First published in the Baptist Times - OUTSIDE EDGE column - 15 October 2010
There are times when the nudge of the Holy Spirit is not so much a subtle elbow in the ribs as a launch into orbit. One such launch for me was, appropriately, the launch of a recent book.
Writing books used to be a gentle activity - shutting myself away and typing for hours, interspersed with walks in the park and long soaks in the bath, inwardly writing the next part.
Once completed, the typescript was sent to the literary agent who, after a few comments, would pass it on to an editor or twelve, till one loved it and then demanded a comprehensive rewrite.
The publishers would edit, copy-edit, proofread, publish and market it and, ideally, sell foreign rights, film options and book club deals - while I dreamily started plotting the next book.
Okay, I’m simplifying a bit - leaving out the rejection slips, the sniffy comments (‘We’re only accepting exceptional writers at the moment’), the unanswerable demands (‘I want more sounds and smells in your descriptions’) and indigestible lunch meetings (‘Can I just say I don’t like this book? Do you mind criticism?’ over slippery chopsticks and crispy seaweed).
But basically, writing was a private function, and the accompanying humiliations at least had a limited audience.
Times have changed and authors are now expected to do their own marketing and self-publicising.
Terrified of the prospect of having to do book launches, talks and live radio soundbites, I prayed for help privately, then publicly, and was deeply relieved when people offered to help with the launch; being part of a team was much less frightening.
As the date of the launch grew closer, though, I began to have nightmares and bouts of panic. While apprehension is natural, this was out of proportion. It was not fear I was experiencing, but conflict. I felt I was committing some moral wrong.
I had promised the interviewees who featured in the book - street children and trafficked women among them - I would do my utmost to give them a voice, and in order to do that, I had to raise mine - therefore it was ‘right’ to publicise my book.
But a whole early lifetime’s conditioning, by church, family and school, told me drawing attention to yourself was ‘wrong’ - showing off.
Even in primary school I had been aware of the conflict. The nuns who liked the ‘good’ Jesus so much would, if he had been in our class when he said, “I am the light of the world” and “Come to me, everyone …..” have put him in detention for a week.
But knowing, as an adult, that humbly following God does not mean being invisible, anonymous, hiding your light or suppressing your personality, is far from being able to still the inner tug-of-war. The impending book launch had thrown up this unresolved conflict and I had four days to resolve it, or chicken out.
A similar clash had happened once before. I saw a young boy on the steps of a homeless hostel; he had come out that morning in shirtsleeves, the doors were closed until evening, and the weather had turned cold. As I took off my jacket and handed it to him, the voices of middle-class generations roared at me: irresponsible, mentally unstable, undignified, gullible, embarrassing …. The clamour was almost physically crushing.
It was only later when, walking back that way, I saw the boy sitting on the kerb appreciatively stroking the jacket sleeve, that I felt a contrasting uplift of joy. He was not only warm but happy. So where had the turmoil come from?
Maybe, for lifelong Christians, the greatest moral battle we engage in is not between good and bad but between the ‘good’ of familiar received wisdom and God’s version - the God who alone is good.
I’m thankful the cause of my panic was identified, and that fellow Christians kindly prayed for me - and thankful that a book launch was also the launch I needed out of the clothing of false morality so it could be handed over to God.
Clare Nonhebel’s new book ‘Finding Oasis,’ publ. Authentic Media, is on sale in bookshops or online
