Before Salvation

The time leading up to my baptism was pregnant with meaning. Conversations, experiences, books I read, people I talked to, music I listened to, all were ushering me inexorably towards my ultimate surrender to God.

Later, after the fact, I could see some of those moments for what they were. I could trace the workings of the Holy Spirit as a kind of map to my salvation. I was often left feeling grateful to God, but also grateful to the people who where his unwitting accomplices.

One of these moments took place in a bar. A good friend of mine had started to get involved with a self-actualization program in Boston and invited me and our mutual Irish friend to join her for an introduction. We agreed to go, mostly to be supportive of her. The evening was not at all what we expected. It turned out it was mainly a sales event, trying to get us to sign up for their program. So, Irish friend and I left halfway through the evening and walked a block to the nearest bar where we decided to have a beer while waiting for our friend to come out of her part of the meeting.

It was during that brief conversation in the bar that I started asking him questions about his faith. I hung on every word. I peppered him with all kinds of things. He is a man with a fairly inconsistent faith himself, but was raised Roman Catholic, so obligingly muddled through his answers the best he could. Some of his answers, in fact, were probably heretical. But during that conversation, a door cracked open in my heart. A tiny bit of God's light showed through, and to this day I count it as one of the most pivotal conversations I have ever had.

Circumstances were such that I didn't see him again for over 3 years, but last Saturday, at a suprise birthday party, he and his wife were there. We laughed and chatted and had a nice time... but at one point I took him and his wife aside to tell him how critical that conversation 3 1/2 years ago had been. I told him that he had helped plant a seed that was to ultimately turn my life around completely.

Both he and his wife were stunned. I believe he was even moved to tears.

God, in his wisdom, uses us, in our weakness, to plant seeds of faith and love in the world. My Irish friend, in HIS weakness, was one of many catalysts for my redemption. Despite the fact that his own relationship with God was rocky at times, he was, for me, a healer.

I just thought he needed to know that.

Anniversary

I went back to my old church this morning to celebrate my former minister's fifth anniversary. It was a nice morning. I got to see a lot of my old friends. The service and sermon were great. Nguyen and the boys and I enjoyed a potluck brunch and chatted with folks we haven't seen in awhile.

When I first left Bell Street last fall, I cried for days. It was like losing an old friend. But regardless of how painful it was, I felt sure that it was the right choice. I was being called to find a Christian church.

This morning, while sitting in my old pew at Bell Street, I realized that the church had been a gateway for me. I was not, evidently, destined to stay. But it did serve a critical purpose for me. It was the place where I first fell in love with Jesus. And Steve, my UU minister, was willing to go on a crazy, uncharted journey with me... putting aside his own doubts and fears so he could minister to me during a critical time in my spiritual life. We didn't know what the results were going to be. We didn't really know that we were participating in a sacrament. But we felt certain that we were held in God's embrace throughout the time leading up to my baptism. And we were both a little stunned when it became clear that I was going to leave.

It occured to me this morning that for many people, there really IS no other spiritual home for them. If not for the UU church, they would be unchurched. And I know, for a fact, that God finds his way into that chapel, even if he isn't mentioned by name all the time. He found me there, didn't he?

Bell Street has gone through some tough times in the last year. Financial struggles, members leaving, issues within the congregation. It grieves me deeply and I pray for them constantly.

Today, though, was a joyful event. A time when everyone could look back on the last half decade with awe at what has been accomplished, what has changed, and all the ministry that has taken place. I was very grateful to be there.

Go read this....

Cat on a mat over at Monastic Mumblings.

Not to sin

I met a friend for lunch yesterday, and during the conversation, I mentioned I had gone to confession and started to describe what the process was like. As we chatted, I went on to tell him that my biggest sins, these days, have to do with the way I treat my husband and kids. There are times, especially with my husband, when I am downright rude. I treat him disrespectfully. Sometimes in front of the kids, which is damaging to them, too.

As I was talking, I realized that by acknowledging this, I am now compelled to try and do something about it. Leaving this bit of sin dangling in my life like some forgotten laundry is it's own sin. I decided to ask God to create in me a clean heart. I asked God to help me with this bad habit. To take away the desire for me to always be right, be in charge, be the boss of everything. Give me the grace, Lord, to treat my husband with the respect that he deserves. With kindness. With compassion. And help me be more patient with the boys while we are at it.

