‘It is well with my soul’

I went to Christian schools for all of my education. Along the way I remember being told that we “all-of-life-is-religion” Reformed Christians need to stay engaged with the world at all times. And so the Catholics’ centuries-long support of convents and monasteries was seriously frowned upon as “other worldly” and unbiblical. I recall a university philosophy professor disparaging medieval monks who shunned the world and spent their days copying manuscripts. I now find it oddly amusing that that scholar, whose specialty was medieval philosophy, would so severely criticize the men who almost singlehandedly kept learning alive in Western culture and who were responsible for passing on vast libraries to future generations, to us.

While I wondered about the wisdom of religious orders that required of their members almost constant silence, and I recoiled (and somewhat marveled) at the practice of self-flagellation in attempting to gain spiritual points with God, I felt myself drawn to the notion of living apart in a community of like-minded, self-supporting Christians who spent each day in specific work and in worship. Having loved the wandering, ethereal beauty of Gregorian chant ever since I first heard it, I imagined being able to hear it daily in marvelous acoustic settings where the sound would jump off great stone chapel walls. I now realize that I was picturing monks, not nuns, singing chant. The music (and diaries) of Hildegard von Bingen had not yet come to the modern world’s attention. 

Clearly I had an overly romantic notion of what medieval monastic life was like. I did realize that daily life in that time was difficult, and much more so for those outside such sanctuary walls. At the very least, lack of hot water and indoor plumbing would not be something I’d handle well. I’m pretty sure I would not have dealt well, either, with being unable to question my superiors. Yet, my attraction.

These days, in an electronically inter-connected but dangerous world moving at break-neck speed, my yearning for solitude, for peace, has not waned. The question is how to achieve it. The solution, of course, is finding solace in God. I know that; we all know it. Yet it’s easier said than done. Ironically, such peace takes work.

Blest assurance

The first step must be deeply immersing ourselves in God’s Word and in prayer. Jesus gives “the peace that passes all understanding.” And not long before he ascended he imbued his disciples with it: “My peace to give to you.” Through the Spirit that continues. Such peace creates profound, heart-changing assurance. But when we see chaos all around us in this fallen world, though we’ve experienced that heart change, the practical effects can seem to elude us. Anxiety replaces peace.

That’s when we do well to remember Jesus says, “You don’t have because you don’t ask.” I don’t always take that seriously. But we need to take him at his word, reminding ourselves also of the persistent widow parable. God promises he hears the prayers of the righteous. St. Paul tells us to pray “without ceasing.” He meant our lives need to take on an attitude of prayer, you might say. True, yet prayer that expects to be effective can’t be sporadic, hit or miss. Such prayer (indeed, the whole Christian life) is not for the faint of heart. These days people who devote themselves to much prayer are referred to as “prayer warriors.” That’s appropriate. We who bear Christ’s name are engaged in an increasingly ferocious battle with Satan, against principalities and powers. And we can pray aright when we allow his Word to continually guide and correct us, to assure and comfort – and give us peace.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, “It is well, it is well with my soul.”

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control:
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and has shed his own blood for my soul.

O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the LORD shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul.                                                                     

– Horatio G. Spafford, 1873