Monologues of the heart

Reading Ecclesiastes this morning was like placing a loudspeaker to the heart and hearing the monologues within.

Chapter 2 describes King Solomon’s bold experiment to indulge in every form of pleasure conceivable in the quest to discover purpose in his life. And it all started with a monologue in his heart.

“I said in my heart, ‘Come now, I will test you with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure’; but surely, this also was vanity.” (v 1)

What follows is a catalogue of the different ways in which he sought to maximize his pleasure and enjoyment. Notice how each verse begins with “I” – representing the exalted self, basking in his own efforts. The verdict of the experiment? That “all was vanity and grasping for the wind” (v 11b).

Somehow, those inner monologues of the heart can so easily lead us to despairing outcomes. It happened to Solomon, and often to me too. Perhaps the inherent deceitfulness of our hearts predisposes these monologues to negativity. It is almost as though we cannot help but feel and think our way into depression and despair, when we are left to our own human devices.

This inward bent of our hearts towards earthly thoughts and concerns has become even more evident as I spent the last few weeks alone. Stripped of human company and the endless, mind-numbing distractions that a satellite dish can offer, the monologues of my heart have grown more intense, dominating my attention. More often than not, these monologues have led me away from God and towards discouragement and pessimism. It is as though solitude has amplified the insecurities and emptiness within that I have masked with activities and distractions.

So writes Henri Nouwen in “The Way of the Heart”:

“In solitude I get rid of my scaffolding: no friends to talk with, no telephone calls to make, no meetings to attend, no music to entertain, no books to distract, just me – naked, vulnerable, weak, sinful, deprived, broken – nothing. It is this nothingness that I have to face in my solitude, a nothingness so dreadful that everything in me wants to run to my friends, my work, and my distractions so that I can forget my nothingness and make myself believe that I am worth something.” 

I like how Nouwen likens the social and emotional props we fill our lives with as “scaffolding”. When we strip away all the scaffolding, will our lives still stand, or will it crumble into a heap of debris?

Without Christ, we are nothing, and our hearts are empty vessels that cry out to be filled. It is either filled with the deceitful pleasures of the world, the insatiable appetites of the self, or the eternal purposes of God. In times of solitude, the Lord shows us the carnality and insecurities that reside within. Those things have to be emptied from our hearts, and then we have to be filled with things from above. Both are acts of God. Left to our own devices, we cannot set the heart right.

But still, the Lord requires our willing participation, in the process of redeeming our deceitful hearts. The psalmists understood that it took a conscious and deliberate effort to turn their hearts heavenward. A quick browse through the Psalms yielded many such examples.

“O God, my heart is steadfast.

I will sing and give praise, even with my glory” (Psa 108:1)

“Praise the Lord!

I will praise the Lord with my whole heart,

In the assembly of the upright and in the congregation.” (Psa 111:1)

“Incline my heart to Your testimonies,

And not to covetousness.” (Psa 119:36)

This morning, I find myself utterly unable to help myself, except to think upon the words of a familiar hymn.

“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it

Prone to leave the God I love,

Here’s my heart, Lord

Take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.”