This has all been percolating for awhile, but I needed to address it right away so in the middle of the afternoon I called Nguyen and told him I had been acting badly and apologized. He agreed that I have been rude and was pleased that I said I was sorry. We talked about it some more when he got home. We shared a bottle of wine after the kids went to bed, and talked for a long time about things. It was good.

God, he is the most important person in my life. Grant me the grace to be kind and loving to him. Help me learn to be more respectful. Help me make this home a refuge for all of us.

Walking to school

Every morning Nguyen and I have been walking the kids to school together. We get to listen to the boys chat about things. They talk about school, desired aquisitions, friends. Nguyen plays little jokes on them. This morning he shook a bush branch while Noah walked under it and drops of rainwater fell all over him.

It is a beautiful time of year to walk because the leaves are turning and falling. People are decorating their houses with pumpkins and corn stalks and mums in all kinds of unlikely colors. Along the way, we collect kids. Sometimes Aaron, Daniel, Zachary. They are all in Noah's grade and we have known them since kindergarten.

When the Noah first started school, I was disapppointed that he couldn't ride the bus. We live too close. They euphemistically call us 'walkers' even though the days of letting your kindergartner walk to school alone have long since past. I resented having to drop the kids off and pick them up again. I spent many an afternoon wishing I didn't have to rush out of the house and interupt whatever I was doing in order to pick them up.

But now, after 5 years of the daily drop off and pick up, I am glad we are 'walkers'. It is by standing around with the other parents that I have gotten to know them so well. We laugh and joke as we wait for the kids. We swap stories and recipes and helpful hints. I have come to appreciate this little community of ours, waving at neighbors as we walk by in the mornings. Knowing who lives on what street. That would never have happened if I just picked the kids up at the bus stop every day.

I have come to be very grateful for our school. It has opened the door to our lovely little neighborhood in a way that I don't think would be possible otherwise.

Uh Oh...

This could be very very bad.

My husband has given me a refurbished old laptop for my kitchen tools gig. The idea is that I can take it to shows with me and enter all the information right there in the hostesses kitchen. But he also set it up for wireless so I can back up my files easily.

Which means I am typing this without being conneccted to a landline. Which means I could conceivably take this little, slowpoke, vintage Dell and sit in my yard under the Norway Spruce and type to my heart's content. Which might very well mean that my posts are going to get very very boring.

You have been warned.

By the way, this thing is so much slower than my typing I can't actually see the words being typed on the screen.

And another thing. More on topic for this blog:

I was at a kitchen tools gig last night and in front of everyone, the host asked my why I am so happy all the time. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I don't really know the right way to respond to that. What I want to say is

"I am a born again, washed in the blood of the lamb, Jesus Freak."

But I recognize that that may not have the effect I am hoping for, which is to witness.

So I hemmed and hawed and mumbled something stupid about deciding to be happy rather than miserable.

But when I got home, I figured I ought to practice some sort of response to that comment, because I actually get it fairly often. And I think this will work:

"I am a woman of faith. I am so joyful because of my gratitude for what God has given me."

That ought to do it.

God's Creation

Handsome men, all three, on Skaket beach in Orleans MA. What a stunning place. At low tide, the tidal flats stretch for miles. I have never seen anything like it. I was so intrigued I managed to talk the family into getting up at dawn to see the sunrise on our last morning. Later we found a little diner that served eggs and chorico.

Camping was wonderful. We had a nice site with lovely neighbors, not too far from the bathrooms and a playground. (Both good things.) The kids were free to roam around a bit on their own, especially to the playground, which was only about 12 yards away, through a small stand of trees. They wanted to skip dinner so they could stay and play with the other kids.

On the way home, we stopped in Chatham to hang out on the beach there. There was no place to park our trailer, so we parked miles away and walked back to the beach.





On Sunday we went to Nauset beach and got there just before high tide. The tide was exceptionally high that day and we kept having to move back out of reach of the waves. Finally, we sat at the base of the dune and opened our picnic basket. We had seltzer and chips and bologna sandwiches with aged cheddar cheese. And delicious Empire Apples. We watched a harbor seal frolicing in the surf. We chatted with a family from RI who happened by. We soaked in the sun. (Well, all except me, who looked like a kabuki dancer because the sunscreen I was able to buy had zinc oxide in it... but as a redhead, I had to slap it on anyway.)

