The Discipline of the Empty Chair

The image to the left is a photo I took last summer while hiking around Sprague Lake, a pristine mountain oasis located in the south end of Rocky Mountain National Park. It greets me each morning as I open my laptop and begin another day of work. It serves as a regular reminder that Jesus, our risen Lord, is inviting me to join Him on the journey, to intentionally include Him in my activities throughout the day.

This is easier said than done, of course. There are an endless number of competing voices pulling at me from every direction from morning to night, it seems, both externally and internally. And I want very much to respond to them, to please them, or to appease them, at the very least. I want to have a sense that I am valued, appreciated, affirmed, loved.

But among the many capricious voices clamoring for my attention, there is but one Voice that has the ability to satisfy the deepest longings of my heart. Augustine was right: "Our hearts are restless until they rest in You, O Lord." At the end of the day, we live before an Audience of One.

This became unusually clear to me nine years ago this fall during my first weeks on the job here at Barclay. I moved to Haviland alone in August of 2000, leaving my wife and six children in Ohio, waiting for our house to sell. Although I was extremely excited to begin my new adventure on the college campus, I was not so thrilled to do it by myself. I was the new kid on the block, living alone in a empty house, occasionally feeling like I was stranded on a desert island in the middle of a tiny, remote village in the middle of ... somewhere.

After enduring 2-3 weeks of this "solitary confinement," the Lord decided it was time to crash my little pity party. As usual, He did so in a very kind and unexpected manner. As I was laying down for bed one night, I noticed something that had been there all the time. It was there when I sat down for dinner, it was there when I rode in the car, it was there when I flew on the plane, it was there when I was at work in my office. "It" was an empty chair.

Except that it wasn't empty after all. The Lord was gently reminding me that what appeared to be an empty chair was, in a very real sense, continually occupied by the One who promised to be with me "always, to the very end of the age" (Mt 28:20). He was with me when I laid my head on the pillow each night, when I got into the car each morning, when I took my seat on the plane, and when I sat down to work on each and every course syllabus. He was with me, and He wasn't going anywhere. He was just hoping that I would notice.

As this simple reality began to sink in, the Lord began to transform my lonelienss into a whole new appreciation for solitude. The silence gradually became increasingly welcomed as a personal invitation to engage in intimate, uninterrupted conversation and ongoing companionship with Christ. As Paul Tillich has said, "Loneliness is a word to describe the pain of being alone; solitude is a word to describe the glory of being alone." In fact, by the time the house in Ohio sold and my family was finally able to join me in Kansas, I was surprised to find that, as thankful as I was to have them with me, I was disappointed to find that it was suddenly much harder to find an empty chair!

But the lesson was not wasted. I have learned to practice the discipline of the empty chair. To this day, when I find an empty chair next to me along the way, I am quickly reminded that it is not empty at all. The Lord is with me, and He's not going anywhere. He is my constant Companion and Friend. He is just waiting for me to acknowledge His presence, to engage Him in conversation, to join Him on the journey. And when I do, my spirit sings for joy.

"And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own.

And the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known."