Overflowing Joy

At that very moment, Jesus overflowed with joy from the Holy Spirit and said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because You’ve hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and shown them to babies. Indeed, Father, this brings you happiness.”

                                                                                                    Luke 10:21

I would have loved to see Jesus overflow with joy. I don’t recall having read such a description of Jesus elsewhere, but I can imagine it. Can you? 

This verse is part of the story of the seventy-two who have been sent out and have now returned to share their experiences. Imagine the excitement they brought, and Jesus, in the thick of their excitement, exclaiming with joy to God! It is a glimpse, surely, of what heaven must be, and the overflowing joy that is part and parcel of eternal life. 

I’ve had those moments of overflowing joy, and I’m sure you’ve had them too. Last weekend, I was in the North Georgia mountains, and one morning, as I sat outside in the crisp, cool air, I saw the sun strike the mountain in front of me. It brought tears to my eyes, a moment of overflowing joy. We experience such moments, and most of them take place in events of everyday life. Something clicks, and we are present in a way that is hard to describe. If we do try to describe it, we cannot adequately convey why it is such a moment for us.

Maybe such moments are when we actually experience the world with childlike wonder. Jesus speaks of things being hidden from the wise and intelligent and shown instead to babies. To overflow with joy requires that we lay aside being “reasonable” and embrace imaginative delight, that we receive God’s kingdom, which is everywhere, all around us, as a child.

Are you open to experiencing overflowing joy? Are you willing to let go of stiff, stuffy adulting to see the ordinary as extraordinary, with the eyes of a child?

Origin

 

Happy are those who trust in the Lord,

   who rely on the Lord.

They will be like trees planted by the streams,

   whose roots reach down to the water.

They won’t fear drought when it comes,

   their leaves will remain green.

They won’t be stressed in the time of drought

   or fail to bear fruit.

                                           Jeremiah 17:7-8

 

Down—the unlikely way to go,

but it is where the water of life dwells.

My roots went down to the Source and I found

my origin: to be one with nature, to play

outdoors, to see the world with child’s awe.

I am reborn by descent. I lived serious

far too long.

Now is the time to play, to be curious,

to live in wonder.

Tastes of Heaven

 

But our gusty emotions say to me that we have

Tasted heaven many times: these delicacies

Are left over from some larger party.      

--From Tasting Heaven by Robert Bly

 

If tastes of heaven are the tidbits from a larger party,

then what was the larger version of the soft mist I enjoyed on my cheeks

this morning? Was it the residue from some heavenly celebration,

where bottles of champagne erupted to celebrate

the blooming of tulips, or the woven engineering of a swift’s nest?

 

I wonder what gets celebrated in heaven.

I imagine the minute, tiny, barely noticed (by us) events,

fattening buds, pink hue on a cloud, the way

sunlight filters through upon forest floor,

the first breath drawn by a foal—these

surely elicit uproarious response.

If I could count the misty drips as they touch my skin,

each drop a celebration to last a lifetime, ah,

this is a foretaste of eternity!

Divine Providence

 

How do we understand the way God works in the world?

Faith as Not Knowing

 

Some thoughts about faith, surprise, wonder, and worship.

Finding the Holy in the Ordinary

Over my bed hangs a print of a mostly brown butterfly. Not the type you might consider art-worthy. Under the butterfly are these words: Finding the Holy in the Ordinary.

 To be able to find the holy in the ordinary grind of daily life is a practice that can transform the mundane to the marvelous. Awe and wonder are not only triggered by big things, but also by the small things we may overlook or take for granted.

 

Nature is full of things we may often overlook in their ordinariness. One day I was 

walking near where I live in downtown Macon. I saw what had looked like a patch of weeds every other time I’d passed it, but that particular day, what I saw were adorable flowers. The flowers had been there all along, but because I was able to see differently that particular day, I collected a bouquet to enjoy in my home.

 A number of Psalms extol God’s creativity in the natural world. One of my favorites is Psalm 104. The whole Psalm is a song of praise for God’s work in creation, but these particular verses always make me smile:

O Lord, how manifold are your works!

In wisdom you have made them all;

the earth is full of your creatures.

Yonder is the sea, great and wide,

creeping things innumerable are there,

living things both small and great.

There go the ships,

and Leviathan that you formed to sport in it.

Psalm 104:24-26

I love the Psalmist’s use of imagination. Creation and creatures are not merely acknowledged and described with literal precision. We are invited to see with the Psalmist’s imagination—even a giant sea monster frolicking in the ocean! 

