come and listen

"Praise our God for He is good.”

Ever since a bike ride I had about a month ago, I’ve been overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. It’s something I’ve brought to spiritual direction, the faith-sharing group, and am now theological reflection. In Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, Thomas Merton writes, “The most wonderful moment of the day is that when creation in its innocence asks permission to ‘be’ once again, as it did on the first morning that ever was” (122). In a sense that’s what I mean by gratitude.

At the faith-sharing group last week, we talked about how we spend our time, and the relationship between time and simplicity, the relationship between time and our faith. We discussed ways we might be more intentional about our time- how we can create more space in our lives to for silence and how we can be more intentional about the spaces that already exist. Part of my action step that I brought before the group was to be more mindful of the many ‘bus rides’ I have throughout the week. I made a vow to not do anything ‘productive,’ to turn off my cell phone, to put my books away, and to start listening. It’s a small gesture, but one that’s already yielding significant results.

Above all, something just feels different. And it’s not just on the bus rides. It’s staying with me on the walk after, and in class, and in conversations, at church, in my dorm, and on the phone. I am deeply present and mindful of what and who God’s been putting in front of me, in a way I haven’t been for a long time. I am noticing little movements, and finding great joy in the small things- whether it’s the sting of a snowflake on my tongue, a warm foot inside my slipper, or running to catch the bus. For the first time, in a very long time, I feel incredibly alive. And I am overwhelmed by gratitude.

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness, which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. (Merton 146)

I now I’m not without fault and this isn’t a moment of pride. It’s not the feeling that I’ve finally got it all figured out, and I know what I’m doing with my life. It’s so much more. It’s as if, despite all the messy moments of life- despite the distractions, the pain, the anxiety and the uncertainty- I just got a glimpse of what glory looks like. A glimpse of that small place deep inside each one of us that there is nothing, nothing but God. And I know it’s just a glimpse. I know that I won’t be able to keep the distractions and anxiety at bay forever, but I pray that whatever happens, and wherever I go, I won’t ever forget what this feels like.

I’m grateful to be for the opportunities I’ve had and the people I’ve known. I’m grateful for my education, and for the relationships I have now. And I’m grateful for The Crossing community. A little while ago, we started using the metaphor of a family. Well, that’s what this community has become. These people are my family. I’m grateful to have this opportunity to be a minister, I’m grateful to be a part of an exciting and emerging movement, and I’m grateful to have these people in my life. Above all, I’m grateful to have the promise that wherever we go and whatever we do, God doesn’t leave. It’s the promise we have in Jeremiah and again in Hebrews 13. “Be satisfied with what you have. For God has said, ‘I will never leave you; I will never abandon you.’”

And as I reflect on the source of this gratitude, it seems fitting that I find myself in this season- the end of the year, midterm reflections, final examinations, and advent. For me, this season is sort of about it all. It’s about taking time to look back and see what happened in the past year- what was accomplished, what was made new, what relationships were built, and also, what was lost, what was broken, and what was grieved. But this season is also about looking forward. It’s time to prepare, to get ready for what lies ahead and to be open-hearted to new beginnings and new life. Above all, it’s a time to rest. I think this season is about stopping. It’s about noticing. It’s about stillness, silence, and contemplation. It’s a time to remember what it is we do what we do. This is the season to follow David Crowder’s call to, “Come and listen.”