A few weeks ago I spoke to the Singles group at North Point Community Church. After about 30 minutes of message we did 30 minutes of Q&A. People in the crowd texted questions that popped up on a laptop on stage. One of the questions asked was, “Will you please show us your mad rapping skilz?”
That is a legitimate request because, bottom line, sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick. But I told the crowd that I had signed documentation that I would not rap in pastor Andy Stanley’s house. Much like Run DMC’s jam “Run’s House,” that was Andy Stanley’s home. As much as I would have liked to flow, I had to respect whose house it was.
After navigating that question, someone asked me what my favorite book was. I started to immediately think of a book that would make me sound cool. (I’m insecure, see posts 1-655 for background). Maybe something by Goethe, Sorrows of Young Werther, or perhaps I could have said some obscure Henri Nouwen book, who I do love but not as a favorite book of all time. I was about to bust out a fake answer, I was about to say it, when I heard a voice in the crowd yell something. Who was it? …
My wife.
Out of nowhere I heard her yell, “Robert Jordan!”
Busted! She was right. If you judge a favorite book by the number of times you’ve read it then my favorite book of all time, save for the Bible of course (Christian disclaimer), is “The Eye of the World” by Robert Jordan. It’s a fantasy novel that my wife claims has a unicorn on the cover. (It’s a beautiful white horse! There’s a big difference.)
At the heart of the book are all the kind of magicy stuff you find in most fantasy books. Villains with evil powers. Heroes with good powers, etc. Usually, whether it’s Harry Potter or Wheel of Time, Christians tend to stay away from anything magic flavored. That’s definitely outside of our normal travels, except when it comes to our quiet times.
What’s that? Quiet times? Surely no. I say surely yes! In fact, I realized recently that I treat my quiet times a lot like a magic spell.
I might not have goat’s blood or unicorn horn pixy dust and chant anything, but I definitely mix the elements of my quiet time up sometimes like I’m trying to make God magically appear.
I sit down some mornings and say:
“OK God, where are you today? What do you want me to do? What if I journalled for a few minutes and then read my Bible and then read a few pages of Donald Miller’s new book? Is that the right order? You want me to skip journaling and go right to prayer?
Ten minutes later …
“Hmmm, I’m not getting anything from you right now. You seem really quiet God. Am I not saying the right kind of prayer? Do you want me to pray in the ACTS format, Adoration, Confession, Supplication, and Thanksgiving? Let’s try that.”
Ten minutes later …
“OK, I’m still not hearing you. Is it the room? Am I in the wrong place? Do you want me to go somewhere quieter? Maybe outside? Yeah, that’s it. If I stare at the sunrise maybe that will do the trick. I wish I had access to a vista. It seems like every Christian CD I get or spiritual calendar I see has someone standing on a rocky knoll looking out over the horizon with arm’s stretched wide open like Creed toward you. I wish I had a knoll or a vista of some sort.”
And so on.
It’s exhausting and ultimately kind of dumb too. God is not in heaven wearing Jon-sized handcuffs. He is not up there thinking, “Oh man, oh man, I have a really important message for Jon today. Let’s hope he does the right sequence of quiet time activities so I’ll be able to tell him.”
He’s God. He wants me in His presence. He’s not bound by a formula. He doesn’t need my magical quiet time routine to unleash him.
And I don’t need to invite my wife to anymore of my speaking engagements. But that’s another story for another day.
