“The obscure longing for something I could not name,” spoke the reader of the book, and as I heard those words they immediately took up residence in my mind where I could not escape them. I was listening to a book on CD several days ago as I drove to work when this occurred, and I have played those same words over and over again since.
I have been pondering of late just why it is that I seem to have lost the urge to write. I had concluded that the urge was still there, but that I have actually been avoiding this activity that I love. I had no answer to this paradox. There was truth in all the possible answers I came up with but they all seemed incomplete. When I heard those words, “the obscure longing for something I could not name”, I thought, “Yes, I know that feeling!” Indeed I have known it for as long as I remember and by now have realized that it will never go away. It’s not a bad thing, this obscure, unnamed longing, but it is often uncomfortable. It challenges me to walk the dark corridors of my own interior, to open doors that are shut tight, and to explore the unknown rooms. This obscure longing leads me to ask questions for which there may be no answers, and take the risk to receive answers that I may not like. This obscure longing challenges me to broaden my understanding of the possible and to open myself to God in new ways. It’s like a dull ache, this longing I have. It’s not what could be called a pain but I am aware of it on one level or another almost all the time, and like any dull ache there is the possibility that it will worsen into actual pain at some point. Because I cannot name the ache, it scares me if I think about it too much or too deeply.
Writing, when I do it well, in one way or another connects me with my own obscure longing for something that I can not name. I think perhaps this is why I have avoided it these past months. The avoidance began during the busyness of the Christmas season, intensified during the depression of winter, and became well entrenched during the imposed thoughtfulness of the Lenten season. Now that Easter day has come and gone though, I find that the light and joy of Easter have not yet dawned in my heart, and that there is simply no escaping that obscure longing that I can not name.
If I write, I take a risk. If I do not, a part of me may shrivel up and die. So, I shall write.
The baby was born, the three Wise Men have arrived, and the world is filled with Light.
Today, Jan. 6, is Epiphany, the day in the church year when we remember those three gift bearers who followed the star to find the Christ child. They followed a light to find the Light of the World! Something I read recently pointed out that the Wise Men were astrologers who looked to the heavens for signs and guidance. They were not worshipers of the One True God. Yet God, whose Wisdom is far greater than that of any wise man, chose these “pagans” to be some of the first people who worshiped the King of Kings. God even spoke to them in a dream, telling them not to return to tell King Herod where to find the baby whose star they followed. (See Matthew 2:1-12) How can God speak to a pagan, and why would God want to anyway? What does the fact that God did choose to do this say to us today? How should this fact affect how we look at people who don’t worship or believe as we Christians do?
The Light has come and in Him there is no darkness. As followers of the Christ, we are called to be light bearers, carrying His light into the world. The wise men probably did not understand that it was the King of Kings, God’s own son, that they travelled to visit. They did not name Him as the Son of God, yet they worshiped Him, and perhaps they too became filled with Light, and took that Light with them back to the land from which they came. How could one be in the presence of God and not be changed?
The Light has come and in Him there is no darkness. As followers of the Christ, we are called to live Light filled lives. Do we even know what that means? Do we really want to know? The Wise Men travelled for a long time, through the desert, up hills and down, with no map and no previous experience in the place to which they travelled. All they had was a light to follow, and in the end they found Him whom they sought. How far are we willing to go into uncharted territory seeking God, and how long are we willing to take? We have a Light to follow, but do we allow the Light to lead us?
The baby was born, the three wise men have arrived, and now let us pray that we will have the wisdom and determination to follow the Light and to allow the Light to fill us and transform us.
I just want to sit at your feet, lean my head on your knee, and be.
Jesus, sometimes lately I wonder if I know you at all. You are so much more than I know, so much more than I have experienced, so much more than I have the capacity to understand. Advent is near; that time of year when we await your coming. That time of year when we remember the God babe that came to earth. I shall pray that you come again to my heart, and break through the crust that seems to have formed about it. You came, you’ll come again, but right now I just need you to come to me. Or maybe what I need is that I’ll be able to feel that you are here.
Jesus, I do not deserve such, but let me sit at your feet, lean my head on your knee, and be. AMEN
I think perhaps the reason that I don’t write sometimes goes far deeper than the fact that I’m busy, even though that may be true. To write I must think deeply, and that takes energy that I may not feel I have at the moment. But beyond that, to write well I must allow myself to feel and experience my own emotions, and that is not always comfortable. So I protect myself, and find things that don’t really matter to fill those moments when I know I’m being tugged at by the Holy Spirit to allow myself to feel things I’d rather ignore. I’m too busy to think. I’m too busy to write. I’m too busy to be me. Yes, I make myself too busy to be me! Like it or not, that mixed bag of emotions, half formed thoughts, fears shoved under the carpet, and hopes I’ve yet to dare to hope are all a part of me. To deny it is to deny myself, yet that is what I choose to do.
Prayer~~~~~ Lord, grant to me grace enough to face myself and all that that means. Help me to love myself enough to take the time to listen to all the parts clammoring for attention. Help me to trust you enough to be….me. AMEN
OUR PART is to pray;
God’s part is to weave everything
into the tapestry
of the divine will.
From page 95 of Talking in the Dark: Praying When Life Doesn’t Make Sense by Steve Harper. Copyright © 2007 by the author. Published by Upper Room Books.
Professional weavers of old often had assistants who performed the task of setting up the loom with the warp threads. After that, the master weaver wove the tapestry. Only he or she would have the skill to use the warp and weft threads together to form the intricate pattern envisioned for the tapestry.
When we pray we are as the assistant, setting things up. Only God can actually weave the tapestry. Yet how often do we try to tell the Master Weaver how to weave? We need to remember that we simply do not have the skill, nor the vision, to do this. Our headstrong attempts would lead to disaster should the Weaver allow us to have our way.
