, I noticed the words on this side of the communion table -- "I thirst."  Apparently the other side reads, "Alleluia," and is therefore appropriate during the rest of the church year, but as I was unable to get a picture, I'll have to take everyone's word for it.

"I thirst" caught my eye partly because every other communion table I have ever seen bears some version of  "Do this in remembrance of me" on it, and partly because the theme of "thirst" keeps cropping up in my life. The day before I started my study leave, the senior pastor where I serve had preached on thirsting for God from Psalm 42 and 43, and just outside the entrance to the chapel, my eyes were drawn to these two beautiful artistic renditions of those very psalms.

As I marveled at the coincidental timing of that particular sermon and my visit to this place with that communion table and those particular psalms so prominently displayed, the words of one of Charles Wesley's hymns sprang into my mind.  "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" is one of my very favorite hymns, and there is so much rich imagery to feast upon, but these lines especially fit with this theme of thirsting and yearning for the only One who can truly satisfy and make us whole and holy --

Plenteous grace with thee is found, 

grace to cover all my sin; 

let the healing streams abound; 

make and keep me pure within. 

Thou of life the fountain art; 

freely let me take of thee; 

spring thou up within my heart, 

rise to all eternity. 

Charles Wesley died at his London home on March 29, 1788, praising God and creating poetry to express that praise almost to the very end.  In his long life, he had experienced that deep thirst for the assurance that he belonged to God, that his sins had been forgiven, and that he would be made and kept "pure within," and in his verse, he gave voice to that in a way no one before or since has been able to do.  He and his elder brother John trusted in the love and grace of Christ and spent themselves in sharing that good news to as many people as they could for as long as they could.  They had taken of the fountain of life and felt it spring up within their warmed hearts, and they yearned for others to be splashed with those healing streams.  It was never just about quenching their own thirst for salvation; it was always about leading others to that "plenteous grace" found in Christ. 

I sat and pondered all these things over the next few days.  It made me wonder if my own thirst is more about what I want or if I am truly allowing the Holy Spirit to take me into unfamiliar places in order to guide other thirsty souls towards God even when it is uncomfortable and strange.  And it made me wonder if there ever comes a time when that thirst is completely satisfied on this side of the grave.  If the accounts of the deaths of Charles and John are accurate at all, they kept on thirsting to be used by God right on up until they drew their last breaths.  That is quite a model for the rest of us, but is it impossible?   If we keep these images and these words before our eyes and in our hearts and in our lives, I believe we will find that our thirst is paradoxically both quenched and quickened, until the day comes when we take of that fountain of grace in the kingdom of God and it rises up in our hearts to all eternity, too.  What do you think?

A Little Holy Discomfort

While at Duke for a week of study leave, I have been attending worship services, reading in the Divinity School library, poring over letters to and from the Wesleys in the Rare Book Room, and conversing with others here for the same purpose.  And I've been walking the halls of Duke Divinity School, a place I once knew very well, a place where I spent 7 mostly happy years, a place that has changed radically in the (ahem) several years since I was last enrolled here.

As I walk, I see all sorts of things.  The art on the walls.  The intensely colorful stained glass windows.  The church pews parked invitingly in every nook and cranny.  And I noticed this "notice" board.  It's like most of its kind in that it holds a lot of information:  invitations to eat for free, to experience a healing service, to attend the lecture of a visiting scholar -- and then there's the announcement that caught my eye in the first place, the dark blue notice in the bottom right hand space, a simple sign that invites the reader to respose, reflect, and refresh.

Some time ago, I wrote about many of the "R" words that described my sabbatical, and I included a picture from the New Room that featured a sign beckoning the passerby to reflect, relax, respond, and research.  Both the notice board from Duke and the sign outside the New Room in Bristol have one word in common, reflect.  To reflect can mean to simply shine back what is being beamed at you, but it can also mean to sit with something, to mull it over, to give it room in your heart as well as in your mind.  Reflecting isn't always easy or tranquil; it has been known to create a little holy discomfort, and that's part of what I'm experiencing this week.