Suddenly, a rogue wave came crashing up the beach and soaked us all. The picnic cooler and the kids' shoes where torn away and we scrambled, soaked and laughing, after them. Our neighbor kindly grabbed a couple of shoes and, bravely, socks. We ended up with another neighbor's sandal in our pile. We retreived the picnic cooler, an unopened bag of chips and all the shoes. But lost Nguyen's duck hunting jacket (a yard sale score) and Noah's sweatshirt. Our apples drifted down the beach at remarkable speed. We could see them bobbing in the surf. And we were completely soaked.

So the rest of the day was enforced downtime while Nguyen went to the laundry mat with our shoes and tried to get them dry before nightfall and it's attendant temperature drop. We had, between us, a single pair of rubber flip flops that I had brought for the shower. We swapped them back and forth as necessary.

In the end, the afternoon was sunny, warm, lazy and wonderful. We snuck beers in plastic cups and barbequed chicken wings, flank steak and Nguyen's old leather boots, which he had somehow forgotten to bring to the laundry mat.

Thank you, Beloved, for the time with my family. For the beautiful weather. And for the awsome beauty of your creation.

Into the woods

Such as they are on Cape Cod.

We are taking the trailer and heading off to the state park for a weekend of hot dogs and walks on the beach and fishing and general goofing off.

I'll bring the camera and post some shots when we get back.

I am bringing my Book of Common Prayer, The Imitation of Christ, and Mr. Strange and Dr. Norrell, which I started on the last camping trip.

During a last minute surf, I was delighted to find this post over at Natalia's. (If you haven't checked her site out, do it now.)

God's peace...

It is a beautiful day.

A New Day

I woke up before dawn this morning. The light was just beginning to brighten the east. I don't know why I woke up so early. Usually my alarm rouses me from sleep. But it is my practice, when I wake in the night, to pray. I always figure it is God giving me a little nudge.

So this morning, I welcomed the Beloved into my day and turned on the bedside lamp so I could read this morning's psalms.

Here is Psalm 30, NKJV:

I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up,

And have not let my foes rejoice over me.

O Lord my God, I cried out to You,

And You healed me.

O Lord, You brought my soul up from the grave;

You have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.

Sing praise to the Lord, you saints of His,

And give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name.

For His anger is but for a moment,

His favor is for life;

Weeping may endure for a night,

But joy comes in the morning.

Now in my prosperity I said,

"I shall never be moved."

Lord, by Your favor You have made my mountain stand strong;

You hid Your face, and I was troubled.

I cried out to You, O Lord;

And to the Lord I made supplication:

"What profit is there in my blood,

When I go down to the pit?

Will the dust praise You?

Will it declare Your truth?

Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me;

Lord, be my helper!"

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;

You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,

To the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever.


Oh Lord, I will give thanks to you forever.

5 Weird Things about Me

I got tagged at Katherine's to list 5 weird things about myself.

1. I already admitted about the cheesy reality shows.

2. I suck the rest of the ketchup out of the little plastic packets. I don't do this with salad dressing or mustard. Just Ketchup.

3. When I was 15 I pierced my nose. Alone. In my room. And passed out cold on my bed. I wore the nosering for about 8 years until I got a job that required I take it out. The hole is still there.

4. Regular readers already know that I talked my husband through butchering a deer in our garage last winter. I found the deer on the side of the road after one of my kitchen tools gigs.

5. I used to be a telemarketer.

New Age

I was a child of the "New Age".

At 12, I got ahold of my first tarot deck. I would do readings for my friends by laying the cards out and thumbing through a tattered copy of Eden Gray's book for the meanings. My step mother gave me a book called 'Astrology and other Occult Games' when I was about 14. It was signed by the author, a friend of hers. It covered astrology, I Ching, tarot and palm reading.

In my teens, I branched into Wicca for awhile. I got a bunch of books on witchcraft from the local bookstore and had a journal I claimed was a grimoire. My parents reacted by not reacting. I think they thought it was a phase and that to get upset would be to reinforce my desire to do it. Which was probably true. After a couple of years I got bored and moved on.

As I was born in the 60's, my parents were basically hippies, very liberal socially and politically. Open minded. Non-religious.

We used to joke that when I became a banker, I was a grave disappointment to my father. He would have been far happier if I became a poet or artist or political activist.

As an adult, my spirituality was steeped in the 'Age of Aquarius' stuff. It was a mish mash of Buddhism, New Thought, Theosophy and classical occultism. I read a lot. When people would say things like "this world is an illusion", I would nod knowingly and pretend I had half a clue what they were talking about.