I invite you to get outside, take a slow walk, and simply see what may be quite familiar to you with a fresh sense of awe. Let your seeing be a prayer of praise to God. A friend of mine calls it “marveling.”

 Author Macrina Wiederkehr was walking one morning when she saw a silver maple tree whose leaves were shimmering in the sunlight. She was suddenly uncertain if what she was seeing shimmering in the light were leaves or angel wings. I think about that when I see the sunlight shining on leaves, especially when the tree is glistening after a rain shower.

Another way to invite mystery into the mundane is with a practice the Celtic people employed:    blessing the ordinary activities of the day.

They had prayers for rising, prayers for kindling the fire, prayers for making the bed, prayers for dressing, and even prayers for milking the cow. And that’s just the first part of the day! There were prayers for travel, prayers for the herd they were tending, prayers for seaweed they harvested, prayers for the seeds and plants, prayers for churning butter, making cloth, and for the tools of cobbling shoes. And then there were prayers for putting the fire out at the end of the day, prayers for protection at night.

 There was no activity or item too mundane to bless.

 Several years ago I was part of a retreat that studied Celtic spirituality. One of the exercises we were given was to write a blessing about an ordinary practice or item. A friend who attended with me wrote a blessing for her favorite paring knife. How might you bless the ordinary items you use each day or the ordinary activities of your day?

 Is a blessing for your paring knife or your toothbrush silly? I would argue that it is a tool for a deeper relationship to God. When we live with eyes that see the holy in the ordinary, we are actually praying without ceasing.

 I invite you to a fresh way of encountering the world today, even if your world feels quite small and confined right now. God meets us in the ordinary. Our experiences provide all we need to swim in holiness, even if those experiences feel mundane and unremarkable. How will you meet God today?

Touching His Wound

“Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe!”

                                                                John 20:27

Let me draw my life from your life,

as I feel the beating of your heart

under my trembling fingers.

So close to you, your breath on my skin.

You, source of my life.

You, source of my love.

Let me draw my life from your life.

Let me never doubt your presence in me,

your love for me,

your Spirit’s power moving me.

I put my hand under your heart.

I put my whole trust, my whole life, in you.

Present in the Transitions

When Jesus heard about John, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself. When the crowds learned this, they followed him on foot from the cities.

                                                                                --Matthew 14:13

Jesus needed some alone time after learning of the execution of his cousin John. The only time he could claim was the time on the boat. As soon as he landed, he was once again surrounded by crowds.

I imagine Jesus found the time on the boat soothing to his grieving soul, enabling him to then be fully present with the crowds who were waiting for him when he came ashore. It is a reminder to me to not fail to be fully present in the transitions of life.

Our achievement/accomplishment oriented culture places greater emphasis on the destination than the process required to get there. We are constantly looking ahead to the next thing, but when we do this, we miss the gifts of being on the way.

Recently I observed a Luna moth on a UPS drop box as I was walking on a downtown sidewalk from my apartment to my car. Had I been lost in thought about my to-do list, I might have missed a moment of beauty. And this morning as I parked my car in a large parking lot to go to an appointment, I heard a hawk. I stopped, looking in the sky to see if I could see it. I found it perched in a pine tree that is growing at the edge of the lot. It was a gift to appreciate as I moved toward my destination.

It takes intentionality to be as present climbing the stairs, walking across a parking lot, riding an elevator or standing in line as we are when we first put our bare feet in the sand on a long awaited beach trip, or are eating lunch with a friend we haven’t seen in a while, or celebrating a milestone moment of life.

Seeking God’s presence in the moments between moments, in the spaces between thoughts, or in the transitions between events enriches all of life and disposes us to see God in ways we could miss if we are only focused on accomplishments or destinations. Much of Jesus’ ministry happened when he was on the way. I pray we can appreciate the “on the way” moments as much as the moments of arrival or accomplishment.

Awe

How do we even stay upright

when burning bushes are everywhere?

Angels fly around my head

twittering their praise to God.

I feel I should fall to my knees

as God’s breath blows against my skin

and moves the clouds across the sky.

Surely this butterfly, yellow against gray trees,

is a miracle, a sign that all nature incarnates God.

Attentiveness to the Transitions

When Jesus heard about John he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself. When the crowds learned this, they followed him on foot from the cities.   –Matthew 14:13

After hearing of the death of John the Baptist, Jesus needs some time to himself. However, the only time he gets is the time on the boat. Alone on the water, I imagine him feeling the rocking motion and hearing the waves lapping against the hull. Other than this, things are still, quiet, calm. I can imagine the time on the water soothes his pain.

