impenetrable

Recently, I've been reading segments of "Devotional classics" by Richard Foster, as part of my devotional time. Wow! I marvel at the depth of the spiritual giants who have walked before me. My faith seems so puny compared to theirs. Wait, no, scratch that. It doesn't just seem puny; I see it clearly for what it is: puny, period.

True, I am a follower of Christ, but my faith doesn't always play out the way I hope. While some seek first the kingdom of God, I feel like I spend most days seeking my own comfort and contentment. The journals and prayers of the saints teach me more of what it means to pray, suffer, yearn and die.

But, today, I didn't feel like I learned anything. I was reading excerpts from Lancelot Andrews' "Private devotions". Lancelot (1555-1626) was a member of the Puritans and is remembered as an outstanding figure in the Anglican church. It is said of his prayers that they "lift the mind up to God".

But as I read them, I didn't feel anything lift. On the contrary, I felt like a car, newly coated in wax, that water just can't penetrate. The Scriptures I read afterward didn't seem to sink in, either. I felt as if I were made of some sort of impenetrable stone, and God's goodness and truth and light just couldn't break through.

I walked away from my quiet time, my mind and heart full of questions. Was God being silent? Was I being resistant? I share this not because I want pity or prayers or answers (though I could probably use all of the above ;) but because it's part of our common experience as believers. Sometimes we may feel as if our prayers are bouncing off the ceiling. We feel God's distance rather than God's presence. At times like these, we can only cling to II Corinthians 5:7, "We walk by faith and not by sight."