And I'm in very good company, as it happens! On June 24, 1759, two decades after John Wesley first "submitted to be more vile" and preached in the open air, he noted approvingly in his journal that during the previous 2 days, he had preached to twice the number of people than could have fit into the preaching house there.  He wrote:

What marvel the devil does not love field preaching? Neither do I. I love a commodious room, a soft cushion, a handsome pulpit. But where is my zeal if I do not trample all these under foot in order to save one more soul? 

I love how real Wesley is.  I love that he's not too holy to admit that, even after 20 years of slogging through rain, snow, heat, mud, and every kind of weather in order to preach under trees, at the market cross, at the coal-face, and other undesirable locations, he'd still much prefer to be in a nice, dry, clean sanctuary with all the amenities.  Wesley was no masochist, and he didn't enjoy being reviled by mischief-makers, being regarded disapprovingly by his beloved Church of England, or being thought of as eccentric.  He was the very proper son of the Epworth rectory, Christ Church educated, and a Fellow of Lincoln College, but he didn't let personal preferences or inhibitions or rejection deter him from doing what he felt the Spirit empowering him to do.  No, Wesley took that holy discomfort to heart and he found himself, no, he put himself in situations and with people that were totally beyond his control or comfort level because he could see that doing so was bearing fruit in the changed lives of women and men who knew themselves to be loved by the God whose Son put himself in a place of holy discomfort on their behalf.

I thought about that today as I participated in a worship service that made me really uncomfortable.  I thought I knew what it was going to be like, and it was much louder, less structured, and more emotional than the worship experiences I typically lead or attend.  I found it hard to follow the unfamiliar songs, became distracted by the loud extemporaneous prayers of some of my fellow worshipers, and retreated into my head when things were at their most alien.  I knew I'd have to take some time to honestly reflect on the experience to see what was so disturbing about it and to honestly search for the fruit of the Spirit.  In doing so, I thought of Wesley.  Big shock, right?  I mean, this IS a blog called Travels With Wesley! 

I thought about Wesley, the little Oxford don who loved for things to be done decently and in order, whose carefully laid plans just kept going astray, and whose zeal for God exceeded his own desire for self-fulfillment.  When people shouted and even fell out during his worship services, his tidy, reasonable soul must have shrunk with horror, but he doggedly persisted, trusting that the Spirit might be up to something that he, John Wesley might find "vile" but which might just be an opening into the inauguration of the biggest revival movement Britain had ever witnessed.  And so, while I can't claim that I will ever feel at home with particularly emotional expressions of faith and prayer, I know that I need to live into that holy discomfort a little bit more, embracing the fact that the God of surprises is still in the business of stirring things up, whether I like it or not.

Remember John Wesley ... and St. Patrick

In honor of St. Patrick and of John Wesley, not a combination you probably expected, today's reflections feature a treasure in the keeping of the Methodist Church in Ireland.  Nearly three years ago, Scott, my daddy, and I visited Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, and one of the highlights was visiting the Methodist Archives at Edgehill Theological College in Belfast.  In addition to artefacts like a lock of Charles Wesley's hair and various bits of Wesleyana, the Archives boasts a number of letters to and from the Wesleys -- and the book pictured here.

Filled with the Holy Spirit, John Wesley visited Ireland twenty one times between 1747 and 1789, preaching, organizing societies and classes, and influencing thousands,  including Arthur Guinness -- yes, THAT Guinness.  Because of his insistence on ordinary Methodists as well as his preachers being a "reading people," Wesley published books inexpensively and distributed them widely.

This particular book was John's personal copy of his Notes on the New Testament, a volume he apparently had loaned out prior to his presentation of it to the preachers of Cork.  On the left hand page, an inscription in Wesley's own hand informs the reader that the book is the property of the Revd. Mr. Wesley and admonishes him or her not to write in it "or let it be dirtied."  On the title page, he inscribed the book as his gift to the preachers in Cork in 1785, a treasured gift that was surely much used and deeply cherished over the centuries.

I was so overcome with emotion at actually touching something belonging to John Wesley and seeing his handwriting that I could hardly speak.  Just imagine the effort it took for him to lug this weighty tome across the Irish Sea and through the countryside and towns as he embarked on his itinerant ministry there.  Imagine the immensity of the love he had for his preachers and for the crowds who thronged to hear him. Imagine their gratitude and joy at receiving this precious resource that was his very own possession. Imagine the white hot intensity of his fervor that compelled him to make the trip again and again, up until his 85th year. Most of all, imagine the zeal and passion he had for God, the same drive that had fueled the ministry of another Briton in Ireland, Patrick, centuries before.

