Rhema | Listening for the Living Word

In our current blog series, all of the blog writers are looking at the concept of “rhema,” a Greek word meaning “the living word of God.” I really like the definition given by the pastor and author, Bill Hamon. He states "A rhema is an inspired Word birthed within your own spirit, a whisper from the Holy Spirit like the still, small voice that spoke to Elijah in the cave. It is a divinely inspired impression upon your soul, a flash of thought or a creative idea from God. It is conceived in your spirit, but birthed into your natural understanding by divine illumination. A true rhema carries with it a deep inner assurance and witness of the Spirit."[1]

I was privileged to experience the “living word” of God as a fairly young follower of Jesus. At that time I was an extreme loner, going days without speaking to anyone, a “rock and an island” as the old Simon and Garfunkel song went. But meeting Jesus was a genuine life-changer for me . I wanted to know Him better and better, so I spent a good bit of time reading the Bible. One day I was reading Matthew 22:36-40:

Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

To my great surprise, when I read the last verse, it was as if a neon light was flashing to get my attention (figuratively, not literally, I’d better add). But at the same time, a thought came into my head like a voice from outside, asking me “How can you love your neighbor if you are never with him?”

This was not a thought I generated. I was happy to love my neighbor (as if I really had a clue what that entailed) from the solitude of my own little quiet world. This voiced question was challenging me to join the human race, to start moving within the circles of other people, to establish relationships. I was not to be a “rock and an island” anymore. That’s the message I got that day. Though it was encouraging me out of my comfort zone, it rang true, like a witness in my spirit of THE Spirit. I believe it was God and the very fact that He would communicate something to me was truly awesome. I knew He cared, like a good Father.

Over the years I have had a few more of these experiences, but what I’d like to share now is that I’ve learned a way to encourage God’s living word to us. It’s called “Lectio divina” which is Latin for “sacred reading.” The Latin name reflects how old this type of Scriptural reading is (from the 6th century), but it continues today to be a blessing in our personal relationships with God. A short description of the practice speaks of taking just a few verses of the Bible, reading them several times very slowly, while asking God to show you what He’d like you to see. When you’ve settled on a word, phrase or concept, you meditate on it, thinking of everything you can that is related to it. Then you speak to God about it. You listen for Him, you share your thoughts, you listen, you pray, back and forth like a real conversation. It’s often at this point where you understand why you were supposed to stop and focus on this particular verse and what, if anything, you are to do about it. Then finally, you just sit quietly in the Presence of God for a bit, like you would in the presence of a good friend, where nothing is required, nothing is judged, just enjoying each other’s company.

To close, I’ll share a quick “sacred reading” from the other day. I was reading John 15:1-4:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I felt I was to focus on the phrase that is in bold above. I began to recognize some things I was doing out of habit that weren’t helpful in my desire to abide in Jesus. They weren’t especially bad things, only distracting things that subtly bumped me off center. My prayer was then to ask Jesus to go ahead and prune those things from me and show me how I’m supposed to participate!

God is so good. He wants relationship with us more than any perfection in our behavior. He wants our participation and seems to honor even our stumbling attempts at it. He truly wants to transform us from the inside out to be more like Him, when we’ll experience ever greater freedom and love.

1. Bill Hamon (1987). Prophets and Personal Prophecy: God's Prophetic Voice Today Volume 1. Shippensburg, PA: Destiny Image Publishers, Inc.

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About the Author

John lives in Pleasant Hill with his dog, Gunnar, and a multitude of guests who enjoy the peace and beauty of the Cascade foothills. With three children and three grandchildren all living in Oregon, he is continually blessed with their company and the good food that always accompanies their get-togethers!

Rhema | The Voice That Sounds a Lot Like Me

God talks to me, and I hear his voice.

I’ve learned to be careful how I say that and to whom, but it’s true. One of the best explanations I’ve heard is that as a Christian, I can learn to hear the still small voice within me that sounds a lot like me.

I know that feeling. On the verge of sleep, I sometimes “hear” words or see images that feel like they belong in the dream realm. I recognize a similar feeling when I daydream.

As I’ve had more experience, I can now receive this information while I’m fully awake. Single words, sentence fragments, and fuzzy mental pictures, which may reveal a special meaning for me. In the early days of my learning process, the words “sounded” like my own intuition. I was often tempted to dismiss them as not real, and not to be trusted. But I’ve since realized that sometimes, within this soupy thought-swamp, lies a jewel.

Instead of discarding this incomplete information, I’ve slowly pressed in and seized these words and images as opportunities. I pause and give them time to expand. At this point, the single words can become a complete sentence, and the snapshot-like images can become a paragraph.

