"Shhh ... Listen!"

(ponderings on Matthew 17:1-9 The Transfiguration)

C.S. Lewis, in “Letters to Malcolm Chiefly on Prayer” writes, “We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God.  The world is crowded with God.  God walks everywhere incognito.  And the incognito is not always hard to penetrate.  The real labor is to remember, to attend.  In fact, to come awake.  Still more, to remain awake.”

God is with us, incognito, as Lewis writes.  But oh, when the veil is lifted and a portion of the glory of God’s presence is revealed to some … what happens then?  There is no mistaking that something extraordinary has happened and there is indeed an awakening.

Some call this moment of revelation a "Thin Place". I have a dear friend who calls such a time a "Heaven-Touching-Earth moment." For me, I refer to this as a "God-Moment". There are no words to adequately give name to the moment when the Divine Veil has been lifted in a person’s presence. The radiance, the glory, God’s presence and our deep desire to put an experience such as this into immediate words all cause some stammering on our part.   There is even confusion as to what has taken place.  It is then when a holy finger presses against our lips and we hear, "Shhhh … This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" And so, the Divine Veil is lifted if only for a moment. The Holy is so radiant that we could easily be blinded yet, in such a Heaven-Touching-Earth  moment, there is tremendous love. "Shhhh … Listen!  Listen to him first before finding your own words."

What words does one choose to describe such a holy moment as this? As I read the Scriptures, I wonder such things. If I had been one of the chosen disciples, how long would I have kept silent? What words would have finally fallen into place to bear witness to something so holy as the Glory of God radiating from the face of Jesus, enveloping his whole being? Are there words to describe the intensity of brilliance that had to be tempered by clouds? And what about hearing the voice of God? After my trembling had stopped, after brushing myself off, after stumbling down the mountain and back into my surroundings, what words would form on my lips? What words would you have shared?

For those who have recognized a time when the Most Holy has chosen such a moment of revelation, there seems to be a quietness about the experience for a period of time.  Something so amazing, so intimate, so private is beyond our words. But there must be a reason for such a ‘mountaintop’ experience. There must be a reason to find oneself in the presence of God Almighty, knocked face down by such Holiness. Perhaps it is so that our hearts might hear "This is my Son, whom I love, with whom I am well pleased. SHHH … LISTEN TO HIM!" It is the voice of the Most Holy that beckons us to believe in and listen to Jesus in a renewed way.

Soon we will begin our Lenten journey.  Perhaps our prayers might be that God awakens us in the journey and reveals a portion of this Glory to us that brings us to our knees in wonderment.  Do we have the courage for such a prayer?  This moment between God’s revelation and our words is a good beginning to our Lenten journey for it does take courage when we find ourselves resolutely setting our sights on Jerusalem with Jesus. It takes courage to stand at the foot of the cross. And, yes, we will need to remember the words, “This is my Son” as we peer into the empty tomb.  All along the way, we will find ourselves in the presence of the Most Holy.  Shhh… Listen! This IS God’s Son, the Beloved, the Chosen.

Transforming and Holy God … The glory of your presence is much too brilliant for our stammering words to make sense in telling others. We find ourselves face down in awe and yet these moments truly do become our faith story. With great love, you have whispered "Shhh… Listen." With tremendous love, Jesus lifts us up and veils your holy radiance once more so that we might keep our eyes upon him. And with unimaginable love, your Son walks to the cross. O God, awaken us.  Help us see your presence with a brilliance that is unmistakable. Be with us in our silence as we soon prepare to step out on our Lenten journey. Form our sentences in your most perfect of timing, sending us out to tell what we have seen as truth. Give us blessed eyes to see your Holy Presence around us and a renewed understanding of what you would have us tell others. Amen.

"Perfect Provision"

Too often,
I look to the heavens
for the decade's
greatest snowstorm
of blessings ...
and pray
for an accumulation
in amounts that
are astounding.

Oh God,
thank you for my friend
who said,
"Look down
at the blessings
that have softly fallen
like manna
all around us....
fallen silently
like a dusting of snow,
to be gathered in amounts
of Perfect Provision
for this one day.

Amen.

"The Reminder"

(Matthew 5:13)

"You are the salt of the earth,"
 he said.
 What curious words ...
what can he mean?

 And then I remembered
 the teachings of my grandmother.
 "Anna, always say
 'Yes ma'am' and 'No sir.'
 Say 'I enjoyed my supper;
 may I be excused?'
Say 'Please pass the salt.' "

 And now I understand
 the curious words.
 He is reminding me to
"Please pass the salt!"

