The Grace of Writing

Writing isn’t primarily about me. That was one of the hardest things I had to learn as a writer. True, much of my writing—letters, email messages, memos, essays, articles for publication—was completed with the intent to share it with others. But even some of my most private writings—journals and poems—became "public" the moment others saw them. And in those moments I became responsible.

I struggled with this burden of responsibility as a writer. Was not writing primarily an act of self-expression? Sadly, no. In fact, most of the activities we engage in as acts of self-expression are not private, but public. And then they also become media for communicating with others. They tell others about me, yes. And they also tell others about them. And what they say is ultimately my responsibility.

The medium that we employ, the words we choose, the forums we create, the styles we utilize—all of these convey meaning to the audience. And that meaning is not merely the content of our message. Marshall McLuhan became famous for observing that "the medium is the message." How I communicate with you says at least as much as what I communicate with you. You and I are intimate with each other at this very moment.

What I’m communicating, whether I intend it or not, is what I think of you. Yes, I might also be describing the state of affairs in China or the latest Dow Jones numbers or what I ate for dinner last evening. But how I describe that will tell you whether I regard you as largely literate or unread, ethical or amoral, empathetic or cold, mature or childish, approachable or standoffish. And, if I am not careful, I will hurt you.

I know how to hurt you in my writing. It’s usually easier than hurting someone face-to-face. Distance, the cold, flat surface of the paper, and the blips and bleeps of the computer monitor all serve as emotional barriers to separate the sender from the receiver. Sometimes I may even want to hurt you. And then I must repent. But more often than not the hurt is accidental. I have hurried or condescended or patronized or dismissed. I have treated you as less than you are and now you see me as less than I would be.

But I do not want to hurt you. That’s not how my Master taught me nor how He speaks with me. His Word overflows with grace, healing, words of consolation and tenderness and joy. How, then, do I do the same? Can my message and my medium serve as channels for His running-over grace in my soul? Yes. If the sword can be beaten into a plow, then the words of my heart can become a stream of cool water for those who are parched. And they are many. May I offer you a drink?

Our God spoke the worlds into existence. He thundered from the mountain. He whispered by the side of the stream. He sent His Son and called Him the Word. He knows and speaks my name. And somehow, for reasons yet unfathomable, He gave us a book. God is the author of my faith, a literate deity who wrote His love into pages filled with human language. He immersed Himself into our story so He could speak our language and be understood. He is yet present in the Word, even in our words…should we bid Him come.

Come, Lord Jesus, come.