A confirmation that it’s God’s voice and not my own, is that often a complete, multi-point thought will drop into mind, quicker than my breath. This complex thought can appear in my mind faster than I could ever attempt to create it. This Rhema experience is life-affirming and exhilarating, but humbling at the same time. Glory to my loving and faithful God, because it’s definitely not from me alone!

As I mature in this skill, I hear him talking to me in a more personal and intimate manner. I was on a deadline to turn in a finished written essay, but was stuck in getting started. I found myself pacing back and forth at my desk wondering what I could write about, when I heard the following complete thought: “Sara dear, if you want me to help you, you need to sit at your laptop and put your hands on the keys.” I’m still laughing at God’s wonderful sense of humor! I followed His guidance, and Christ abundantly provided an answer to my prayer. The words poured into my mind, and I finished the essay on time.

This experience taught me to relax and let go of the false burden of thinking I have to do it on my own. It also taught me to show up, breathe, and wait for God’s faithfulness to arrive, right on time!

At this point in my life, the words of knowledge I receive from Christ comfort and keep me moving forward with hopeful expectation. I liken the spiritual impact of these messages to feeling Christ’s hand slip into my own and give my hand a loving squeeze. I am not alone.

I invite you to close your eyes, quiet your mind, take a deep breath, and listen. In His perfect timing, Christ will begin a life-long conversation with you in your own voice. Your internal voice which is familiar and assuring. A wonderful new depth of intimacy with Christ awaits you! Jump in, and start right away. You don’t want to miss a minute of it!

1 Samuel 3:1 & 3:7-9 NLT
Meanwhile, the boy Samuel served the Lord by assisting Eli. Now in those days messages from the Lord were very rare, and visions were quite uncommon.

… Samuel did not yet know the Lord because he had never had a message from the Lord before. So the Lord called a third time, and once more Samuel got up and went to Eli. “Here I am. Did you call me?”

Then Eli realized it was the Lord who was calling the boy. So he said to Samuel, “Go and lie down again, and if someone calls again, say, ‘Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.’”

So Samuel went back to bed.

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About the Author

Sara has attended CitySalt Church since 2004, the year it was founded. She studied Journalism, wrote for her college newspaper, and is a member of Oregon Christian Writers. Sara also enjoys singing hymns with friends: “there is a sermon in every hymn waiting to be discovered and enjoyed.”

Adventuring with God | I’m Not Usually the Adventurous Type

Quote: “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Samuel, a freaked out little kid trying to do the right thing.

I had been working for PETA for nine tumultuous, but rewarding years. I had a toddler. I had just quit working full-time because trying to save the world from itself and make sure my kid didn’t eat a dog toy was too much to handle in one ten-hour day. It was becoming difficult to pay for the house we had bought from friends in a fit of impulsive optimism now that we were limited to one and a half incomes and the additional expense of even part-time daycare. And I felt increasingly divided, the only Christian at work and one of only a handful of vegans at the big Presbyterian church that was our home. I was tired of wearing all the hats one at a time and I was in the midst of a pretty nasty bout of late-onset postpartum depression.

So of course that’s when God told me to go to seminary. Of course.

I remember the exact moment I heard the words. I was sitting in a worship service at First Presbyterian Church in Norfolk, Virginia. The fellowship hall where the contemporary service was held had recently been built, a multi-million dollar project I’d viewed as ethically questionable, given the gentrification and poverty in the neighborhoods surrounding the building. So, one Sunday morning, I was sitting cross-legged on a wide padded chair, in the front row on the far left of the hall, my usual spot (even at City Salt, I just realized). I was watching the three jumbo screens, listening to dramatic music as stylized prophetic scripture scrolled in and out of view. It was about blood and sacrifice, that’s all I remember.

I remember thinking, “Wow, this video would be so cool if there was factory farming and slaughterhouse footage behind it.” And then immediately after: “Sarah, you’re the only person in this room of six hundred people who is having that thought.”

And my head opened up and warmth gushed in. I heard the voice of God, clear as anything happening in the room. I heard God say, “You love animals and you love me. I made you this way for a reason. Stop fighting it. Go to seminary.”

I was glued to my seat as the sensation ceased. I looked around to see if I was the only person who had heard what I did. This kind of thing didn’t happen at First Pres Norfolk. We’re the frozen chosen. Only a few of us ever got up the nerve to raise a timid hand at particularly moving parts of a worship song or two. I had no precedence for this experience and didn’t know how I was supposed to respond.

