Hiding in the Garden

“Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the LORD God among the trees of the garden” Gen 3:8

Why do we hide from the very presence we need and long for?

When I am agitated, and restless, I try to sit still and just focus on my breathing and then listen to the voice ofGod within. The question that often arrises is the same one originating in the garden, “Why are you hiding?”

I think we hide from the true presence when we fear that reality is too painful to embrace. We thing going around and not through will save us. We hide in work, in various activities and entertainments when we cannot bear to be fully present to ourselves. Being truly present to ones self is essentially the same as being present to God.

As Adam hid among the trees, I picture myself hiding in the noise and news of each day, in the Netflix-fix, in the compulsive need to work, when it could easily wait. Why am I avoiding the very thing I need to encounter.

In the words of Henry Nouwen, “We need to drink the cup of our own lives”. There is no other way to experience God’s grace, there is no other visitation but the one your are presently hiding from in present moment of life.

Active Surrender

Surrender is the core principle of spiritual growth, but it can be missunderstood as passivity when it is really an active and intentional stance. Detachment and letting go is not a withdrawal but a new form of engagement that springs from an inner freedom.

In the spiritual life there is always a tension between action and contemplation, between withdraw into prayer and service in the world. But this is a false dichotomy. The deeper the self-surrender and detachment we are led into, the greater the call to action, justice, and mercy. Detachment does not remove the imperative to love, but set us free love completley.

The Holy Spirit leads us further into our human nature, and draws us deeper into communion with others. It pulls us out from the isolation of ideas into the duty of love. We are made for community, to serve and be served. As St. John Paul 2 says, “We only discover ourselves in the gift of ourselves”.

In the natural order when something is letting go and dying, it is actively giving life to its surrounding community. The creature who lays down to die in the woods transitions from consumer to consumed, becoming one with the woods, the very fertilizer that fuels new life. We must accept and surrender to life in its fullness and the only way to do this is to love.

We Can’t Live Without Meaning

I am surrounded by abundance. I have financial and physical security. There is healthy fresh food to eat, clean water and rich wine to drink. I am surrounded by natural beauty and in loving relationship to family and friends.

So why is there still the nagging, gnawing question, “Is there something more I should be doing”? Have I turned away from Christ who lives in the disguise of the poor?

There is so much pain and suffering in this world that I am protected from. Should I feel guilty or grateful, or both?

I feel powerless to effect real change but that is no excuse for not engaging in the struggle and doing something, even just one little thing.

I choose security but my truer and deeper need is for purpose. And that only comes with some measure of risk, the risk of engaging with others, the risk of taking up new challenges. The risk of Love that steps into action and make sacrifices.

Putting Our Bodies In the Way

The late John Lewis, congressman and non-violent civil rights activist made the striking comment during an interview; “In the end, we all have to be willing to place our bodies in the way of injustice and hate”.

If our commitment to justice lives only in our minds and the sentiment of the heart then it is not the radical love that Jesus invites us into. Love involves the full body, because it is the concretizing of God’s spirit active in our world. True freedom involves a willingness to put our very bodies at risk.

Escaping Our Own Narative

“It is no longer I but Christ that lives within me” Gal2:20

All to often we get trapped in our own narrative, our own fake news. We become indentured servants to the self imposed images and expectations of who we are supposed to be or what we think others expect of us.

The ego is a terrible task master, never satisfied, and always seeking control. It fabricates a narrative that runs constantly in the background, accusing, proposing, and spinning half-truths into fear. Focus on it, and we cut ourselves off from Christ who lives within us. The magnificent divinizing presence of Christ is alive in us but we can only access it through surrender and trust. We have to place Him on the throne of our lives if we are to experience interior freedom. His joy becomes our joy, and is completed in us when we let go.

“It is no longer I but Christ that lives in me” Gal2:20

Showing Up for Prayer

If we think about the relationship with our family members and loved ones, we know instictively that we just need to keep showing up for each other. Its natural, no matter if its an exciting moment or ordinary dull expereince. Just to be together through it all is what people in love want to do. They belong to each otther and so they put in the time together. We are God’s beloved children and so it is really natural that we also “show up” to spend time in His presence. Sometimes we will feel a closeness, and other times we just struggle with distraction, frailty and limits. Both are good times spent in our Father’s House.

Unbound

In a coffin of pecan wood, before the altar, he lays still.

His mother approaches and kisses his face and runs her fingers through his hair.

The older brother comes to weep over him, and younger to say what had been left un said.

The lid closes, and a communion of saints gather around us, and we are held by love.

His body goes to ground under Wye Oaks, to soon beside Grandparents.

But his spirit soars, unbound from shame, untouched by fear, and welcomed home.

Stained Glass

I look upon the broken shards, healed together and fused into beauty.

Waves of purple sadness and violet hope refracting through us.

Love’s colors being cracked open, distilled down, and poured all around.

And the saints gather to hold us up in this light that passes through.

We are suspended now in a tender embrace, still not knowing, and yet somehow assured that all will be well.

“The light shines in (this) darkness, and the darkness cannot over come it”

Mourning Light

I rise and take up my mat of grief, pulling it over me like a heavy wool wrap.

My son draws near, standing in the shadowy membrane between memory and presence, to remind me that Love never fails.

I turn and pull up the shades to face the mourning light, with all its pain, to be assured the night has not overcome me.

I limp toward the kitchen with these torn ligaments of love, searching for a way back to wholeness, but everything looks different now.

I pour coffee, break chocolate into chunks and sit with sadness in the mourning light.

A warm consolation seeps into my bones as I realize it is not just my mourning, its ours, and its His.

All His wounded children are here, all His severed limbs, we sit together, one in hope, in the same light, waiting to be healed into the one body of Christ.