Shekinah Glory

It was a foggy night in Bayou country when we loaded the Honda with our provisions and headed on the 25-mile journey from New Iberia to Lafayette, Louisiana. It was 25 miles of tension because my wife Carol’s water had broken and I was afraid that I would have to deliver the baby in the car. I had tried to pay attention in the Lamaze classes, but I knew that I was not ready for that sort of responsibility.

As we wove our way down the Bayou Teche and North toward the Cajun capital I was grateful that this baby was not coming on the due date. We could only imagine what the main hospital in Lafayette would have been like on Mardi gras, so having this occur a week early was just fine with us. I pulled into the emergency entrance and we checked in. Everything had been arranged in advance and within no time we were in a private room waiting.

I of course was a cool customer, right? No, I was the father and a mess. I set up a teapot and put some relaxing music on a CD player and commenced to pace the room. I was worried. How could I be a father? On a minister’s salaries how would we be able to raise a child? The world is so messed up what will my daughter’s future be? I obsessed and paced and chewed my fingernails while Carol remained perfectly calm. It was soothing to me to watch someone so cool and collected in the midst of pain. She even remained calm when one of her members snuck into the delivery room to pepper her with questions about how her church was going to afford her replacement that Sunday. During that entire 25 hours of labor she was incredible. In no time at all we were home with our new child Calla.

There is a lot of bonding that goes on in those first 6 weeks of parenthood. The first time the baby cries at 3 a.m. everyone jumps out of bed like the fire alarms have just gone off and there is a raging fire in the kitchen. Over time each parent wearily saunters to the basinet to make sure this child is comforted and fed. It was a few months into my introduction to this new child that I began hearing something else in the vicinity of our crying baby. It would last only a little while before both its sound and Calla went into deep silence. There in the deep darkness I could hear the sweet song, “Spirit, spirit of gentleness, blow through the wilderness, calming and free.” Perhaps it was because it was so close to Pentecost that this song was chosen by my wife. Yet, it was perfect and perhaps the most beautiful song that I had ever heard. It was the loving song of a mother to calm and assure her daughter.

If you were to ask me of my many views of God that keep my faith this is certainly one of them. Naming rote attributes of a deity nor composing a careful apologetic to the divine’s existence, neither moves me. I am moved by the possibility of the imminently relational nature of something greater than myself. I have said here in the past that I see it when we help, cry, love, forgive and care for one another in this community. Yet, if you pressed me into making an anthropomorphic image of that divine spirit which I just described in my life it would be of a soft voice comforting and assuring a child through a beautiful song.

Now, that is an image of God that I can worship. Fortunately for me that view of the divine fits squarely in the Biblical tradition. There is clearly the image of a creator who groans in birth contractions, gathers, nourishes and protects like a loving mother. Of course God cannot merely be reduced to a particular gender. Nor do these gender stereotypes completely fit one gender. Yet, there is nothing more comforting to me than believing that the Spirit that is with me originates from the ultimate comforter.

So, the spirit is among us and she is ready to show us all care. You don’t even have to get along your mother to experience that type of nurturing. You don’t have to be a mother to understand the importance of feeling safe. You just have to do unto others, as you would want them to do unto you. The Spirit is able to do in us as a community what we were unable to do alone. Whatever image of the divine is most important to you this morning I hope that you are brought closer to your family, community and this community by the Spirit who can take the chaos of a leaders ascension, language barriers, theological differences and power struggles and turn them into everyone speaking in one voice. It is the voice of unity and love for one anoth

Even on this rainy day
The bright light hurts my eyes
And without a hint of irony
Palm trees grow in Northern Virginia.
They have no fear of reaching
The steel and glass ceiling
Webbed above their tops.
At a table a man throws bread
From his egg McMuffin on the floor
To beckon a few birds
Who have escaped to this larger cage.
It is quiet enough to hear
A saxaphone play a sad tune
From hidden speakers.
It is accompanied by rattling metal chairs
Sliding across peach colored tiles
By people speaking languages
I never learned in high school.
Customer service representatives
Check their hair in their kiosk’s mirrors
While steam tables are filled
With international feasts
By bleary eyed cooks.
The woman with a broom
Cocks her head puffing her polyester vest.
She wipes a group of tables
Darting her head from side to side
So that she can quickly catch
Each movement in her vision.
In a window mannequins
Are moved by a firm grip
On their shocking half skulls
Wearing dresses that they
Only change out of weekly.
Like the most efficient factory
People ascend and descend on conveyers
Staring out into our tropical paradise.
“Fashion, you’ve already got fashion issues.”
A smartly dressed woman declares
While shaking her head into a black cell phone.

