I hear you

FIVE-DAY ACADEMY OF SPIRITUAL FORMATION (DAY 2)

10 a.m. --
This morning, after our prayer session and breakfast (love those biscuits from, uh, somewhere) but before we began our lecture on contemplative prayer, I looked down to my hand for some reason and I was shocked to see that my wedding band was not on my finger.

I was immediately aware that on Valentine's Day of all things I was suddenly naked in a manner of speaking. I was also acutely aware instantly that I had no way of knowing how long that had been the case. Perhaps it had come off months ago or minutes ago.

I was also almost as immediately aware that somehow I should have known. How could this expression of love that I had worn for all these years be gone without my knowing it? Am I that clueless? Can I possibly be that insensitive to the love I feel for this woman I've known as spouse for nearly three decades?

The lecture this morning was about listening to God. Taking the time to feel God's intention. Being molded not by my intercessory prayer as well-intentioned though that might be.

I heard this: perhaps our real task in prayer is to attune ourselves to the conversation already going on deep in our hearts.
I heard this: God is closer to us than our breath.
I heard this: Jesus was aware his mission was possible only as long as his relation with Abba was nurtured.
And I heard this: Contemplation is gazing with the eyes of the heart, letting ourselves get lost in adoration, in wonder, in allowing our soul to look upward to God in admiration.

Today I pray that my adoration for God be allowed to be. TO BE. To change, grow, mature. I pray that I find peace that is inexplicabel and that this dawning day with all its (still) grayness be simply another possible journey toward wonder.

At the breakfast table today, sitting with our bishop, an elder who is responsbile for this retreat and a Baptist gentlemen from Virginia who is simply seeking a deeper walk with Christ, I took baby steps again toward understanding more completely what my relationship with Jesus is or should be. But it is back here in my room, staring at my netbook, contemplating what I'm saying to God and what he is saying in response to me that I am indeed closer.

I acknowledge and confess that I spend too much time trying to MINISTER to others instead of spending any time being MINISTERED to by the God who loves me more than breath itself. I confess that I'm learning, still.

GOD: Haven't heard much from you lately, Billy. You okay?
ME: Yes, uh, sir. I've been doing stuff for you.
For me?
Yes, God. I'm one of your ministers, pastors you know? I preach and teach and I, I...
I know, Billy. I'm the one with your name in the palm of my hand.
How's that work, by the way? Is it like a tatoo? A piercing?
No, piercing is another thing entirely, but I know a little about that as well. Anyway, do you listen much to me anymore?
I'm sorry. I minister so much that I get tired. And when I get tired, I, uh, fall asleep when I listen. You ever do that? Uh, I'm sorry, forgot who I was talking to. I don't think you get tired, do you?
Tired physcially? No. Don't have much of a problem there. But I get tired of, well, tired of things.
What kind of things?
I get tired of people doing things in my name. I get tired of people misinterpreting what I've told them, of not listening at all when I speak. I get tired of people coming up with their own rules and saying I put them in the tablets I gave Moses. I get tired of, Billy, I get tired of religion.
I thought that was your family business.
That's what you've been taught by someone besides me.
But worship...and prayer ... and evangelism ,,, and missions and ...
Let me stop you right there. All those things are important. But without me working in you, those things are just words. Someone once said that I'm love. I gave that to John, I think, I'm love. Well, that's about as true as anything. I'm love, in worship. I'm love in our prayer time together. I'm love when you're evangelising (sharing good news). I'm love when you're building someone in real need a house. I'm love, Billy. I love talking to you like this. I love talking to you in your Bible. I loved talking to you when my Son was wandering all over Palestine. I love talking to you. But what I've learned over time is that you really, truly don't like listening.
Do you think we'll ever learn, Lord?
Sure. Sure. Most folks learn to listen to me when something big happens, something dire. But I strongly prefer not having to work through tragedy or suffering. I'd just as soon talk to someone on a birthday or after they share the first kiss with the one I've managed to get them together with. I'd love to talk to someone on the day they have their first child or even when their sports team finally wins a championship. But what I've seen, Billy, is that most folks don't have time for me on those days. The good news, really, is I have lots of time and loads of patience. I'll just keep waiting for them to come to me and shut up for a second. Then I'll share. And then they'll listen.
I hear you.
Do you really? Really?