Spinning into the Invisible

 

I have a Japanese top that will flip over onto its stick when it spins fast enough. I've been carrying it with me in my pocket the last few weeks as a way of praying.

This top reminds me of our own journeys. The path of a spinning top is much like the path of a labyrinth. We are constantly being drawn towards the center, towards God our Creator. Sometimes, as in the first turns of the top, we feel wobbly and directionless. But as God continues to draw us closer to him, we become more stable, more centered. Yet we are also beginning to spin faster and faster. We are changed and grow in ways we had never imagined. We see, feel, and hear God's presence in new ways. We are present to ourselves and to the world in new ways. We are excited and scared at the same time.

There is a moment as the top turns that its speed and its focus on center reach such a point that it flips upside down. In that moment, everything changes. There is both a wildness and a stillness in this moment. In these moments it is hard to tell if we are spinning, or if we are standing at our center. It is in these moments that we glimpse the heart of God, and we are truly transformed. We see the miraculous, we live in it and breathe it. In these moments of wild stillness, the veil between the visible and the invisible becomes very thin. We take off our shoes. And we are rendered speechless.

 Within us and around us there is an invisible world; this is where each of us comes from.... When you cross over from the invisible into this physical world, you bring with you a sense of belonging to the invisible that you can never lose or finally cancel.... You know your real life is happening here. Yet your longing for the invisible is never stilled. There is always some magnet that draws your eyes to the horizon or invites you to explore behind things and seek out the concealed depths. You know that the real nature of things is hidden deep within them. When you enter the world, you come to live on the threshold between the visible and the invisible.... When you become aware of the invisible as a live background, you notice how your own body is woven around your invisible soul, how the invisible lives behind the faces of those you love, and how it is always there between you. The invisible is one of the most powerful forms of the unknown. It envelopes our every movement. It is the region out of which we emerged and the state we are destined for...

-John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong

Living as a Child of God: Along the Journey

This morning I was reading from The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong. In her memoir, Karen shares her own spiritual journey and relates to the image of climbing a spiral staircase, an image inspired by the poems of T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday. The spiritual journey is not linear, in which we’re always moving forward into new experiences. Nor is it circular, in which we are always returning to the same experiences. Rather, it is both linear and circular- a spiral, in which we are always returning to the same place, but in a new light that comes through formation.

This is where I find myself. I began this Lenten journey seeking healing and new life after several months that had been difficult for various reasons. I didn’t know when I began what this journey would hold, how God would be present. And God has been present! My practice each day has not been perfect. Sometimes I forget that I am living as a child of God. Sometimes I forget to listen for the voice of God. But, despite my stumbling, I have found healing and new life. I have found hope and joy again. Through this practice, as simple as it may be, I have been able to begin letting go of things I had been clinging to for far too long. In letting go, I have found a profound freedom and new energy.

As I’ve thought about this image of clinging and letting go, it’s occurred to me that if I am not clinging to something, then my hand is open. This is how I was living. I knew that I was a child of God and created for a purpose in the image of God. But, by allowing my hand to be open, I was also allowing other voices and identities to determine how I was living, how I defined myself. I was overwhelmed. When all these other things can come into our lives without much discernment, that is when we loose sight of who we are. But, when I am clinging to my identity as a child of God, then there just isn’t much room left for those other things. As I remember every day that I am a child of God, I am able to let go of those other things and choose what I allow in my clinging hand.

Through this, I have found that I am able to re-claim some of the identities that I had needed to let go for a time, and now hold them in a new way. My call to ministry and even to seminary has been renewed because I know this is part of my identity as a child of God. I also know that I am here to learn what God has for me to learn, not what this school wants me to learn. That may mean letting go of spending hours and hours reading textbooks and getting an A on every assignment. But it also means using my time and energy to do and learn what I need to learn, to be who God wants me to be.

Over the past month or so, as the snow has melted, the sun has returned to the Indiana skies, and the birds are chirping again, I too have found myself singing and laughing again, because I know again Whose I am. Most days it just leaves me giddy. Yet, this is not a linear journey, but a spiral. I find myself, unwillingly, returning to the very brokenness and pain I had sought to escape. Once again I must kneel before Jesus, in need of healing. This is not easy. I do not want to do this. But it is what God is bringing to me.

Still, as I climb this spiral staircase, I know that I am not returning to this place the same person. I cling to God because I know that I am a beloved child of God. I know that I am held. I know that God is still beside me, whispering in my ear “This is how I love you.”

Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth

This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

-T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday VI

Living as a Child of God: A Lenten Practice

Lent is once again upon us, and with it the challenge to “give up” a certain bad habit, temptation, or vice. The theme my church is using during Lent is “Clinging and Letting Go”. During the weeks leading to Easter we are challenged to let go of the things that we turn to for meaning, or things that get in the way of trusting God, and to cling to the gift of life Jesus offers us.

I had never really participated in the Lenten tradition before, but decided to this year. Some of the suggestions were to let go of excessive spending, working overtime, or using technology unnecessarily. All of these are good things to let go of, and would probably bring their own gifts. But, as I was thinking of what I could practice this season in order to be drawn closer to God, none of the usual Lenten practices seemed to fit.

Over the past several months, and particularly the last six weeks, I have found myself reflecting in new ways on who I am. And each day I have found myself becoming increasingly discouraged and frustrated. It seemed all around me were voices telling me who I am, but all the things those voices said were negative. I’ve begun to realize that, while all the voices of the media, culture, religion, politics, family, and education may indeed say something of who I am, as I listened to those voices I was forgetting my true identity as a child of God.

My Sunday school class at church has been studying Henri Nouwen’s book Here and Now. The last chapter is entitled “Who We Are”. In this chapter Nouwen says that the answers we usually live are “We are what we do, we are what others say about us, and we are what we have”.

“One of the tragedies of our life is that we keep forgetting who we are and waste a lot of time and energy to prove what doesn’t need to be proved. We are God’s beloved daughters and sons, not because we have proven ourselves worthy of God’s love, but because God freely chose us. It is very hard to stay in touch with our true identity because those who want our money, our time, and our energy profit more from our insecurity and fears than from our inner freedom.”

“Wherever we are there are voices saying: ‘Go here, go there, buy this, buy that, get to know him, get to know her, don’t miss this, don’t miss that,’ and so on and on. These voices keep pulling us away from that soft gentle voice that speaks in the center of our being: ‘You are my beloved, on you my favor rests.’”

I had been clinging to those voices who were telling me who I am until I no longer knew who I am as a child of God. I wonder what it means to be made in the image of the Creator of the Universe? or to be held in the arms of the Healer of the World? or to be filled with the joy of the One Who Breathes Life? And so during these weeks of Lent I will be practicing letting go of those other voices, and clinging to the voice of God who tells me I am BELOVED. Each morning I pray that God would show me how to live as a child of God, and each night I write who I am.

Not every day is easy to live this. Sometimes I forget about it. But I am already learning that when I am living in ways that truly express who I am, when I know in my core that I am loved, when I am free and joyful, is when I hear distinctly the voice of God whispering “This is how I love you”.