"Last Night's Dream ... A Beautiful Creation"

He was just a child, maybe 11 or 12 with a sweet, peace-filled face. A gardener was there, standing near an established bush, giving the boy room and freedom to help him with plantings. It was a curious sight, this young boy whose face was smudged with black dirt and the gardener whose face I never saw. The boy planted soft ground covering in dark soil and, when finished, brushed his hand ever-so-gently across the tops of the greenery, as if touching the softest of down. He raised is head and smiled at the gardener. From the nod of the gardener’s head, I knew that he must be smiling in approval. The boy planted flowers and kissed each bloom. He breathed in the fragrance and his face was that of pure joy. Again, the gardener nodded. The boy dug a hole in the black dirt and planted a small tree. When he finished, he stood back and looked at it. He then put his arms around the tree trunk and hugged the tree for a moment. The gardener motioned for the boy to come to him. He put his arm around his shoulder. The boy looked up at the man. The gardener glanced my way and said, “Isn’t this creation beautiful?” I looked the way of the ground covering and flowers and tree and said, “Yes, it is beautiful.” He said, “I’m speaking of this child. Isn’t he one of my most beautiful creations?”

I went to bed last night hoping that I would sleep later into this morning but I woke myself up from unusually good sleep so that I might remember this dream. I wanted to remember the one with the sweet, peace-filled face and few skills … but skills that he did so well … with such care and love. I wanted to remember the gardener/Creator’s demeanor and voice and words as we stood and watched this child. And I wanted to feel the hope that even in those days when I fall way short of this child's love and care and gentleness and skill in the one thing that he did so well - when I fall face-down in the dirt of my day - still I might hear from the gardener/Creator, "You have a little dirt on your face, but you are still a beautiful creation to me."

(c)2013 anna murdock

'A Tip-of-the-Hat Sort of Morning'

Sitting at the stoplight,

she found herself

glancing at her watch

and drumming her fingers

on the steering wheel. 

Sigh… late for work again.

The elderly man rode his bicycle

on the sidewalk,

heading toward the intersection.

His white t-shirt billowed

as he pedaled.

His hat was shade

for his weathered face

on a very hot summer's morning.

The bicycle must have been

in the wrong gear

for he was pedaling furiously

and moving slowly.

“Oh please don’t cross in front of me,"

she whispered.

She knew, with her luck,

the light would turn green

if he did

and she would have to wait

even longer.

Just as he was moving

from sidewalk to intersection,

he looked directly at her.

She smiled,

nodded her head

and waved.

He stopped …

stopped in front of her car.

The man smiled

and tipped his hat.

It was worth the wait

at the intersection

that morning.

She couldn’t remember

the last time that a man

tipped his hat at her.

She wondered if he could remember

the last time a woman

smiled and waved

at him.

It was indeed a

tip-of-the-hat sort of morning

when two strangers,

both with places to go,

dared to look

into faces

instead of turning

heads away.

Yes, it was a

tip-of-the-hat,

kingdom-come-on-earth

sort of morning!

(c)2013 anna murdock

Prayer for Pastors

In these many silent days
of weariness and retreat,
of vacations and work,
of new callings and retirements
or stepping away to exhale from sameness,
of placing one foot in front of the other
in energy-draining heat
or in lingering cold,
of seeking a quenching moment
in the midst of great thirst,
of births and deaths
and baptisms and funerals,
of laughing so hard
that there is a gasping for breath
or weeping with others
until there are no tears left,
of both thanksgivings of good health
and prayers for healing,
of time spent
with friends and family
and mentors,
of conferences and denominations
and decisions …
LORD GOD,
Be with these silent pastors
as they remain silent for a little longer…
as they withdraw from their silence …
as they pray to be filled with your Word …
Grace-filled in all of these times
so that they might share your grace
in our not-so-silent world.

Amen.

"Ash Wednesday"

  She asked a very legitimate question.  After all, my friend had never attended an Ash Wednesday service.  Ashes had never placed on her forehead.  She had never truly journeyed through Lent other than to give up chocolates for a period of time ... "just because." 

     "Anna", she said ... "What is the proper etiquette for the removal of the ashes from my forehead?  Am I to wipe the cross off during the service?  On the way home?  Before I go to bed?  Do I sleep with the ashes on my forehead?  I just don't know what I am to do."

     I assured her that it was a very good question.    I suggested that she remember the actual touch, the very action of the ashes being placed on her forehead.  "This, my friend, is the moment of reminder of who we are ... a person who has become very 'sooty', a person in need of forgiveness and renewal, a person who is truly a beloved child of God even in the light of our sins."  I told her of what is important to me and that is to look into the mirror at this mark of terrible beauty and be reminded that this is the brand I choose to wear forever ... each day ... in some way.  "You will wash it off when you are ready, and yet, you will wear it forever." 

     Tonight, the ashes will be placed on my forehead as they have so many times before.  Perhaps they will for you as well.  For each of us, there is great news in the midst of the hymns-in-a-minor-key, the dimness of lights, the whispers and prayers and ashes and quietness.  We are beloved children of God, branded forever by this mark of terrible beauty.