It feels as if this place
Is not intended for us.
Yet, for some reason
We all feel right at home.

Abandoned
utterly destitute
debri littered
yet quite empty
except stragglers.

Too early for vanity
this hour
we urchins
unafraid of light
ascend from doors
in the sidewalk,
work already
hours old,
ignorant of Sabbath law.

We speak
the divine language
of ache and moan,
too busy to notice
all the saints
descending exit ladders
from walk up kingdoms.

Turn our minds toward every living creature.
Help us to realize that we are interconnected
with each and every part of your creation.
You have called it our responsibility to keep
the things that you have made safe.
Help us to repent of wanton disregard
for the sea, plants, animals and the sky.
Make us love your work as much as you love us.

We are told in both Luke and Ephesians that followers of Christ had their minds opened and their hearts and eyes were enlightened before they embarked on the tough tasks of repentance, forgiveness and realizing the great hope that laid before them on their journey toward wisdom and revelation. For some reason this week I looked back on my own journey and could completely relate to these two themes.

I would have been content to stay in the religious tradition of my childhood. To think that I was a soldier in the army of the Lord and that our only foe was Satan. You would think that the certainty of being saved for a paradise in the future and the need to save as many fellow humans from the burning pits of hell would fill my life with a type of purpose. After all, I asked Jesus into my heart four or five times. On the path of my childhood beliefs all I needed was to witness to others about having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ to make sure they spent eternity in heaven. Then I could pretty much like everyone else. I would have been free to pursue a nice career, make a good living, live in quiet domesticity and die knowing that even if tragedy followed me on this planet the next would certainly make up for it.

This isn’t what I signed up for! Here are some of the things that I have learned from taking my initial commitment to being a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ. Leadership means serving, serving means humility, humility means knowing my true self and knowing my true self is painful. I learned that what I understand of God is radically small and is tied into how well I understand my fellow humans and myself. That Jesus doesn’t want me to lose my personality or myself but to love others and myself like he does. I know that sometimes pain is my best friend. I have come to appreciate that sometimes my personal beliefs are a lot less important than being faithful. In the end all my personal interactions boil down to something that I could learn even if I never read a word of the Bible. Do unto others, as you would want them to do unto you. I could spend a lifetime trying to understand what I need and then practicing it on you.

I did not expect that in order to follow this strange Jewish teacher that lived 2000 years earlier I would be stripped and deconstructed of every cultural and religious tradition that I held sacred and have it held up in the true light of day. I have been shaken, stirred and sometimes felt that I barely made it to the other side. The Spirit has radically challenged my every belief and after deconstructing them has told me to be open and much more liberal about grace. I was challenged by Christ’s teachings away from being a homophobic, xenophobic, anti-Semitic, sexist, racist, fundamentalist. That is the power of Christ when you take his teachings seriously and allow him to mess around with your mind. What a powerful teacher.

Today, Christ is forcing me to listen closely to Atheists, agnostics, Muslims, evangelicals, Zoroastrians and anyone who fits outside my safe sphere of beliefs. I am listening and Christ is opening my mind. Although I may find some of their views infuriating, I am being taught daily how to love. I am constantly being stretched to examine my own anger, intolerance, greed and unhappiness.

That is my testimony this morning. Too often I am like those followers who after hearing the hard teachings of Christ say, “this is tough, who can follow this man?” This is why I have never been in the running for the job of God. If it would be up to me things would never change, our systems would rigidly adhere to my control and I would have unrealistic expectations of myself and everyone else. In other words we would all fail to measure up to God Brian. Aren’t you so grateful that I am not in charge of the universe?

I guess no one wants to say, “I was wrong.” Especially me. Isn’t the whole idea of being a Christian having certainty? Shouldn’t we have some benefits in this life? Shouldn’t the Christian faith be like a good hour of Crossfire? The one with the most intelligent position should win the day, right?

