My mother used to say that any night out in good Christian fellowship wasn't quite the finest if someone didn't "talk spiritual." Not a lot. Too much is gooey and tends towards the "me and-my-sweet-Jesus" myopia. But just a little shot of good faithful intimacy, a kind of theological truth talk, she used to think, is good for body and soul.
Of course, such evaluation can morph into a weapon easily enough. If "talking spiritual" doesn't arise in a little get-together, my mother might sneer a bit, or at least register some sorrowful regret. It's easy to get the opinion that those who don't "talk spiritual" aren't spiritual. Not a good conclusion at all.
Let me just say that last night's meeting with some folks from Volga Christian Reformed Church would have left my mother not only smiling but wiping away tears--and that's the true test of "talking spiritual." And that's good. Honestly, her own far less talking-spiritual son got himself moved across the block more than once when good folks reached for the corners of their eyes when talking about faith, about how it got them through three-foot high dirt drifts during the Dust Bowl and meager sustainence when all a father had to bring to town to barter for groceries was a quart of cream. You simply couldn't not listen.
Lots of substantial spiritual talk, as a matter of fact.
But good honest spirituality is like ying without yang because you can't let "talking spiritual" get you into some kind of funk. You got to laugh. If you don't laugh a little, you leave in a cloud as dark as a swarm of hoppers.
One guy says he remembers another guy telling him this about the weather sometime in the Thirties. It was so hot and dry, he said, that he saw a dog chasing a rabbitt. Both of 'em were walking.
That's talking spiritual too, methinks. What a blessing.