I’ve read this verse many times but never before have I thought about Jesus’ time on the water. That was merely a transition from point A to point B in my mind. However, a group from my church recently returned from a pilgrimage to Israel. I asked two different men at two different events last week to describe their most memorable moment of the time away. Both of them described being on a boat in the Sea of Galilee in silence for about ten minutes—no boat engine, no conversation. Just silence.

Their descriptions of this experience caused me to pay attention to this verse that details Jesus’ movement by boat. Having heard my friends describe their experience, my own imagination went with Jesus into the boat, and I shared the experience with him. It reminds me that being present is not only about arriving at a destination, but also about being present in the transitions of life, mundane as they often are. For Jesus had only the boat time to renew himself, only that time alone on the water to attend to his grief.

The transitions in my day and yours are many and we often miss the gifts they offer us. Climbing the stairs, driving the car, standing in line, walking across a parking lot—all these are times we can choose to be present and attentive or we can merely be focused on getting to the next thing.

Years ago, I was looking out my office window into the parking lot. A bush was alive with cedar waxwings, devouring the berries. I was mesmerized as I watched them. A coworker pulled his car into the parking space near the bush, got out of the car and walked into the building. He never saw the birds right there in front of him. That happened thirty-plus years ago and I still remember it.

So today, I want to pay attention to the transitions, to the moments between moments, the pauses between words, the spaces between thoughts or breaths. Those are opportunities to be aware of the Spirit’s presence.

All Things

My Father has handed all things over to me. No one knows the Son except the Father. And nobody knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wants to reveal him.  –Matthew 11:27

All things. Jesus is one with God, knowing and known perfectly, one by the other. All knowledge, all power, all love, all humility, all compassion, all generosity—all that is in God is in Jesus, and Jesus’ life and work reveal to us a glimpse of the Father’s heart, which is still beyond our comprehending.

To have been given this glimpse, which seems to us in our smallness so vast and deep a knowing, is such a gift, such a grace. Our whole lives—all we learn and know of God—is still only a glimpse of the Creator. No matter how much we know, our knowing is but a grain of sand compared to what Jesus knew of the Father.

Do you ever imagine what God knows of God’s whole creation? The thoughts of the hawk I saw soaring yesterday, the sound of sap moving in a tree’s body, the timing of my next breath, the location of every worm pushing through soil—God knows all this. And God loves each with a love I cannot fathom, but want to emulate.

An Advent Prayer

“. . . you’ve hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have shown them to babies. Indeed, Father, this brings you happiness.”   Matthew 11:25-26

Loving God, don’t let me be so wise,

so intelligent, so busy, so practical, that I miss

the miracle before me. Do not let my heart grow numb,

unable to muster awe and wonder and love.

Keep me from the cynics, the complainers,

the rushing-arounders who have no time and

no use for a tree full of joy,

gifts given in love, or the sparkle in a child’s eye.

May I find a silent night, or several,

in which to sit with The Story,

in which to enter it afresh.

Light the Christ candle in my heart today and throughout

this season, that I may be aglow with your love

and presence. May my heart

be a welcoming womb for your Great Gift to us.

O come Emmanuel. Amen.

All Flame

Therefore, everyone who acknowledges me before people, I will also acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven. But everyone who denies me before people, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.     Matthew 10:32-33

Let me not be one who denies you with

my life, while professing you with

my voice. I want my heart to be

open always to you, to be

your dwelling place. I want you

pulsing through my veins, filling every

cell with your presence. And yes, I know

you are already present in these places.

Yet I want to feel you there, in my heart,

in my blood, in my cells. I want,

like Abba Joseph*, to be all flame with you.

May it be so today, gracious Christ.

May it be so. Amen.

*Abba Joseph was one of the Desert Fathers. The reference is to this saying about him:

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, “Abba, as far as I can, I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?” Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands toward heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, “If you will, you can become all flame.”

Knowing

My heart holds things my mind

cannot remember, shielding me, perhaps,

from pain I cannot yet embrace.

My heart, the oldest part of me, knew me

before I was me. How does it beat

all this time, so steady through sorrow and joy,

suffering and liberation?

Every tear and smile it knows. While mind

can only hold so much, heart holds it all.

“Listen, listen” it says, “to my wisdom. I will not

forsake you. Tune your life to my rhythmic beat

as you did, once, in the womb. My knowing

can be trusted.”