Something of a spiritual dilettante, I never delved into anything very deeply. I knew a little about a lot, but not a lot about much. The only thing with any staying power was tarot, and that was only because I joined a couple of online communities devoted to it. I learned about the history of it. I learned how to read the cards. I learned how to do it professionally. And I did.

My tarot practice took me to a metaphysical bookstore to read for strangers. There I met all manner of people who would come in in various states of desperation wanting to know the secrets of their future. It was a tough gig. My style of reading was always God-centered. In other words, I would use the cards to try and create a line of communication between the client and God. But they just wanted to know if they were going to get back together with their ex-lover. Or whether to fly to California for a job. Or if they should cheat on their husband. With the married guy at work.

What I kept seeing in the bookstore was that people were desperately longing for meaning in their lives. They kept hoping that the next crystal, the next book or candle or deck of cards or palm reading or resin dragon or cd or incense was going to open the mysterious door to joy that eluded them. I recognized it because I, too, had walked that path. I knew the yearning for meaning. I watched as customers would spend more and more money on classes and techniques and seminars. Essential oils and pictures for their walls. Fake buddhas and Tibetan prayer flags.

For me, none of it worked. There was only one way to heal the hole in my soul, and that was to entrust it to God. God who created me. God who made the universe and all that is in it. God who is not, thankfully, me.

I am not God.

To me, that is one of the worst traps of the New Age. So many metaphysical books try to tell us that we are God... that we just have to recognize our own divinity to find peace, happiness, enlightenment, whatever. For me, at least, this is not true. Trying to be my own god was the road to perdition. I was not capable of creating my own happiness. Believe me, I tried. If my salvation was in my own hands, I was destined to a lifetime of frustration and misery. I could not be the architect of my own redemption. It was only when I gratefully offered myself to God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, that I could be healed. God is healing my soul. He has accepted me. He has forgiven me. He alone offers the salvation for which I yearn.

If I could not be my own god, I sure as hell could not be yours. So I quit reading tarot cards. I decided that instead of thinking I had all the answers, I had to learn to be a student for awhile. Or, more accurately, a disciple.

I am a disciple.

Thank God.

Beloved, I pray for all the people who do not yet know you. I pray they find peace in your love.

Embarassing but true

I watch cheesy reality shows.

It's true.

It started with Survivor. Yes, it was mortifying that the naked fat gay man was from my hometown, but like strangers on a freeway glued to an accident, I couldn't look away.

Now I am hooked on all manner of frivolous reality shows. I watch Top Models and pseudo therapy on Starting Over, I was glued to Rock Star INXS and American Idol. But the absolute cheesiest, most embarassing of all is that I actually watch (I am appalled to even write it)

The Bachelor.

Which premiered tonight. And I sat mesmerized for 2 whole hours, with commercials.

And for a fleeting moment imagined myself as young enough (and thin enough, LOL) to be on such a show. And what would I say in my three uninterupted minutes with the dashing young man to help him understand who I am at the deepest level. What is my truest truth?

It's that I am a Jesus freak.



Which means, of course,

That I would NOT be getting

a rose.

Icon

Look at the icon on the upper right hand corner. It is an image of Jesus getting baptised.

Over at the Sacred Art of Living, Christine has been talking about using images for a sort of Visio Divina prayer and I love the idea. Gaze at the image and let God use it to speak to you.

What do you see? Do you notice that there is a whirlpool at our Lord's feet? Or the angels watching from the other side of the river. I notice that John the Baptist is looking at the Holy Spirit even as he is baptising Jesus. He can see the Spirit of God descending to the Beloved. He lifts his right hand up and his left hand points to earth. Jesus, the great bridge of heaven and earth stands before him. John knows who this is.

And the colors. This is clearly a modern interpretation of a classic Icon. I love that the angels wear red and violet and bright blue.

Now, look at an older version of the same scene:

Jesus is already heading off in this one... his feet look like he is walking towards the riverbank. And the angels are whispering to each other. They are amazed, perhaps, by what they are seeing.

Beloved,

The sky splits apart and makes way
for your spirit.

Angels whisper.

Jesus walks the earth.

Thank you.

A minor fight

broke out during our potluck breakfast at Grace this morning. But a couple of tugs and the two were separated.

