Dryness

"Once God has spoken." That's a line for this morning's psalm.  It then continues, "twice I have heard this: that power belongs to God."  But I was already stuck on the first part. Sometimes this is what communication with God feels like to me, so infrequent that I might say, "I heard God speak once."

One of the more common spiritual complaints I've heard over the years is about what many have labeled "dryness."  I called it that myself before learning that it was a well established term to describe those periods when prayer or meditation or Bible reading feel empty. Perhaps that is why Psalm 42 begins, "As the deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God."

I can never remember who said it (I think it was someone from the Alban Institute.), but I've always remembered this succinct comment about Mainline Church difficulties.  "People come to us seeking an experience of God, and we give them information about God."  Thirsty people come to our churches, and we talk a lot about water, but don't seem actually to have any. Turns out that thirsty people aren't really much interested in complex discussions about how water works, its molecular properties, or its capacity to wear down rocks dripping over the eons.  They just want a drink of water.

The possibilities for quenching spiritual thirst seem to multiply continually.  There are more spiritualities available than one can count. (If you don't believe me, check out the category in a Barnes & Noble or browse it online.) Such proliferation suggests a lot of dryness and thirst out there, and so it seems that any church that provided a good watering hole would be overwhelmed with folks. But on the whole, most congregations experience a different dryness.  They are parched for people.

 Not that Mainline churches haven't tried to address this. We recognize that something is wrong, and if you look around, you will find every sort of experimentation with worship. Contemporary, traditional, weekly communion, Taize, informal, and more; and on a variety of days and at a variety of times. Sometimes such experimentation has indeed produced a long, deep drink of cool water. But other times it seems the proverbial "rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic."

I think this morning's psalm may provide a little help in understanding why worship works or fails, regardless of style.  "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from God comes my salvation. God alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall never be shaken." A lot of activity in churches is little more than institutional machinations, new and creative ways to talk about water.  Very often it forgets about God. I does not wait for God or trust that God is there.  Instead it desperately attempts to create that which it seeks.

We are about to enter into Advent, a time of waiting. Waiting is a much neglected discipline in our world. It does not feel productive or busy or any of the other things that our culture so values.  But waiting is the spiritual equivalent of listening, an attentiveness that allows the other to speak. Maybe the lack of such attentiveness is one reason God seems to speak so infrequently.  Come to think of it, maybe that's the reason we so seldom actually hear one another.

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