Last week, I woke up a little before 3 a.m. and
couldn’t get back to sleep. There are times you know sleep’s just not coming
back, and this was one of those times. Since my alarm was set for 5 anyway, I
decided to get up and make the most of a quiet house.
I sat down in my dining room to get some work done. This summer, I’m working on a Bible study on the book of Genesis. I spent
those two hours editing, writing, editing some more, and ending up pretty
pleased with the paragraphs that appeared. (This particular lesson was on
Genesis 17 and the introduction of circumcision. It takes a lot to be pleased
with paragraphs on circumcision.) It wasn’t until much later in the morning
when I realized I had spent two hours writing about God without actually
talking to Him. Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees.
Imagine if I were writing about a key moment in my
mom’s life, and she was right there in the room with me. But instead of talking to her about it, what
if I just ignored her and busied myself with putting her story in my own fine
words? That would be arrogant, foolish, and just plain weird. I would never do
that. I would ask a million questions and check with her on the sensitive
wording. I would read everything back to her to make sure I was accurately
representing her. Telling another person’s story is a privilege, and I work
hard to honor that person. This should be especially true when the Person is God.
When I started my new job writing and editing Bible
studies back in the spring, my prayer life kicked into overdrive. Working with
sacred material kept me in regular conversation with the real Author. There
were days when I felt dependent on Him for every single word. But as so often
happens, I got comfortable. The sacred became familiar. And all of a sudden I
had handled His Word for two hours without even acknowledging Him.
There’s a risk for those of us who work for God to
earn a living. Over time, the holy can become ordinary. The trees can consume
our vision, until the forest—the grand, magnificent, awe-inspiring forest—is blurred.
Distant. Corporate. Ugh.
God, please keep my eyes on the big picture. Do the
same for the many, many friends I have in ministry. Remind us that we are on
holy ground doing holy work for a most holy Master, even if it looks like a spreadsheet or a Word document. You are good and loving and
near, but, oh, you are much too big to become ordinary.
