“Imagine,” said the man leading our Advent retreat. “Imagine you’re someone in the scene. It could be Mary or Jesus, an angel or goat. Whatever. Just spend some time there and listen for what God has to say to you.”
“Whatever,” he said, and a moment later I saw myself as the manger.
Yep. The manger: Inanimate. Hard. Empty. But open. A trough waiting to be filled.
I sat in the silence, allowing myself to be this manger: Watching Mary as she set the bundled Christ within me. Feeling the warmth of his wriggling body. Oh, to be a place for the Son of Man to lay his head! Oh, to receive the Presence of God!
she breathes fire her eyes wild claws as long as my arm scratching at the dirt scrawling angry scars that arrange them- selves into letters words a plea, “love me”
thank you words that burn an offering bound in rope pulled tight laid upon the fire like a lamb or Isaac costs me something as if my flesh were on the flame
a lonely leaf scrapes down an empty street where all the doors are locked for winter behind them faces that I long to see hands I cannot touch clouds that shroud the stars make a lousy blanket I pull my scarf over my ears and hurry home
home glows like a box lantern on the little hill the door this door opens for me air warm as wind over hot sand rushes out onto the stoop throws its arms around my shoulders pulls me inside
unwrap the scarf take off the boots set my bitter feet before the hearth between chattering teeth I breathe words that burn and turn my hardened heart to weeping like wax beneath a flame I offer thanks
The moon is nothing but a moon Cold and colorless Her gravity barely holding the feet of men to her dry and dusty shores Barren She wheels round and round the earth On a path she didn’t choose While gazing down upon that celestial spring That spinning womb that Gives birth to trees and snakes and little league
The moon is nothing but a moon Reflecting only another’s fire She doesn’t burn or even turn Her head Part of her always hidden Always facing away Her far side1 never seen by earth-eyes Half-shadowed She still kindles trees and snakes and valentines
The moon is nothing but a moon And yet Her being Just her being Is weight enough to stir the waters Call forth hidden springs Just her pushing, pulling Presence Steadies the spinning womb Midwifes trees and snakes and birthday cakes
The moon is nothing but a moon And yet Even on her far side The sun still shines Limning mountains, filling craters Silvering sands that None will ever see In her hiding place The moon is gleaming Bearing beams of love2 for trees and snakes and cups of tea
(a paraphrase of Psalms 23, 73, 91, 139 and Zephaniah 3)
Where can I go to get away from You? Where can I run, that You are not already there? If I go up to the heavens, You are there And if I descend to the depths of despair Even to the grave, there You are
You are with me when I am flying high, soaring through life But if I land in an unfamiliar place where no one knows my name or speaks my language, still You are holding on to me
If I grieve and weep and wail with bitterness in my heart If I stand before You like a brute beast, acting without understanding If I throw a tantrum like a spoiled child Or hide under the table trembling in fear If I shut You out like an angry teenager If my body fails me Or my mind becomes weak and I cannot even remember You Nevertheless, You are with me Your right hand will hold me fast
You have shattered glass to rescue me Shaken mountains Torn down walls To get to me To set me free
As the song goes, “You don’t give Yourself in pieces”* So I won’t give myself in pieces either and “You don’t hide Yourself to tease us”* So I won’t hide myself from You
Actually, not even darkness can hide me from You You see through every darkness Even the darkness of my heart Even the darkness that hides in darkness You see the real me
The spark of my soul rests in Your heart Untouched by human hands, my being hides in You
I will rest in You like a baby bird beneath the shadow of her mama’s wings Even in the presence of my enemies You will feed and nourish my soul You will sing to me with joy
We are one You and me Inseparable, free Your love will never let me go
The contemplative spiritual journey is a journey into the unknown. The more I know God the more I realize how much I don’t know about God. This can be frightening and frustrating, or we can allow it to fill us with wonder and awe. The mystics refer to this as The Cloud of Unknowing. We are all called, like Abraham, into this unknown and it is there in this cloud of unknowing that we experience God in pure spiritual faith.
Kure Beach Pier by Nichole Perreault
Yet few of us want to step into the unknown. In fact, in my experience, “knowing” is one of the pillars of the western evangelical Christian tradition. We are taught that we can know God, know our destiny, know the Bible, know how to pray, know right from wrong, know God’s will in everything. We know so much there’s no room to wonder, doubt, question or debate.
Lightning Bug 