Theo was a bit nervous at first. We had him in his pet carrier, with some hay and water and a half a carrot. I didn't really want to bring him to the blessing of the animals, given that he is dinner for all the carnivores that were going to be there. But the kids were so excited about it I decided it was worth the minor trauma to the rabbit and we brought him. I was also manuevering a deep dish baker filled with caramel apple pecan bread pudding, which was my contribution to breakfast.

The place was a zoo. Dogs and cats and one hampster and one bunny. During the service, a dog would pipe up and suddenly a whole chorus of howls filled the cavernous space of Grace's Nave. After the lessons and Gospel readings, we all came to the front of the church with our pets and the priests laid hands on them and blessed them with long healthy lives and God's love for always. Theo seemed like a new bunny afterwards.

My friend Adrienne came with her dog Trotter and sat in the box with us. Theo didn't mind at all because Trotter is a very gentle guy.

The service was only interrupted once, when Fr. Rich, in the middle of preparing for the Eucharist, stopped everything because a horse (with a cop riding him) was standing at the door of the church. Fr. Rich blessed him from afar and the kids and I snuck out to feed him carrots while the host and wine were being transformed.

Yes, it was kind of a carnival atmosphere. I can imagine that some would be put off by such hilarity in a church. But I was beaming from ear to ear the whole morning. It was a wonderful thing to see all these serious (and sometimes even stiff) congregants fawning over their pets. It was a side of people you don't see every day in church.

And there was a pet pot-luck at coffee hour, with apples and carrots for the herbivores, and liver snaps for the carnivores.

I know it is a few days late, but here is the prayer of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred . . . let me sow love
Where there is injury . . . pardon
Where there is doubt . . . faith
Where there is despair . . .hope
Where there is darkness . . . light
Where there is sadness . . .joy
Divine Master,
grant that i may not so much seek
To be consoled . . .as to console
To be understood . . .as to understand,
To be loved . . . as to love
For it is in giving . . .that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,
It is in dying . . .that we are born to eternal life

Search

One of the cool little things you can have with a website is a counter that tells you how many people have visited. Mine gives you some fun details, like how they found me. I can actually click on a link and find people's google search terms.

Big Dunk gets a few searches. I think they are looking for basketball stuff. Sacrament of reconciliation got a hit recently, as did conditional baptism godparent.

What I don't know is if the people who surf over actually read any of the posts. Judging from their searches, I am guessing they are spiritual searchers, too.

So, I am going to say a little prayer for all the strangers who happen by the Big Dunk on their way to deeper relationship with God.

Yes, get baptised. Yes, confess. And if slamming a ball through a hoop works for you, do that too.

I wish you all peace and God's love.

Pray without ceasing

1 Thessalonians 5:17

When I was in Chicago last summer, I was very aware of God's presence throughout the whole week. I would catch myself thinking of him. I felt him everywhere. I was floating on a cloud of love.

Lately, I have been so grateful for the presence of God in my life. I have had many moments when I was almost ecstatic with joy.

But I have also found myself realizing that a time has passed when I haven't thought of God at all. I will suddenly remember God, and notice that I hadn't been concious of him. Usually this happens after I have been working, doing a party, or at a board meeting, or dinner with the family. I will kind of wake up from the fog of my busy life and become aware, once more, of God. Which isn't to say that the time I was oblivious was bad. I was just going about my business.

In Way of a Pilgrim, the pilgrim teaches his heart to say the Jesus prayer so that he can pray without ceasing. He can pray at night, or when talking to someone else. He prays for every waking moment, and every other moment too.

Is that possible? Is it possible to become so concious of God that there are no moments of forgetting?

What do you think?

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

The Consolation prize

Saints often speak of spiritual consolations.

I think the term 'consolation' is interesting. God is consoling us. He is consoling us because we need consoling.

I have been commenting on the 'Dunk lately that it seems that the closer I get to God, the further away I feel. It happens that I came across a passage in The Imitiation of Christ that says that very thing. So maybe God offers us consolations to reassure us that even as the distance feels greater, it is not.

He consoles us because we yearn for him. He comforts us because we need comforting.

Spiritual dryness has been very painful for me in the past. I have experienced the absense of consolation as a kind of punishment. Sometimes I have abandoned my prayer practice altogether.... other times I managed to perservere, grudgingly, and forge ahead. It reminds me of when you are training a dog. Give him a liver treat often enough and he'll come when he is called even when you don't have one to give him. God is offering me the liver treat of spiritual consolation lately. Like an eager puppy I tumble towards him with my tail wagging. But eventually, I pray, I will obediently come to him even when the treat is nowhere to be found. Maybe I will even learn that the yearning to be near him is treat enough.

