Dead People Don't Speak

People encouraged me to speak.  I held powerful positions in the church, I should speak up.  Some suggested my silence was violence. They said, I was hurting others by holding back my voice. 

I have realized in the last few months that dead people do not speak. Now I was not literally dead, but my heart had been deeply wounded and I understand my silence on some topics has not been for lack of care or concern.  Rather, I had lost my voice and could only shake my head in sorrow. 

I am healing and regaining my voice.  What I say may not be pleasant to some.  Others may weep with me, or still others may find refreshment in my sharing. I only have what is in front of me; my own experience.

The lie of our culture is certainty. As a scientist and as a clergy I learned to be certain.  And God is on the side of certainty.  This is wrong.  Science requires certainty.  And yet historically certainty holds back new scientific discovery.  In my experience, certainty is a hallmark of individuals with personal agendas.  They are certain of many things; never mind the details and possibilities.  Jesus did not teach certainty. Instead Jesus offered friendship and peace with our neighbor, especially our enemies.

I find I am uncertain about just about everything, except God.  I find strength in the ability to question assumptions without discarding.  Strength comes from honoring our enemies into hearing their story.  Strength is in carefully holding persons, even the prickly ones, to a higher place of grace which neither divides nor passes judgement.  And to attempt all this without becoming anxious or infected.

If this is where the church is headed, a place where we dialogue and care for one another as we learn from each other, then I am in.  If however, the church is headed down the path of supporting competing individuals who are certain of their certainty, then I am out.  Not out of the church, just out of that dialogue where power is the real meat on the table and grace is just something said before fighting begins over the scraps in an attempt to fill personal goals. 

My spirit has been wounded, even unto death.  And the valley of dry bones has been my dwelling place. I had lost my voice.  But I have a taken time to rest by still waters.  Today I have less need to build a proper fence around my ideas.  As I let go of certainty, and cling to faith, I find my voice re-emerges.

So the next time you begin to chew on someone for being silent, pause to consider your position of certainty.  Consider your willingness to listen and your need to control.  And then reach out to one who may not be breathing because, dead people do not speak.