**Prayer ** Lord, help me to pray and then completely release those prayers to you. Only you can see the whole picture. Only you can use those concerns I lift to you in prayer to weave the divine tapestry of my own life and the lives of the others for whom I pray. I worship you, Master Weaver. I desire to trust you more. Amen.
My daughter is coming home tomorrow. I’ve only seen her once, briefly, all summer. She’s a Kent State Univ. student and worked at a camp in PA for the summer. Anyway, she’ll be home tomorrow evening and we have her here for two whole days. I’m excited. I look forward so much to seeing her and hearing about the things that have been happening in her life. I want to know how she is doing, and what God is doing in her life. I enjoy her company and cherish each moment I get to spend with her. The occasional phone calls have been nice and much appreciated, but to have her sit next to me on the sofa and chat, to put my arms around her….. that’s what I’ve been looking forward to since the day she left.
My own anticipation has me thinking about my relationship with God. Could it be that God looks forward to spending time with me, his child, as much as I look forward to being with my dear daughter? Daughter is a wonderful young woman but she is not perfect. Her imperfections do not make me love or appreciate her any less though, and equally so my flaws do not make God love or appreciate me any less. I miss daughter when she is away, and the missing becomes painful at times even, especially when she seems too busy to communicate with me. Does God miss me when I don’t take the time to pray and seek out his/her presence? Is that possible? Perhaps God does not feel emotions in the sense that we do, but it’s still something to ponder. Does God anticipate time with me? How much do I look forward to time with God?
A day of rest and quiet in a beautiful place can do wonders for a person. Add to it that the beautiful setting is also a holy place, and the experience can be transforming.
I went away for a 26 hours to a retreat center run by Franciscan nuns. The center is next to their convent. The accomodations were simple yet comfortable, and grounds provided lovely places to walk or sit in the shade (or sun if you prefer). Space to think, read, pray, and just be, is something I have longed for all summer and this proved to be the perfect setting for such activities. One of the most moving things about my brief stay there was attending Mass with the Sisters at the convent chapel. I’d never attended a Catholic Mass before and made that clear to the Sister who invited me. The liturgy was similar in so many ways to our Episcopal liturgy that I ended up feeling quite comfortable. I had expected to not be permitted to partake in the Eucharist, but Sister D. warmly invited me saying that I obviously believe, so it’s ok. It is always very special to me to recieve Christ’s body and blood in the bread and wine. I felt honored to be able to share the meal with those devoted women.
It’s good to get away to a place where there is nothing to do but tend to the needs of my heart. I needed the quiet in which to listen to the voice of the Spirit. I needed the love extended to me by those I met there. I needed the beauty to feed my soul. I needed to be undistracted to begin to get to the heart of those thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head. If I could do this once a month, I think my life would be changed.
He who would travel happily must travel light.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
French writer (1900 – 1944)
There’s a lot of truth in this little phrase. On a practical note, think about traveling by plane. On a recent trip I took only a carry-on bag. I managed to pack enough for the four days I was gone and avoided the stress of picking up luggage and maybe having it get lost. I hope I can manage to pack as light the next time I take a trip.
Now lets consider another type of travel; the life journey. It’s a little harder to pack light on this one. Some things are like lead weights in the bag; bitterness, unforgiveness, and envy are three of a long list. Then there are the things that aren’t so heavy but just take up a lot of space, like needless regrets and people and things we just can’t seem to let go of. Some people even insist on carrying other people’s baggage, making travel even more complicated and exhausting.
Prayer for Life Travel
Lord, help me pack my bags well, with only the things you know I need for the journey. Give me the courage to leave the unnecessary behind. Give me the strength to lay aside, once and for all, those heavy things that weigh me down. Finally, reveal to me any bags I carry that don’t belong to me. Set me free, dear Jesus, the Master of traveling light. Set me free to travel light. AMEN.
Watching the rushing water of a river in Rocky Mountain National Park, I began to think about the nature of water.
“What if,” I wondered, “a water molecule from a stream or pond in Ohio evaporated into the air, was carried up really high and went west, then fell as part of a raindrop onto this mountain and is now flowing in this river…?”
Wow!
Then the voice of the One who made the water, and me, spoke very quietly over the roaring of the water. “Water doesn’t fight, it just flows. Be as water, and I can take you all kinds of places.”
Jesus, my Beloved, help me to be as water.
Embrace the Mystery
I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it.
-Harry Emerson Fosdick
I think that often we, I’m speaking as humans in general, feel the need to figure things out. We want to have an explanation of why things are the way they are, and how things happened, and what will happen next and who made these things happen, and what we can do about it. If it is beyond our mental capacity to figure something out we take some “expert’s” word for it and may never give it another thought. We feel in control if we have the answers.
It’s been a risky business, but in the last couple of years I’ve dared to question the “right” answers I’ve held on to in matters of faith and discovered that I don’t know half of what I thought I knew. I’ve had to admit that even the things of which I feel quite sure, may not in reality be quite the way I think they are. Further, I’ve concluded that for many questions there really are no definitive answers, and that it really does not matter. I trust that God loves not only me, but all of creation, enough to lead us through life and get us where we need to be by the time we’re done.
Living a life of faith in God means trusting enough to give up control and embrace the Mystery. I find that the universe if full of possibilities now that I no longer feel the need to have all the answers. I am not saying that there are no absolutes in faith; of course there must be. I am finding though, that there are far fewer absolutes that I once thought and that my faith becomes stronger the more I realize this. There is such freedom in embracing the mystery! Alleluia!