My Favorite Place: Scribbles from Thursday in the House of Prayer

I have found the path into God’s Presence.  I return again and again, like a deer cutting through brush to water.  Each time the path becomes a little easier, and now I can follow it even in the dark.  I have this path in my heart, and I am blessed.

We talk about God’s Presence as a place: we “enter” worship and we “come before” God. Yet the Presence is not a place like a building is a place--it's more real, more permanent than a building. All other beautiful places and spaces of this life are quickly-fading shadows of the Place of God’s Presence.

Last Thursday we were singing about the new Jerusalem John saw (Revelation 21), and God said He would dwell with us.  And in the midst of the song and meditation, my heart started moving toward Home--my eternal home, the far country, the motherland, Jerusalem above, where I am truly a citizen, beloved and fully known.  Jesus says the first things will pass away, and He makes all things new. The building we use for worship will pass away, but our Place worshiping God in His Presence will endure into the age to come.  Every time we enter His Presence, every moment we spend in His shadow, is a glimpse and glimmer of that day, when our Place of prayer in this life will seamlessly join the age of unveiled unbroken loving union.

Mind you, I am not wishing for death in any morbid way, and I am not twiddling my thumbs waiting for Jesus to return. The Spirit and the Bride say, "Come, Lord Jesus," but every moment in the Presence catapults us toward the consummation.  In prayer and worship (I use these interchangeably) I touch eternity. Really.

I could not resist this tangent: Not only is my Place of prayer a real place, but the relationships formed through prayer are eternal.  My fellow pilgrims who go with me into the Presence, the ones who walk beside me as we follow Jesus--we will go together into the Presence in the new Jerusalem.  The love we have now will be multiplied, cleansed of selfishness and shame, and full of glory in the age to come.  When we’re in the Presence together now, I already feel little pangs of heavenly love for the dark but lovely children of the new Jerusalem, the gems hidden in earthen vessels, the majestic ones in the earth.

I especially feel tenderness toward my gracious brothers, Stephen Suing and Jordan Bentley, who have helped me beat down the path into the Presence every Thursday for years.  I love to imagine the age to come with them.  Since we will worship for all eternity, I think eventually it will be our turn to lead worship there as we have here on earth. Of course, the instruments and music will be infinitely superior, and I won’t miss a note, but I think we will still have some of the same style and passion we have now. All the glory we experience in this life is a shadow of the age to come, so I think we will still have the same joy of music, friendship, and encountering our Magnificent Obsession… only it will be even more joyful, delightful, and glorious than we ever imagined!

I love mulling over these thoughts, letting them blow my mind until I can only laugh.  The Presence of God is my favorite Place.

P.S.  If you want to know how to get the path to Presence in your heart, I can tell you!  I found it slowly through practice and grace, not by accident and not because I'm more special than you.  I'm not.

Stillness: Scribbles from Thursday in the House of Prayer

There’s a wonderful empty space between my thoughts and Yours, a field of peace yawning to the horizon.  When my striving drains out, when I feel the stillness of an empty heart, then I also feel Your life and breath permeating me.
Your words are always welcome, but in this stillness between my small words and Your bottomless wisdom, between our words is the sweet place of molding where I learn to relax in my weakness and wait for You.
Here there is peace beyond words and strength swells up like a silent unbroken wave.  In this lovely quiet, words are too small to be part of our great exchange.
It’s hypocritical, I know, to try to spend words describing a stillness beyond words, but words are where I dwell most of the time.  I just wanted a reminder to myself, in my world of words, a reminder of that other place without words.  I hope I will find my way back soon.
~November 3, 2011

Surprising Kindness

In college I experienced a classic crisis of faith.  I attended University of Portland, a Catholic school, run by Holy Cross priests.  I’m Protestant.  Public universities have a reputation for rooting out faith like a weed of ignorance; I chose UP so I could use my brain but keep my faith.

As a freshman, one of my friends was taking a course in religion and science from an old priest, Father Hosinski.  My friend told me all about the class, especially the alternate explanations for miracles in the Bible.  It was psychologically traumatic for me; my faith was still immature and narrow.  My friend kept preaching, “Father Hosinski says…” and delightedly kicking legs out from under me. So I went to confront Father Hosinksi with my bitter pain and questions.

I will never forget the wrinkled old priest’s gentleness and ease--he was not interested in destroying anyone’s faith.  His life of poverty, chastity and obedience had worn away any sharp edges.  He had no agenda.  He refused to tell me which way to turn or what to believe. He seemed to be looking at me in a much wider picture.  In this narrow moment, I was gripped by fear of losing my faith anchor, but he seemed to lean back, take in a grand view, and assure me that God would find me and I would find God. 

He did not say those words out loud.  I don’t remember exactly what he said or what I said, I just remember his smile, the happy house plants draped around bookshelves and filing cabinets in his dim little office, and how some of my fear drained out that day.

My own lens widened a little when I took Father Hosinksi’s religion class.  Although he is a “man of science,” he told the class he believed in Jesus’ literal Resurrection, “because nothing else could explain the change in his disciples.”  He also choked up in front of the class when he read the story of the Prodigal Son, and told us, his voice cracking, how God had been his Father.

Sometimes I again find myself absorbed in a moment.  My faith is not in crisis, but I still feel the restless fear and frustration I packed into Father Hosinksi‘s office that day.  

I am a mother of two.  I always thought I would want to have a "bunch" of children “someday.”  Now that I’ve begun, I am having second thoughts.  My life is filled with diapers and potty-training and runny noses… and the bewildering questions of how to handle the original sin rising up at 2 and 3 years old.  I can’t just kick them out of the garden; I have to keep living with them.

But my life is also full of sweet moments when heaven breaks in and I can see more widely.  This morning, I was reading Matthew 6. Jesus says not to worry about what you will eat or drink or wear, because your heavenly Father knows what you need before you ask…  I think of how I know when my children need to go to sleep or eat something or use the bathroom--before they do.  And they don’t like it, but I really do know better.  And I think of how they make their needs known and trust me to take care of them.  They don’t worry about whether there will be food tomorrow. And when they are tired they whine and cry, but I can sit back and look at the big picture, and smile because I know that soon they will sleep peacefully with all their needs met.  So I say to God, I want to be like a little child who trusts You.  I fuss and fret and cry, but He sits back and smiles because He is doing what’s best for me.  He sees the wide picture, lets me unload my fears, and says, don’t worry, you’ll find Me and I’ll find you.