St. Ignatius of Loyola discusses this here. See, especially, the 3rd through 5th rules.

The Imitation of Christ

I recently bought a copy of Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis.

It is a hugely influential book. Therese of Lisieux, for one, quotes it in her writings. It is sort of a 'how to' manual for building a deeper relationship with God. I am about a third of the way through and I am getting a lot out of it so far. It is true that the language can be tough. The translation I have (I bought it at the Catholic book store) talks a lot about 'hating the world and all that is in it' in order to more fully love God. We must despise everything worldly. This smacks a bit of Jansenism to me.... But on some level, I get it. I understand that in order to grow in Christ, I have to shift my focus from the things the world loves towards building a deeper relationship with God. If I can get beyond the language, I have much to gain from this book.

The part of The Imitation that deeply resonates for me is that if I wish to help bring about peace in the world, I must develop a sense of inner peace. This is not a matter of listening to new age music, hanging pretty pictures and burning incense. It is about being in a deep, committed relationship with God. I must practice remembering that in all things, in all interactions, in all circumstances, God is part of the process. He is there. He sees everything. He knows everything. The Imitation stresses that if that is true, then we need only please God in our interactions, not people. This speaks volumes to me. I have been a person who always tried to be 'the best' at everything. Whatever that means. My natural tendancy is to seek recognition for my achievements. I try to minimize my failings. I am delighted when people tell me how wonderful I am. Thomas scoffs at all of that. God is the only one who counts. St. Therese gives some wonderful examples of this shifted dynamic in action. For example, she talks about having a major revelation about a passage of scripture, but another nun takes credit for the idea. Instead of correcting her, St. Therese lets everyone think that the other nun did, in fact, come up with the idea.

This is incredible to imagine. I know for a fact that if I were in the same situation, I would seek to make absolutely sure that everyone knew it was my idea. I would probably try to do it subtly so people would think I was humble. I would be furious with the other nun. I would be appalled at not getting credit for my brilliance.

But why? Why, if it is really a matter between me and God, would I care?

That is the part of the Imitation that blows my mind. It never even occured to me that true humility is letting go of the worldly measurements of success altogether and focusing on sitting at the feet of my creator and offering EVERYTHING to him.

The chasm between God and me is growing by the day. My ignorance is clearer and clearer. And yet I can only be grateful and delighted that I am seeing the truth of my nature. I can only be relieved to offer myself to God completely... faults and all.

(PS: These are not my ideas. I stole them from a 19th c. nun and a 15th c. theologian. They don't seem to mind.)

The Divine Word

Two of us gathered in Jesus' name today. We met in a tiny room off the main parish hall and read the gospel lesson and listened.

Listened for Gods message for us.

Listened to each other as we shared what we thought God may be asking us to do.

Listened, with open hearts, as we each prayed to the Beloved, on the other's behalf.

We spoke.

We spoke the word that God laid upon our hearts.

We spoke out loud what we believed God was asking us to do.

We spoke prayers over each other.



Today we met with God, and each other, and listened and spoke, in the presence of Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Longing

I was driving home from a kitchen tools gig this evening and happened to have Dave Matthews on the cd player when it occured to me to wonder why I love his music so much. What is it about him? And the thing that occured to me as I listened was that he has this incredible sense of longing in his music. His voice is plaintive... his lyrics are all about yearning and desire. And although he is usually writing about love affairs or sex, there is something deeper and more universal in his songs.

When I first fell in love with God, I realized that for me, all love songs will forever more be about God.

For some reason, Dave, more than most musicians, seems to be religious. I bought 'Busted Stuff' about 2 years ago, fairly soon after my conversion, and sat in my car in the rain in a parking lot near the ocean and listened to the whole thing, crying for joy. It isn't that great an album. In fact, it was going to be relegated to the cutting room floor except that a bunch of kids started selling pirated versions of it. So the band released it and I got a copy and heard stories about God in it.

Dave Matthews sings about longing.

And one of the truths I have discovered on my walk with God is that the closer you get to him, the more painfully aware you are of the gulf. And as long as we are flesh and blood, we are destined to be in a state of perpetual longing for the deep, true, connection that maybe will only come when we die. Longing is so much a part of being a Christian, for me, that when I hear of longing in others, I resonate with it deeply.