I often write about the ways we hear the voice of God. Recently, I remembered that I had been taught fours ways to hear the voice of God by Dennis Hamm: in creation, scripture, the authoritative teaching of the church and, by attending to our experiences.

I want to argue a bit with Dennis. First, because I believe that we are each created beings and thus a part of creation. So, I think we would do well to talk about creation with the understanding that we speak as members of the created world and, I believe, simultaneously as spiritual beings.

Secondly, everything is interpreted. You and I may be standing together on the edge of a cliff, encountering more of the created world. Imagine that the sky is blue, the air cool and calm, the view magnificent. Yet, I may feel so exposed that I am terrified. You may be so comfortable that you begin to wander in your concentration to a memory. 

Our experiences are different. Maybe not as different as I have suggested they could be, but nevertheless, are different.

The same is true of our encounter with scripture and tradition. We are interpreters of what we see, hear, taste, feel and smell. Our ability to make sense of the world is grounded in what we have and can experience with our five physical senses along with all the gifts of the right brain. Acknowledging this fact can help us understand and respect the other's subjectivity. For we, too, are limited.

On January 22, I referenced Dennis Hamm's encouragement in self-reflection as he described the Ignatian examen in my blog.

Here I am companioned by my Aunt Romie and Uncle Gordon at the backyard celebration of my high school graduation in 1969. A few years ago Aunt Romaine and Uncle Gordon appeared in a dream as wholly loving beings. I appreciated then, and still do, their appearance in that dream of bees and honey, and movement upwards within a very humble shelter.


Last week I showed this image to two of my high school girlfriends and together we laughed at the sight of my younger sister who had climbed the tree behind us, seen above me, to the left, in this image. 

In the morning, I begin to sing and I sing in a language I do not know. This morning my husband and I sit in prayer after my small song. We come with anxious spirits, churning with this and that. As I am still and silent I invite the precious spirit of God to speak peace to me. And she does. I feel more peaceful by sharing my anxiety with her.

But how do I know what she has said? How do I flesh it out into words to keep and carry with me? I begin with just a small statement that feels a little overstated: “We are not to be anxious.” It is by faith that I have risked saying even that. But in stating the very edge of what I had experienced in prayer, I find that I have picked up a golden thread of hope, just a thread lying in front of me. As I now hold it in my hand, I know my heart will reveal more and more, as if I am gently moving my hand across the thread, exploring what it is and amazed that I can hold this gift of faith and talk about it.

My husband joins me in this conversation. We talk about waiting. I rename it living, because in every day of our lives we are waiting for something. If we wait without attachment, we are free to continue living fully in what is.

We transition to the breakfast table and at the end of our fruit and yogurt we invite Wisdom to hold our anxieties and to continue speaking to us through out the day. This gentle conversation begun in the elusive realm of sung and silent prayer is a meal for us as we find that we are feeding on Christ by faith with thanksgiving.