Sunday, July 1, 2007, 9:18 A.M.

“Now in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip was tetrarch of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias was tetrarch of Abilene, in the high priesthood of Annas and Caiphas, the word of God came to John, the son of Zacharias, in the wilderness.” Luke 3:1, 2

After a list of qualified rulers and educated ministers, the word of God arrives in the heart of an unknown in a desert place. And it isn’t the first time this happens in Scripture (“Samuel, Samuel!”), or in history recorded since (Martin Luther).

My pastor asked me about the origin of the spoken message I delivered last week, wondering if maybe something he said prompted the thing. “No,” I said, “the truth is I sat down in a huff when the worship leader started his spiel about praying for America and the world and everything. I was frustrated, asking God to help me and somehow, miraculously, to break through upon His people. When I shut up, I heard.”

He listened, and then started talking out the experience as he thought about it, about hearing the voice of God when we’re angry and dissatisfied; in other words, when we haven’t “prepared our hearts” according to normal expectations. Finally, he said, “So there are times where, by not participating, we are in a better place to hear the voice of the Lord.”

I was glad when our conversation was interrupted because it was getting uncomfortable. Light was dawning, and it was freaking me out (him too, I think), because the implication is that all the normal “fluff stuff” we do in church might actually be getting in the way of our spiritual receptivity. Maybe we need to get a little stranger in how we live, take a step back. Maybe what we need is to become “a voice of one crying in the wilderness.”

* * *

Wednesday morning I was feeling rather worn down by my job. I work for the only local beverage company that doesn’t hire summertime helpers for the drivers. Most companies do so to alleviate some of the stress drivers are under in the busier summer months, and to help avoid fatigue and injuries. The company I work for chooses to save a few dollars by not hiring helpers. (It costs them more in the long run, but like many corporations, they’re penny wise and dollar stupid.)

Anyway, I wasn’t actively thinking about it, but in my soul I am often troubled by where God has placed me. Wednesday morning, I came to these lines in Psalm 30:

What profit is there in my blood, if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise You? Will it declare Your faithfulness?
Hear, O LORD, and be gracious to me;
O LORD, be my helper.
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness,
That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.

“Oh LORD, be my helper.” I read it and laughed out loud, it seemed so ridiculous.

But all week long it was an encouragement and a prayer on my lips. It struck my spirit like an unexpected note from a lover. Just God reminding me, “I know you. I know where you are. I’m with you. I want to be your Comforter, your Paracletos, the One who’s alongside you, yoked with you. Enjoy the relationship and leave the circumstances to Me.”