Three incidents happened in the space of a few weeks recently which got me thinking about my inner resources.
First, a friend. She has spent a lifetime in Christian ministry, teaching and giving spiritual direction. Now retired, she spent a few months visiting missionaries in several countries. She found herself in demand for giving retreats and bringing spiritual refreshment. On her return she told me that in the absence of her usual resources of books, notes and handouts she had simply shared from her heart. To her surprise, again and again people told her afterwards that her own lived experience had had far more impact than any amount of carefully prepared material and teaching aids.
It made me think. Hard work and preparation are, of course, part of the stewardship and integrity of a teacher. But what if there are no books, no resources, no teaching aids available? How much of what we have learned in life is so well integrated that it is immediately and naturally available to others?
Then I read Terry Waite's story: four years in solitary confinement. This was more sobering to contemplate. Not only did he not have any books or resources, he had no eager people wanting to hear what he had to say. No one to talk to at all in fact; no one to listen to either.
I was deeply impressed by the honesty and humility of Terry Waite's account. He experienced no ministering angels, no ecstatic experiences of God's presence, no deliverance from the agony of boredom, pain, loneliness and illness. He speaks very simply of a daily routine of prayer and of saying from memory the Anglican communion liturgy. He mentions once, almost apologetically, that he would like to be able to say that he felt God's presence close to him, but that in fact he did not.
This is a far more stark challenge to one's inner resources. What do we find within when even the comfort of feeling God's presence is gone? Do the great truths hold us steady even in the dark?
When we are completely stripped of the "treasures on earth" will we discover that we have adequately "stored up treasures in heaven where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal" Matthew 6:20? I hope I never have that tested in the way Terry Waite did. But I was challenged to think about how deeply rooted my rhythm of prayer is, how much Scripture has been stored in my mind for the Spirit to rekindle and how comfortable I am with no one to talk to but God.
The third event was the breakdown of my computer! I know absolutely nothing about the technical side of computers and I was indignant that it should fail me! I was outraged to be told it would take a week to fix!
I surprised myself by my assertive (and successful) attempts to have the repair done more quickly. But all the while an insistent little voice somewhere in the back of my mind was prodding me with a question. Why is this so important? Is your identity somehow tied to the material on that computer?
Now, in practical terms I know it was quite reasonable to want my major tool of trade in good working order as quickly as possible. But this was the third time I had been reminded that the most important things are carried within ourselves.
So what if I had lost all the data on my computer? Surely what is "written on our hearts" (Hebrews 10:16) is what really matters.
The question everyone asked me was "Have you got backup?" They meant backup data on disk of course, but the question took on a deeper meaning as I pondered all three events together. Have I got backup? Is my inner life a storehouse of the things that really matter? Is there backup within?
Paul reminds us: "You know that you are a letter from Christ...written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone [or books or computer disks] but on tablets of human hearts." 2 Corinthians 3:3
I trust that I will continue to use well, and gratefully, the external resources available to me while they remain. Paradoxically however, it is in their absence that I will discover whether they have contributed to what has lasting value.
