by Eva Marie Everson @EversonAuthor
Henri Nouwen was born in the Netherlands in 1932. His father was a lawyer, his mother a bookkeeper. In 1957, at the age of 25, the Catholic church ordained him as a priest. Throughout his ministry, he used psychology as a means of exploring the human side of faith, which he felt was overlooked. He struggled with his own humanity but stayed true to his vows to the Church and to God.
During his lifetime and ministry, Nouwen wrote nearly 40 books and hundreds of articles. When we read his work today, one cannot help but feel the deep love of Nouwen toward Jesus and Jesus's deep love toward Nouwen.
In his book, A Cry for Mercy, which is a book of prayers that “reveals a fearful heart, a cry for mercy, rays of hope, the power of the Spirit, the needs of the world, and finally gratitude," Nouwen pens these words:
O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I am impressed by my own spiritual insights ... I have read many books about the Christian life, and have even written a few myself. Still, as impressed as I am, I am more impressed by the enormous abyss between my insights and my life.
It seems as if I am standing on one side of a huge canyon and see how I should grow toward you, live in your presence and serve you, but cannot reach the other side of the canyon where you are. I can speak and write, preach and argue about the beauty and goodness of the life I see on the other side, but how, O Lord, can I get there? Sometimes I even have the painful feeling that the clearer the vision, the more aware I am of the depth of the canyon.
Am I doomed to die on the wrong side of the abyss? Am I destined to excite others to reach the promised land while remaining unable to enter there myself? ... I can only keep trying to be faithful, even though I feel faithless most of the time. What else can I do but keep praying to you, even when I feel dark; to keep writing about you, even when I feel numb to keep speaking in your name, even when I feel alone. Come, Lord Jesus, come. Have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.
As a Christian writer, have you ever felt the same as Nouwen? Have you ever felt that you give and give and give through your writing--all truth, the deepest truth--but that you, yourself, have drained to dry?
This is often because we do give but fail to receive. Perhaps we think that we, as literary authorities on such things as faith, prayer, spiritual life, etc., cannot admit to needing . . . anything. We are like cars that we gas up for a trip and then we drive and drive them without stopping. The "need a coffee break?" icon pops up on our dashboard, but we don’t stop. The warning that we are low on gas . . . getting lower . . . getting lower . . . now riding on reserve . . . on fumes . . . on . . . nothing pops up and dings. Loudly.
In fact, we are now on the side of the road, useless.
But all we need is . . . fuel. Simple as that. Find the station, unscrew the gas cap, insert the nozzle, and squeeze.
How do you, as a Christian writer, re-fuel? How do you keep from draining to dry?
TWEETABLE
No comments:
Post a Comment