Dabblers or Disciples? : Part 2

Intimate Faith: A Woman's Guide to the Spiritual Disciplines
by Jan Winebrenner

(Page 2 of 5)

My faith was fragile - the slightest disturbance in my world could send me tumbling into a field of doubts and uncertainties about God's goodness. I didn't have the kind of intimacy with God that my discipleship classes promised. I yearned to know God, to experience his power and presence more fully, yet this kind of relationship eluded me. God seemed distant, strange. I knew his Word, his promises, but for all my knowledge, it seemed I didn't know God.

I practiced some spiritual disciplines - the five most commonly recognized ones. No one would argue that these are basic building blocks for a disciple's life. But I knew I was missing something. Could it be that God wanted to deposit in me vast treasures of grace, if I could only learn to widen my heart? But how? The question haunted me.

Dry, stale, thirsty for God, I began praying that he would show me how to open my heart. I prayed that he would teach me how to move into deeper levels of intimacy with him. I prayed that I would learn how to know God, really know him.

I was tired of living a limp, weak spiritual life. I was tired of saying I loved God, when the truth was that I hardly knew him apart from the facts I read about him. I certainly didn't trust him as he deserves to be trusted. I was living proof of Brennan Manning's words: "You will trust God only as much as you love him. And you will love him not because you have studied him; you will love him because you have touched him - in response to his touch."

I yearned for the touch of God. I had no idea how it would happen, but I prayed that his fingers would press on my heart and mark me with the certainty of his presence. In almost immediate response to that prayer, I stumbled into a study of the classical spiritual disciplines.

Over the next few years, I discovered there is much more to the life of discipleship than I had ever imagined. I learned that walking with God involves more than merely doing the four or five things a denomination may teach in a six-week discipleship class.

I learned that the spiritual disciplines are God's means of training us, finite and flawed creatures, to love the invisible, almighty, infinite Creator; they are the means by which we learn to enjoy him; they are the means God uses to nurture our confidence in his goodness and love.

Through the spiritual disciplines God not only touched me, he gripped me hard in a fist that is stronger than a lion's paw. He pulled me close against his heart and taught me to discern the rhythms of grace.

A Great and Precious Irony

As I studied and experimented with the spiritual disciplines, I was struck by this great and precious irony: it is through discipline that grace is best experienced. The Puritan preacher Robert Leighton understood this three centuries ago when he wrote, "The grace of God in the heart of man is a tender plant in a strange unkindly soil."

Legalism and confusion about the true nature of God had made my heart's soil unkind toward grace. The truth of his unrelenting compassion toward me found little welcome in my heart. I was unable to live in the reality of that most essential truth that "being the beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence." But as I began to exercise the spiritual disciplines, the soil of my heart became welcoming, receptive to the sweetness of the gifts of grace.

Through doing the spiritual disciplines I began to understand the truth about being - being God's beloved child, being the accepted and cherished bride of Christ.

An Offer of Rest

Even as I write this, I am aware of how little I "do," and how much God does for me and has already done for me in sending Christ to redeem me; and all he will continue to do for me throughout my lifetime and into the aeons of eternity.

On the other side of the discussion of "doing," I am aware that we live in an era when most Christians are so busy with activities and programs and family and work obligations that the mere suggestion of "doing more" can trigger guilt, anger, or even a panic attack. So let me put your mind at ease with this word: the spiritual disciplines are not a rigid set of rules imposing stringent behavior practices on us. Nor do they require more tasks and activities added to already overburdened lives. The great beauty offered by the spiritual disciplines is this: they teach us how to rely on the loving sufficiency of God; they show us how to recognize his presence and revel in his sovereignty; they lead us into ever-deepening levels of intimacy with the God who calls us his "beloved"; they teach us to allow God to work for us, in every situation. In short, they offer us rest.

Relating to an Invisible God

I admit I was surprised to discover that there was so much more to the equestrian sport than learning to mount, walk, trot, canter, and dismount. It was daunting at first to realize all that I had to learn. But it didn't take me long to see that the new skills I was acquiring (slowly, sometimes awkwardly) increased my delight in riding. I became more comfortable, more competent in the saddle. I had less trouble staying on course, and my body moved more gracefully, more in sync with my horse. I had more tools for guiding Tess and better aids for negotiating challenging situations, both in and out of the jump ring. Every skill I learned enhanced my love of the sport and increased my pleasure.

Copyright © 2003 by Jan Winebrenner

About the Author

Jan Winebrenner is the founder of the Dallas Christian Writers Guild and co-founder of the Writers Roundtable Conferences. She is a frequent speaker and workshop leader for writer's groups and college and university writing classes. Mentoring and encouraging other writers is one of her passions, as is studying classic Christian literature.