When the fire all but died

I have been trying to avoid writing this blog for some weeks. But after several 'coincidences' over the past 2 weeks, I'm taking the plunge. So here is the warning: this is going the be a brutally honest post.

Prayer. Talking to God.

Prayer. Giving space for God to talk to you.

Prayer. A somewhat crucial part of being a church leader.

When I went to my Vicar Interview (Bishop's Advisory Panel) in January 2015, I received the following feedback: 'There is a certain naivety in the way that Poppy suggests that prayer 'works'.' This has become a bit of a joke amongst my close friends because how dare someone hoping to be selected to go to Vicar School suggest that prayer works?  How utterly ridiculous to confidently assert that you think that there is a point to talking to God when you would like to lead a church in the future.

Well, the joke is now on me. Kind of.

I have been hugely affected by the death of a young woman who I never met. I won't go into much detail about how silly I feel about this, considering I never met her, but nevertheless, after 2 years of praying for healing it did not happen. 5 weeks before her death, I saw my Mum in hospital tied up to all kinds of tubes, unable to speak, with a very swollen face. She is now, thankfully, better. But these two events brought me face to face with suffering in a way that I am yet to get over.

Added to this, being constantly soaked in theology, Church services and passionate debate at Vicar School has left me somewhat numb to it all. In my previous patches of struggle in my spiritual life, I have moved past it by a close encounter with God in church. But at Vicar School, church happens every day and the depths of my confusion and pain are yet to be overcome.

The link between prayer and the death of a young women I never met is this: the world is a mess and people die unjustly. I cannot change that, but I know and believe someone can (that's God, by the way). So what is he playing at?

I do not believe that God needed another angel.
I do not believe that God made this happening to prevent further suffering because the God I love wouldn't slowly kill someone with a terminal illness for two years in order to save them from pain later on.
I do not believe that this suffering has taught us any lessons that were worth learning compared to the pain caused.

I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on The Problem of Evil and came to the conclusion that this an important question to ask, but it's what we do about the suffering that matters. Yeah, good 'un Pops, but what can be done about this kind of suffering? I am helpless to prevent this kind of suffering, and loss of life like that is just wasteful. I've gone round in circles for months and I've been in a bit of a rut. I'm left with nothing but a stubborn kind of conscientiousness in which this trainee vicar is at a loss about what to say to God. But I plod on anyway because I refuse to do this vicar thing without integrity, and if I'm not at least trying to pray then what is the point?

But that doesn't mean to say that there haven't been special moments between last December and now, because there have. Several Bible readings, worship songs, Church services, conversations with people I love and humbling encounters with congregation members have really touched my heart. Greenbelt was great, Thy Kingdom Come was great, placement was great, Holy Week was great, Christmas was great and weekly College Communion is pretty much always great. But nothing has yanked me out of this theological hole that I've been exploring and getting to know quite well.

I'm used to spiritual storms. Storms, I can do. It's the drought that is new. Feeling like my prayers are hitting the ceiling and falling to the floor with a kind of limp, near lifeless thud. I've been feeling like everything is dry, old and cracked. I've had to do a lot of discerning over the past year, but I've been leaning on my past experiences and been having dealings with God is a more military fashion. 'What do you want me to do next, Sir?' as I stood to spiritual attention and awaited the next command. The result is that I've followed to directions given, but my relationship with God has not deepened. Like I said, it's very dry and barren at the moment, but I do feel like I'm moving forward. I may be heading out of the desert or I might be heading into yet more desert, I can't tell other than I am in fact, moving.

But there is hope, as this morning's Bible reading reminds us:

'The desert and the parched land will be glad;
The wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like a crocus, it will burst into bloom;
It will greatly rejoice and shout for joy...
Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool, the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where the jackals once lay,
Grass and reeds and papyrus will grow' (Isaiah 35. 1-2, 6-7)

When I was on placement over the summer, I expressed a little of what I've written about here and what advised to read 'God on Mute' which, conveniently, I was given about 18 months ago and have been meaning to read ever since. I have begun reading this book, and I think it's going to help. I just wanted to capture this feeling so that I could encourage myself should it ever happen again.

And what if 'God on Mute' doesn't help? Well I'll keep going and pushing forwards with that stubborn conscientiousness until something works, because I know something will at some point.

Ultimately, I like to think that what my Mum says is true. She says that when it comes to God, we get points for trying.