Seminary? I had no desire to be a pastor. I didn’t think my negative view of people would really be a good fit for that job. And it had been ten years since I had been to any school. Google had barely been a thing when I graduated college. How would I function as a student in a whole new world? Also, I really dislike being led places. I’d much rather do the leading. I didn’t want an adventure, I just wanted a good night’s sleep. It was a ridiculous notion.

But I started poking around at the possibilities, late at night and on the weekends. I started to allow myself to think of a different future for myself than the one that my boss at PETA and I had planned on. Giehl and I prayed about the possibility. We met with our lead pastor, to get his blessing on the whole endeavor. He pointed me to Palmer Theological Seminary and the work of Ron Sider, founder of Evangelicals for Social Action (ESA) and a Palmer professor.

And when I walked in the doors of Palmer Seminary in Philadelphia, a six-hour drive from our home in Norfolk, I knew it was the next stop on my journey. A scholarship and a chance to work with ESA sealed the deal.

So Giehl started looking for a job. I could work remotely part-time, but we relied on his income to pay the bills and provide our insurance. If I wanted to go to Palmer, we needed to move from Norfolk to Philadelphia. And if we were going to move, Giehl needed a job that would support the three of us.

Months went by. We arranged for dog-sitters and drove up for interviews. We looked at neighborhoods and houses with a Philadelphia realtor. Offers were promised, but none delivered. A hiring freeze here, a budget shift there. Summer came and I lost hope that I’d be able to matriculate that fall. There was just no way. The timing was too tight now.

Dejected, I thought God might be directing me to Regent, instead. Though it was just a few minutes away in Virginia Beach, the school didn’t seem like a particularly good fit. The degree programs weren’t what I was looking for. None of the classes looked at issues of systemic justice, the intersection of politics and faith, or creation care. The vast majority of professors were old, white, and male. (Ron is also old, white, and male, but many of the other Palmer profs were not, and I had been looking forward to learning from people who looked at the world through lenses different than my own).

Then Jim Gates, one of our family’s closest friends, and the associate pastor at our church, stood in our kitchen and said to me, “Don’t give up on Palmer.”

Sometimes God speaks to us through supernatural revelation. Sometimes God speaks to us through our goofy friends while we’re staring at the cracked green tile in our kitchens, wrapped up in a world of our own worry. And sometimes God speaks to us through the open doors that follow.

Palmer classes met one day a week, I discovered, and all the classes I wanted to sign up for were on Monday and Tuesday. Palmer kept commuter rooms on campus for students, with beds and desks and showers, and the nightly rate was extremely reasonable. While the drive up and down the Eastern Shore was dotted with factory farms and chicken slaughterhouses, I could make the trek from Norfolk in five hours or less if I left at strategic times. We put our house on the market and despite the burst real estate bubble that caused its value to drop the year after we bought it, we sold it in under a month, and walked away with enough cash to put down first and last month’s rent on a more modest home. Friends stepped up to offer to take Isaiah to pre-school the mornings I was away.

We moved to the rental house in Norfolk the week before classes started. During new student orientation, a group of 80 students, including many grandmothers who were even more afraid than I was about starting school again, sang “Here I Am, Lord” and I wept with gratitude that God had made the path so clear, when I was determined not to see it. During the first training for new students working with ESA, a professor mentioned that he was working on a book and one of the chapters would be on the environmental impacts of eating meat. I gave my notice at PETA that day.

Three years later, I graduated with a Masters in Theological Studies. We sang, “Here I Am, Lord,” during graduation, as we had during orientation. The next year, I published my graduate thesis. Shortly after that, I published Vegangelical. The next year, I met David Clough and we founded CreatureKind with the mission of helping Christians think theologically about farmed animal welfare, and to take practical action in response.

Now, the writer of “Here I Am, Lord” is a little more confident about the efficacy of their efforts than I am. I’m not sure my hand has saved anyone. But I’ve walked with some certainty that by doing my best to listen and respond to God, I’m pleasing the One who created me. So listen to John Michael for a minute (there’s some powerful stuff in there), but then read Thomas Merton in case that’s a better reflection of how you live into your own adventure.

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

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About the Author

Sarah is the author of Vegangelical: How Caring for Animals Can Shape Your Faith (Zondervan, 2016) and Animals Are Not Ours (No, Really, They’re Not): An Evangelical Animal Liberation Theology (Cascade Books, 2016). She spends her days working for CreatureKind, helping Christians put their faith into action. She lives in Eugene with her husband, son, and animal companions and enjoys action movies, black coffee, the daily crossword, and dreaming of her next international journey.