“The Quiet Seat, the Quiet Seat; who was in the Quiet Seat?!”

The teacher lady paced back and forth in front of her small audience, sing-songing the question.

I sat up straighter, bringing my seven-year-old self to greater attention.  Whatever and wherever the Quiet Seat was, it sounded like a place of exciting privilege. And apparently one of us had been sitting there all along without even knowing it!

This “Bible school” on the conference grounds near my grandparents’ cottage was one of my favorite parts of our summer visits.  On this particular morning, a dozen or so kids had been listening to a Bible story inside the simple wooden building near the lake.  Through open-screened windows we could hear leaves rustling in the breeze, gulls calling, and waves rhythmically slapping the seawall. The folding chairs weren’t particularly comfortable, and they were too tall for most of us, but the story held my attention. Although I already knew all the Bible stories, hearing them again and again was reassuring. 

“The Quiet Seat, the Quiet Seat…” the lady sang again. “You were in the Quiet Seat!” 

She was pointing at me!  As she called me forward and explained, I learned that I hadn’t just happened to sit in a special place. I was being recognized for being quiet and attentive!  My introverted, contemplative heart sang—quietly—as I selected a prize from the treasure bin: a light-blue zippered plastic coin purse with white lambs printed on one side and a clear window on the other side.

I think this memory is so vivid because of its surprising message that my quietness could be a valuable trait— a way of reflecting, and connecting with, God Himself— rather than a character flaw. (If it was only an incentive for sitting still and not interrupting, I didn’t see it that way at the time!)

Sadly, though, another message many of us heard as kids was that “children should be seen and not heard.” Or, in other words, “I don’t want to hear any more out of you!”  Adults often want to silence or squelch uncomfortable emotions, and the unintended consequence is that their kids feel shame: the sense that there is something wrong with them.  

So yes, when we children heard that, we did shut up—and we also shut down.  We started looking for more acceptable ways to be heard: ways that showed off our competence while hiding our fear, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. 

We built walls. 

In her book Sacred Rest, Dr Saundra Dalton-Smith uses women physicians as an illustration of emotional neediness. She describes us as “comfortable behind [our] emotional walls… taught [that] you don’t bring your emotions to the table” by “a flawed system [whose] teachings make our healers even more vulnerable to the attacks of emotional pain.” She’s noticed that many of us are “hiding behind [our] white coats… unable to give voice to the stress for fear of appearing weak. … [W]e’ve forgotten how to be loved. (emphasis added)” 

But the good news is that the Spirit intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words (Rom. 8:26).  When our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and He knows everything (I John 3:20).  He literally writes on our hearts (II Cor 3:2-3), giving us confidence in His sufficiency (II Cor 3: 4-6) , taking us out of hiding and into His freedom, as He fulfills His purpose: to make us like Himself (II Cor 3:7-18, Ps 138:8, Rom 8:28)

“Since we have such a hope, we are very bold…” (II Cor 3:12). In the original Greek, this reads  “…with much boldness we act.” Parrhesia—“boldness” or “free, frank, and fearless speech”—comes from the adjective “all” plus the verb “to utter/speak/say/tell.” (Fun fact: that verb is closely related, if not identical, to “flow” as in, for example, “diarrhea.” As in the insult we used in junior high: “diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain”.  It almost looks as though Paul is thinking along similar lines when he mentions minds being “hardened” without the Spirit of Christ! - II Cor 3:14)

Using our voice—boldly—doesn’t require knowing all the answers!  The only requirement is knowing the freeing love of the One Who is the Answer.  His love breaks down the walls and allows us to speak out of His river of life welling up within us (Is. 55, Ez. 47, John 7:37-39,  Rev. 22)

This is deep truth: our boldness to speak—our voice—flows from our hope in His freedom, our freedom in His life.  

Happy Hope*Writer Day.