Following Christ is filled with absurdity. This is why Paul proclaims it to be foolishness. Loving our enemy, hanging around with those whose sin reeks to high heaven, repentance instead of divide and conquer, forgiveness instead of nurturing resentments for the rest of our lives, unity instead of division, servant leadership, humility and the acceptance of those whom I have relegated to the margins of God’s kingdom.

So, beware all ye who enter this way. If you are serious about this Jesus thing it will never be easy, it will always be challenging, but the rewards are eternally satisfying.

What is it that holds us rapt in utter incoherence at the first cresting colors from our star, the sun, as it begins its ascent into our morning sky? As we sit in a field or shoreline struck by the unembarrassing abundance of hues and blending from nature’s palate that streak across that empty canvas we know there is no way to completely describe its beauty. What about the descent of this sun as it makes its final apparition before darkness overtakes the earth? It is full of colors that burst first in brilliant light and then fade into brown, orange and purples only to fade into what is left of the day. Do we feel the same when we stand in front of a magnificent piece of art, convinced that this artist has captured a shard of something eternal? Do we give ourselves permission in such moments to let our pulse rate increase and stop to catch our breath? When we stand, clapping as the choir reaches new heights in shouting, singing and swaying praise to the divine do we somehow feel ushered into a sacred space where our emotions are reaching beyond our physical realm? Have we stood in the delivery room eyes filled with uncontrollable tears holding a life that is gasping and crying its first breaths of life outside a womb? Have we stood at the edge of the grave peering in on an experience that we cannot share with someone we so deeply love and feel that the chasm between despair and sadness is too far for any mortal to cross?

What exactly are awe and wonder? Are these merely the feelings that we have when we have reached the highest point of the rollercoaster and are about to drop? Are they something that can sustain us in the midst of our lives? Why is it something neglected in religious circles? Is it frivolous and non-productive in a society that rewards achievement and merit? Is it even possible to define and write about with any intelligence?

Wonder, awe and our connection to something beyond our own finitude has been one focus of the ancient Judeo and Christian texts of scripture, yet for some reason they are not a part of our vocabulary when talking about our worship, theology, creeds, beliefs or sel- care. Why is this too often the case? Should they merely to be relegated to the poets and writers of song? Have we become so separated from creation that we cannot step back long enough to be caught surprised by our place in the midst of the cosmos’ interplay? When we allow ourselves to be overcome with awe and wonder we are simultaneously struck by our small space in a much grander scheme and by a sense of gratitude for being entrusted with the enjoyment of all that surrounds us.

How do we proceed in the study of an emotion that cannot be manufactured, but catches us by surprise and holds us spellbound? We must go to the sources that under gird our deepest held belief that wonder and awe are important experiences. We must also realize that they contribute to our lasting health, wholeness and connection to the divine. We must jump into those experiences that fill us with wonder and attempt to describe them from the inside out. Then we can proceed to discern their broader impact upon our life and death in our worlds. It is my suspicion that this will cause us to worship the one who created everything.

Inside this bustle
that keeps us moving
is a fear of your touch.
We pretend that we
do not see you
nestled amongst our pain.
We do not go there
because your balm
requires open wounds
of an embarrassing flow
that cannot be hidden.
We know of no bandage
that cauterizes such sores.
This lie that growth
can avoid peering into
our hurting inside
must fall away.
What replaces it?
Sometimes pain is all we know,
we do not know this other self
that you want us to be.
You know suffering
but what healing
is there in empathy?
Bring us to solitude
and then at least
one good work
for your community.

Chasing floating grasshoppers
in grandma’s garden
between rows of kohlarabi
and zucchini squash
I would stop and listen
for the belching tractor,
the crush of gravel,
and swirl of wheat
before rushing forward,
kicking dust on top
of that year’s harvest.

Light fighting through clouds and branches
reaches the skylight with tan and gray.
Heavens invite me in sheet after sheet
of lethargy, playing gentle improvisations
across ceiling’s glass openings.
Moisture is falling, rising,
permeating each and every breath,
weighing my feet down like a heavy pack.
Today is hiding under unmade sheets,
pretending not to wake,
making us stumble through unlit rooms.

Not understanding protection
your pinions seem too ticklish
and your embrace too smothering.
Our hardened hearts mistake
the rumbling mountains with thunder,
never recognizing your footsteps
and the heaven’s opening
for a descent to our encampment
at the foot of Mt. Horeb.