Nobody (not even me) is going to dress up to celebrate Wesley on March 17, but perhaps you will pause as you eat your corned beef and cabbage just long enough to recall the dedication of a wee man who was afire with love of Christ and his neighbors, a man whose heart's desire was that all should know how deeply God cared for every single one of them.

Words from Wesley on A Divisive Spirit

Bust of John Wesley, Epworth 

I dislike your speaking of yourselves as though you were the only {ones} who know and taught the Gospel; ...But what I most dislike is your littleness of love...your want of union...your want of meekness, gentleness, long suffering; your impatience of contradiction; your counting every {person} your enemy that reproves or admonishes you in love; your bigotry and narrowness of spirit, loving in a manner only those that love you...your censoriousness... of all who do not agree with you; in a word, your divisive spirit. ~ John Wesley (letter to the perfectionists in London, November 2, 1762)

Give us your song, Lord

Give us your song, Lord

One we can sing together

For you are our hope

Give us your song, Lord

One filled with your love and grace

That we may be one

Give us your song, Lord

One that opens hearts, minds, doors

Let us be like you

Give us your song, Lord

One you sing in and through us

In love’s harmony

Give us your song, Lord

One sung by one thousand tongues

Music to your ears

Lent 2019, Just After General Conference

Sit with me awhile
Just here, amidst the ashes
Left by the bright flame

Hearts once strangely warmed
Are burning with words that hurt
Rather than the Word

Dear cross, your bright flame
Flickers as the Spirit weeps
O’er all God’s children

For none escape harm
When hearts warmed with anger
Do not display Love

Come, Holy Spirit
As you did so long ago
As you do today

Fill us with your grace
And with your love and power
Marked by cross and flame

Come to us again
Veni, Sancte Spiritus
Come as wind and flame

"Unity of affection is a good step forward toward unity of judgement"

John Wesley and the early Methodists were no strangers to conflict and disagreement and occasionally even to physical danger, but I have to believe he would have been taken aback by the degree of deep distrust and sheer mean-spiritedness of the recent General Conference.  One of its most noted features was its distinct lack of Christian love, let alone evidence of the much longed-for "way forward."  In the early days of the Methodist movement, Wesley profoundly admired the Moravians but they eventually parted ways because of theological differences, ending some friendly relationships and straining others nearly to the breaking point.  Finally, some 25 years after the last time he'd seen one of those former friends, James Hutton, they reunited and enjoyed a cordial, warm conversation, and he wrote Hutton the following letter a few days later -- 

December 26, 1771.

DEAR JAMES,--It really seems the time is come when our Lord will roll away our reproach, and Ephraim shall no more vex Judah, nor Judah vex Ephraim.

Frank Okeley and you, with my brother and me, so many at least, are lovers of peace. After having seen above half a century of years, we are sick of strife and contention. If we do not yet think alike, we may at least love alike. And, indeed, unity of affection is a good step forward toward unity of judgement. We need not despair of getting farther by-and-by: the right hand of the Lord bringeth mighty things to pass. Nothing will be wanting that is in the power of, dear James,

Your old friend and brother, JWesley

If church history teaches us anything, it is that things change, and sometimes, old conflicts are eventually resolved, olð disputes ended, old wounds healed.  Not always, of course, but sometimes our better angels do hold sway and lead us into paths of reconciliation. There's no way of knowing if a half century from now will show a very different picture from today's fragmentation within United Methodism, but if Wesley and James Hutton were able to love even where they could not think alike, it might not be unreasonable to hope for that, to work for that, and to pray for that in our own broken relationships.  At the very least, we should strive to love each other since we claim to love the same Lord, and who knows what might happen?  For as Wesley said, "unity of affection is a good step forward toward unity of judgement."  And after all, the hand of the Lord does indeed bring mighty things to pass, sometimes through us, sometimes in spite of us, and anytime that happens, whenever Love prevails, it is always a good step forward; it is God's way forward.