My Own Native Tongue

A friend of mine is going through the stress, conflict, and sadness that accompanies putting one’s aging mother in a nursing home. I am praying that God will grant her some degree of serenity in the midst of the upset. Nothing really new in all this; she’s experiencing the typical trials of aging, and I’m supporting her as I can through prayer. What is new is that she is an atheist. She respects my right to hold my own convictions, but they doesn’t make sense to her. Nor does she want me to explain them. However, she still appreciates knowing that I care and that I pray for her and her mom.

But I do some funny gyrations in praying: “Lord, grant her the peace that… (passes all understanding? That kind of peace comes from believing in You.) Lord, should I be asking You to send what she is currently saying “no” to? Can You even do that? Isn’t that peace dependent on our acceptance of it, rather than on Your giving of it?”

I used to have a rather entrepreneurial view of God and His blessings: “Now you can get your (needed blessings) exclusively at (my church) for a limited time only.” Hey, if you want what God provides, you’ll just have to line up and get it straight from the Source.

I no longer believe that God withholds things so people will humble themselves and come asking. But I do believe that often when we don’t get something, it’s not because He’s not offering it. The duck’s back does not stay dry because it’s not raining; it repels the rain. And we often repel the mechanics of His blessings which Jesus says are given to the just and the unjust (Matt 5:45).

So, I think the pipe is usually plugged on our end, not His, and I really don’t know how to pray for her. Lucky that the Holy Spirit “intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express” (Romans 8:26). I know that my best wishes for her pale in the presence of God’s tender regard for her. So I trust Him to do with my bumbling prayer whatever He will: laugh at it, respect it as my best attempt, or answer it. I trust Him to understand my intent, and I trust Him to do what He can in her life.

But none of that is the point of this post, it’s only context. My main thought comes at the intersection of two different contexts, so here’s the other context. I was raised in the language of faith. My later education helped me speak the more pervasive language of rationalism. Simultaneously I learned the mental discipline of logic. I value both. I have encouraged people to be “bilingual” so that they can cherish, understand, and communicate things of faith (in that language) and still communicate with the populace in the language of rationalism which includes the dialects of naturalism and human psychology. I like being bilingual, but I’ll have to admit that my own native tongue of faith is not always framing the first thoughts that pop into my mind, especially when a non-believer addresses me. I’m rethinking that now. (See “Jonah and the Dress Code” for another outcome of this rethinking.)

Now, with both contexts in mind, let’s take a look at my main thought. My friend was raised by a God-fearing mother who still longs to have her daughter soften her stand against faith and “all things unseen.” I’m not the only one praying for this friend. What if God does interfere in her life and strike her with a tidal wave of peace, even joy? What if He makes her head spin and her mouth cry, “Wow! Where’d that come from?” (He entered unbidden into Saul/Paul’s life just as invasively, so why not?.) And what if she calls me and sends up a trial balloon: “Jim, the strangest thing happened…” What do I say then? (That is the point of this post.)

My comfy “rationalist/psychology-speak” might sound like, “Wow, I’m so glad for you! It’s amazing how the mind and body work together to bring relief when it’s most needed. Emotional exhaustion often drains us and allows the endorphins to bring us that unexpected state of bliss, even euphoria. I’m glad you’ve gotten a reprieve.”

If I were to respond in this way I would still be using my second language to praise the Creator for how He has indeed made us. The design of our bodies and psyches is indeed a miracle, and how often I have spoken in the rational language and silently praised Him in the faith language. However, in avoiding speaking my native tongue out loud, I might be robbing her of seeing “the culture that lives next door.” Even worse, I might be blocking a greater miracle that could have happened; a miracle that would have answered a deeper prayer, an older prayer prayed for years by her mother. 

What if I used my native tongue and said, “Wow, I’m so glad to hear that! Perhaps God gave you a taste of the joy that has strengthened His children through so many dark times. I’m glad He did that for you.”

I know. Neither sounds really great. I didn’t say I was a Toastmaster. I can still work on my delivery of either sentiment, but let’s consider the relative merits of either language at a time when a non-believing friend has tasted something good. Time for a risk/benefit analysis: She’s already happy. Something good has happened, and she wanted to share it with me even though (or maybe because) she knows I see the world differently.

Risk: My thanking God for His mercy to her triggers her “proselytize-o-meter,” and she thinks, “Argh! Those Christians just won’t give it a rest!” Then our friendship cools.

Potential Benefit: She was already wondering, and now a friend has strengthened that wonderment. Then she opens, even if slightly, to friendship with God.

Analysis: It is obvious to me that the “friendship with God” benefit far outweighs the “lost friendship with me” risk. Yet, my heart often chooses the “safety” of maintaining friendships.

No matter what response I give her I would probably only hear her answer with a “Hmm…” or a similar “give me room” sound, since worldview thoughts are personal, and changing a worldview takes intensely personal rewiring. So, relinquishing any hope of immediate feedback or a Hollywood ending, I would rather risk being in line with the greater miracle. I would rather begin speaking my own native tongue, out loud, with grace.