Do you talk about disturbance in ‘taste’? That’s the way I’ve been thinking about it. It’s not that I have lost my taste. It’s just that things taste differently and sometimes not very nice. The problem is that it’s things I’m particularly fond of that have gone off. Porridge tastes like sand. (Yes, I have tasted sand.) Coffee, even the best espresso, tastes as if someone has added a table-spoon of sugar. My scrambled eggs taste as if someone has sneaked in a Cadbury’s Creme Egg. It’s weird but apparently a common side effect of the drug regime I am on. Another down side is that there is a craving for sweet things. It’s been years since I ate Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes but they have taken the place of the porridge. Tea with honey instead of coffee. Fighting this, though, with big fruit consumption. That’s helping.
It’s one of those things you take for granted, taste, and you never really think about it too much. As sure as you see, walk, breathe, you taste and it’s challenging to think that something so fundamental to being has changed. Will it ever come back as it was before? This is where the words of the Psalmist have to kick in: ‘Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him. Do not fret . . .’ (Psalm 37: 7)
It’s interesting how the ancient voices of faith describe our experiences of God as being like tasting. A favourite verse recited at the Lord’s Supper is:
‘Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.‘ (Psalm 34: 8)
Jesus said:
‘Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me.’ (John 6: 53-57)
The question that burns in many a heart is how can we taste God? When we consider God, the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe, how is it possible for us to be touched in any way by Him? How is it possible for us to think of ourselves in any sense in a relationship with Him? The answer might seem formulaic, even glib. It is easy to rattle off what have been called the traditional ‘disciplines’ of Christian spirituality: prayer, meditation on the Word, worship including the Lord’s Supper. (We’ll leave out fasting for the moment . . .) But when you get down to it, what else is there if we wish our awareness of God’s love and goodness to deepen? That’s where we have to begin. To realise that God is seeking to engage with us, to assure us of His love and goodness, and we become more aware of this as we open up our lives in prayer, meditation, worship and, yes, fasting.
There are no techniques we can employ to ‘taste’ God. I once heard a young woman on the radio speaking of her conversion to Christianity and in her enthusiasm deciding to follow the Franciscan Order Of Daily Prayer. Within a week she was exhausted and burdened with a sense of failure until a friend pointed out that this Order was devised by celibate men whose whole lives were dedicated to prayer. It just wasn’t for busy young Mums and the demanding routine of things that need to be done.
What we can all find are moments to respond to God as He is reaching out to us, moments when our awareness of His love and goodness are enhanced, moments when He alone is our goal, moments when we can taste and see. It is a very individual thing. In fact, it would be wrong for anyone to impose their practise on anyone else. It may not fit but I believe there is more than just a tremour among the angels when a Christian acknowledges in the quietness of his or her heart: ‘My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.’ (Psalm 62: 1)
Maybe we don’t always get the ‘hit’ that we feel we need when we engage in prayer, meditation and worship. But remember there are no techniques we can hang over God. He cannot be forced or manipulated. We can only receive what he has to give in a particular moment but whatever it is because it is from Him it is loving and it is good. I gave up referring to a ‘quiet time’ long ago. Realising the presence of God could be for me a very ‘unquiet time’ when shadows had to be faced and the call was more firmly to turn myself to the light. What has been called ‘the dark night of the soul’ was more than just an interesting idea. But in all these experiences God’s love for us is never denied and His good purpose continues to unfold. We are still tasting and seeing that God is good and that His love endures forever.
Maybe as in everything in relation to God we need more humility and to be satisfied with what he gives. An old hymn, rarely sung now, comes to mind:
Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;
wean it from earth; through all its pulses move;
stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,
and make me love thee as I ought to love.
I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
no sudden rending of the veil of clay,
no angel visitant, no opening skies;
but take the dimness of my soul away.
Has thou not bid me love thee, God and King?
All, all thine own, soul, heart and strength and mind.
I see thy cross; there teach my heart to cling.
O let me seek thee, and O let me find.
Teach me to feel that thou art always nigh;
teach me the struggles of the soul to bear.
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh,
teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.
Teach me to love thee as thine angels love,
one holy passion filling all my frame;
the kindling of the heaven-descended Dove,
my heart an altar, and thy love the flame.
My taste may have departed - hopefully temporarily - but that only emphasises that deeper, more permanent, more fundamental need to taste my God as He reaches out to me in this most challenging of times.
‘Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.‘ (Psalm 34: 8)
