A few years ago, I went to a woman’s retreat. A coordinator handed me a piece of paper and asked if I would stand and read it aloud at a certain point during the message. I said that I would love to help, and she told me how I’d be signaled. She left, and I opened the paper. On it was written:
God cannot be with me when I sin.
I felt immediate tension. It grew. I couldn’t put the why into words.
I love it when I hear something and a scripture pops into my mind. When God’s word confirms its validity or rejects it—and the matter is settled.
But sometimes there is just uneasiness. A conviction that something is wrong but you can’t put your finger on it. Because a spoonful of truth helps a lie go down a little easier.
Worship was still happening at the retreat. I stood, clenching the paper, stealing a sideways glance down at the words every so often. My adult daughter was with me. It was a weekend away for us to connect.
I could not say those words to her.
I folded the paper back up. Worship ended. We sat, and I thought about whether I could speak those words over anyone. I pictured a scenario where a woman returned home, remembering only one thing from the entire weekend: that she was cut off from God. God could not be with her.
And the lie would be delivered in my voice.
That made me feel overwhelmed. Under no circumstances could I stand in that congregation and say those words.
Writers tend to elevate the written word. After all, Christ is The Word that dwelt among us. The world was created through him, the Word, and for him. But the words that created light were spoken, not written. And I’m not just thinking about words this way because I’ve started narrating! This women’s retreat happened long before I dreamed of reading books aloud. But, I’ve had to process it a little deeper because of a recent audio project where I recorded myself saying, “Sin is separation from God.”
The words we speak hold more significance than exposing what we believe in our heart. Words have the power to bless or curse. And not modern vernacular of colorful language curse, but to speak harm into existence over a soul.
So—I went back to the woman coordinating the conference and told her I could not stand before the congregation and speak those words of alienation.
She said, “That’s fine.” Then looked at me, intently, and said, “Someone else will do it.”
I returned to my seat but couldn’t focus.
What do you do when lies are shared from the pulpit? Do you get up and quietly leave? Do you create dissension with your whispering and try to stage a coup? Do you stand up in the midst and rebuke? Many people seem to want the latter. To scream their voice out above the rest. I was in a church once where a man cried out, “Heresy” to the pastor, and the security team physically removed him. I cried all day. It partly inspired the scene in my fiction book, “Heart of Petra.” Discord among the brethren.
Shaking, I left my seat and found the woman again. I was trying to be brave for the sake of others, and told her that no one should stand up and say those things. Sometimes I think I’m a good communicator. But then things like the following happen.
She assured me that that statement was going to be read, even if I would not do it. Those words would be spoken over my daughter, and the entire congregation. She would see to it, regardless of how I felt.
I returned to my seat, wondering if there were only two options: to create chaos, or be an accomplice. I’d walked out of church service mid-sermon before, and I think I was planning to do it again the moment those words were spoken.
Now, fast forward. The coordinator could have saved me the adrenaline rush by letting me know that a half-dozen people in the audience had been given lies that sounded like doctrine and the speaker was going to listen to them, one at a time, and scripturally refute them. It was our event for the day.
But I know God allowed the misunderstanding for my benefit.
It was so I could process the junior-high-youth-group-false-doctrine that when you go into a party where there is drinking and sex; you go in alone. God waits for you on the porch because he can’t be around the sin.
It was also so I could understand how damaging pseudo truths are toward hurting people who already feel alienated from the church body. You are my favorite people.
Lastly, it was so I could contemplate how I wanted my voice to be used, and if I had the courage to do it.
A voice calling out in the wilderness
The interesting thing about God’s voice is that, even though the sound could be like a thousand waterfalls, I think it’s rare to hear his volume, anger and passion louder than the cacophony of all the others in this world. At least it will be until the end, since that verse about waterfalls is in Revelation. Don’t expect the energy of God’s voice to match persuasive dictators. You’re going to have to lean in to hear.
The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. 1 Kings 19:11-13
In case you’re wondering about that paper I held and the concept of God’s ability to be in the presence of your sin, God is Holy. He isn’t in the business of allowing us to continue destroying ourselves and others, and calling it good. But it isn’t like Christ bolts (with his fingers in his ears and a panicked expression) when someone sins, just because he can’t be around the dirty.
You will feel a difference in the connection of your intimacy with him and his voice. It’s a good reason to say “search me” when you first sit down to have a conversation. I see two reasons for an interruption of that communion with God. Knowing about, regarding and cherishing unrepentant sin in your heart and husbands who do not treat their wives as equals. God has good boundaries. He didn’t let Adam and Eve continue to eat from the tree of life and exist eternally in a state of sin. He cut off access and intimacy. And he won’t let you think everything is dandy if you are unrepentant when convicted.
But that misery isn’t abandonment. As my prayer partner recently reminded me, God promised, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” He is still there during your sin and others’ sin against you. Ignoring him intentionally will make communication harder. Being distracted by other voices will make it harder. You will hear him less when you practice not listening. If you intentionally, repeatedly, forcefully choose something over him, you may get to the point where he honors your choice.
Otherwise, you will hear his voice if it is your desire it and you make space to hear it. But do expect sometimes to wait. One thing I love about Spanish is that the verb “esperar” means “to hope,” “to expect,” and “to wait.”
I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning.
Psalm 130:5-6
I recently heard an interview with Jamie Winship by podcaster Jeanie Allen called Conflict Zones, the CIA and Listening to God, which takes hearing that voice to a higher level. I’ve listened a few times, and can’t recommend it enough.
Have you thought about what you are using your voice for?