Prayer Project for ISF- assigned by Dr.Coe following a lecture on the Maturing of the Saints...
In prayerful reflection I have considered the season several years ago when I was filled with the Holy Spirit to a degree that far surpassed my character. I believe this is why I am now in a season where I am resigning myself to the reality that what once motivated my soul to go forward is no longer sustainable. In November of 2017, following a season of traumatizing betrayals, I received such an inpouring of spiritual inspiration and consolation that I produced an abundance of writings which expressed what was going on inside my soul. I wrote hundreds of pages of material, some which are on this blog and some which are private, all of which seemed to come from outside of myself- when I look back and read it, I can scarcely believe that persuasive abundance of written words came from me.
My emotions long for the days of creative control.
My soul sings to the moon in the dark of night.
That work seems now to be foreign. The writing went on for a year, taking me through 2018 and coming to a standstill in 2019. Then I ran out of steam, and the inspiration just fell away. I wrote only two pieces last year, and it has been 9 months since I last created another entry. I now seem to be in a season where God has led me to the end of my flesh- I feel generally incapable of producing anything inspired and find it difficult for my spirit to receive motivation except for quick and unexpected spikes in moments of consolation that do not last for long. What swept me into seminary like a tidal wave has since become a thin trickle that dries up now and then. Here now I stand before God with empty hands- all the fire of my soul is behind me in this season. While I firmly believe He is doing a continued work within me that is even more purgative and transformational than in the past, I now experience very little in terms of inspiration, fire or motivation. Were it not for seminary, I wonder if I would be spiritually dead. Not even church on Sunday can rouse my passions any longer, and in this I have journeyed so far from the person I was not so long ago.
There is, however, an awareness in my soul of the seeds of new purpose. As my Lord continues to purge me of my passions from the past, and to separate my true identity from my wounds, I know He prepares me to shed the old man and clothe myself with Christ. But the process is painful, and the season I find myself in today is in opposition to the desire of my senses.
I am at a crossroads where I hunger to continue finding meaning in relational wounds of the past- because these hurts were followed by such dramatic consolation for my soul, I have begun to crave that spiritual pleasure which proceeded from emotional pain.
But my Lord has taken away from me the brute strength and propulsion of offense, and in that vacancy I can find nothing adequate to refill my soul. I am now experiencing the insatiable and decrepit hunger of my vices- my attachments are fleeting and ever-changing, my ability to withdraw into myself entirely instinctual, my skill in distancing myself from relationship stronger than ever.
My emotions wander like a visceral vagabond, vascillating between loyalty and rejection of relationship with my God, myself and others.
My emotions long for the days of creative control.
My soul sings to the moon in the dark of night.
I do realize in moments of spiritual clarity that my flesh desires the very things which make me despondent- offense, bitterness, anger, relational conflict, wounding and revenge. I long for the fruits of Egypt rather than the manna of the desert. I desire these because they make me feel alive and give me purpose and bring me the attention from God that I long for- rivers of consolation which fill me with the experience of an internal sea of living water. This is why my abundance of writing was so natural several years ago, because it was fueled by the fires of woundedness and the consolation of the Holy Spirit in response.
Now, in the interim between offence and identity, I am called to silence, solitude and tranquility of spirit. This calling is a purgation because I long to be filled with the consolation that comes only after a piercing of the heart, and instead I am given the gentle presence of a non-anxious God who wants only to minister quietly to the empty places- He cannot do His best work if those places of my heart are full of the many things which get in the way. Here instead of passion He sends me shafts of sunlight and choruses of birds in the day, the glow of the moon and melodies of owls in the night, a rocking chair for contemplation and prayer projects for purgation.
Windchimes ride the wind
in response to my repose.
But the wild vices of my heart long for the days when I was fueled by the fires of injustice and the consolation of the God who responded to my pain with deep inspiration. This calling now to a season of purgative stillness is one that stretches the capacity of my soul to someday receive the fruits of this despondent waiting. Here my soul must resign. Here I wait for the fresh outpouring of His hidden work within my soul.
Amen.