Small Delights

Yesterday I sat at a stop sign, waiting for an opening in traffic so I could pull onto a busy road. As I was checking to the left, I saw movement closer to me. It was a sparrow, flying-hopping up to a seed head of crabgrass, raking the seeds off, then settling on the pavement below to eat what it had harvested. I stopped watching the traffic and instead watched the busy bird until a car pulled up behind me. It was a small delight, a breath of joy breathed into my day.

Later, I was walking across a shopping center parking lot when I saw a dragonfly. I stopped, (safely out of traffic) and simply watched its flight--hovering, then moving, then hovering—until it finally flew out of sight. It was another small delight, and I felt the breath of joy I had felt upon seeing the sparrow earlier.

On a recent walk, I found a petunia growing out of a sidewalk crack. There were no other petunias around, so I suppose this one sprouted from a seed that waited through the winter for its chance to germinate and grow. Its determination and patience brought a smile to my face—yet another small delight.

In a world where we seem to crave the constant stimulation of big, splashy and dramatic events, people and things, I relish these small examples of grace and life. Saint Thèresé of Lisieux had such an appreciation of small things. She said this, speaking of the different flowers—roses and lilies, contrasted with the more common daisies and violets: I saw that if all these lesser blooms wanted to be roses instead, nature would lose the gaiety of her springtide dress—there would be no little flowers to make a pattern over the countryside.

I believe that an appreciation for small things helps us to be more aware of the presence of God in all of life. It also invites us to a more permeating discipleship because we know the significance that the smallest act can have for the world as a whole. When we delight in the small, we are more likely to do the small things that, added together, make a big difference—picking up a piece of trash off the sidewalk, feeding the birds, acknowledging a homeless person by looking them in the eyes and speaking to them.

Thèresé described her mission in life as simply “to make Love loved.” To make Love loved opens us up to an appreciation of the small and simple in life. I would argue that it is more significant than a large, showy mission because it is purged of any pride, any desire for recognition or attention and is thus pure and holy.

Three Haiku from Ireland

On Easter Monday, I traveled to Ireland for a writing retreat, giving my blog a rest while generating fresh ideas for future posts. Today I offer three haiku written in the ruins of the church named for St. Colman Mac Duach.

Ancient prayer grows

from the stone. Small fern speaks life

into hopeful hearts.

Warmh of holiness.

Sanctuary of silence.

Eternity speaks.

I offer my heart

on this ancient altar as

prayers seep from stones.

Exuberance

Jeremiah 31:2-13

Grace in the wilderness!

A foretaste of freedom, of life

abundant, new, filled with surprise!

God-sized gifts, deepest longings met,

my heart bursts with love and praise.

Loved with a love that lasts

forever. Forever! Home—

extravagant garden of God’s heart.

I dance and dwell in gratitude,

laughter my song of joy!

Songs of Praise

Psalm 148

Rambling robin song greets me in the early morning darkness.

Wrens and mockingbirds belt out their praise and I wonder—

how does the wren bring so much volume from its tiny body,

how does the mockingbird remember all the songs it sings?

When I’m lucky, I hear the soft lament of the song sparrow,

reminding me that lament is also praise.

And in the morning light the starlings’ song makes me smile.

Each bird sings its praise using its unique voice, and so it is with us.

What song am I given to sing?

What song is yours?

Signs and Wonders

Daniel 4:1-8

Generous God, I cannot begin to name

all the signs and wonders you have shown me,

especially in the recent past. Kindnesses

sent when I was at my lowest, surprises when a

word read affirmed or clarified an earlier thought,

opportunities more abundant than I could have imagined.

Some were truly improbable—

the red bird that crashed into a window beside me.

As it lay on the ground and drew its last breath, I was given

the answer to a troubling question. The dream that revealed

something I could not have known any other way.

The weight of unseen hands on my head, blessing me

for a journey I didn’t know was coming.

You are a God who constantly surprises.

Thank you for all love’s expressions, for the way

you reveal yourself time and time again. Amen.

Strawberry Witness

Psalm 34:8

A strawberry preaches, testifying of God.

The red tells Jesus’ humanity—he bled

because he was human. Heart-shaped,

a reminder of the sacred heart of Jesus, my refuge, my home.

Tiny seeds an emblem of the divine seed

within each of us that, with intention, grows

so that Christ is seen in us.

When halved, symmetrical white lines speak of God’s

care and attention to the smallest detail of our lives.

What remains hidden is its nutrition—a benefit received

when eaten. Like Christ, looking at, knowing about, admiring

does not equate to being open to receive.

When I taste and see, God’s sweet, juicy goodness

fills me, changes me, nourishes me.

Thank you God, for the witness of strawberries!