That for which I thirst

For what does your soul thirst?

Frankly, I don't know. This has been one of the problems in my life. I have spent so much time taking care of others or worrying about what others want of me that I have never really been able to answer the question concerning what it is for which I thirst.

I am put in mind of at least three times of genuine desert experience: each time sinking into the depths of loneliness and wondering just what it was that God was asking of me. The most recent was at St Mark's when in the quiet of he night I went into the Church and prostrated myself before the altar. There I literally cried out to God, "What do you want? Give me some sign. Something. Anything."

Yes. I was deeply thirsty then. What eventually emerged was a quiet confidence, "I am enough for you. I am all you need." That seemed to slake that thirst for a while. But that same challenge arises again and again. Maybe I need to begin to realize that the answer will be the same again and again.

Perhaps I am looking for an answer that is right before me. Somehow I think that the solution to my thirst, my hunger, is outside of me-- something that I need "to do." Maybe the answer is already in my grasp-it is simply "to be."

Maybe my penchant for pleasing others has infiltrated my relationship with God, the one whom I can never really "please" by anything I "do" but who is pleased simply by my being and becoming that which God has created me to be.

Maybe, just maybe, my thirst is simply "to be" in the presence of God.

-- read Psalm 63

It shall accomplish that for which I purpose it

Am I able to be still and simply listen to God?

That's a good one! I find it hard to be still and simply listen to the world around me.

I often begin my prayer time simply trying to do that - the ticking of the clock, a car passing by ... and before I know it, my mind is being crowded by internal noises. All the things I need to get done today; what will I preach about this Sunday; I think it's starting to rain, and just when I needed to get the front door painted; when should I schedule that committee meeting; and on and on. After a moment, I try to refocus -- I do this several times -- yet each time, I it seems that I can listen only for a moment before the distractions start again.

I remember the advice of a director some time ago: when distractions come, be gentle with yourself, a gentle correction and reorientation is all that is needed. So I seek to put this into practice each time.  It becomes a continual pattern of reorientation . . . kind of like driving a car
. Going forward requires many small corrections of the wheel. Failure to make these constant, little corrections for the sake of a disciplined straight line would cause the car to go off the road in short order. I find that it is like that in my relationship with God - a series of small (sometimes not so small) corrections to keep on course. So must it be in my prayer. Gentle, continual corrections reorienting to the focus of my attention and affection.

In the passage for today, I am struck by one verse in particular:

"So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth,
It shall not return to me empty,
But it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
And succeed I the thing for which I sent it."

Each of us is part of that word - we result from God's speaking, his breathing (ruah) into existence each human life. Thus, I will not return to God without succeeding in the thing for which I was created, for which I was sent. But we are not mere automatons - we are free. Thus, to succeed in this, I must discover/discern "that for which I sent it"-- in other words, what God's will is for me. I can only do this in a life of prayer - a life designed around listening. And how fraught with difficulty this is when I can barely be still enough to listen to that which is clearly in my environment. How more difficult will it be for me to listen for that "stills all voice" within? This day, then, I pray simply for the grace of being able to listen.

-- read Isaiah 55:1-13

Prayer . . . Frustrating

If I have prayed it once, it's been thousands of times. English, German, Spanish, Polish. Most times it starts automatically and powers through to the end - it's over before you know it and it seems not a word meant a thing.

Is it because of its nature as a form prayer? Is there value to such prayer. Even as I go to this prayer with real intention, it drifts by - no matter how hard I try to concentrate on it. Like a road with a thousand forks, I keep taking one to distraction. Frustrating.

But then Jesus tells us to keep asking -- and to ask rightly. I ask him, "How can I ask rightly if I can't really ask at all?"

Phrase by phrase. Word by word. Taking the petitions backwards. I've done it all. "Teach us to pray" say the disciples. I am with them 100%. "Teach me, Lord. I can't seem to manage it alone."

-- read Luke 11:1-13

Something Unexpected

The hands of the potter are at once strong and gentle. They are strong in that the palms and the fingers must exert just the right pressure to make the clay form. They are gentle in that the slightest movement alters the form of the pot. So it is with God, no? Just the right pressure to take a lump of clay and raise its sides to form the beginnings of a vessel ... And the gentle pressures begin to place the nuances that compose the beauty of the final form.
Sometimes the clay does not respond to the hands. When this is so, alternate pressures seek to right it ... and even when the clay fails yet again, even in the extreme, the patient craftsman simply keeps the wheel turning and begins anew.

So it is with God - he is the potter, I am the clay. Even now I feel his strong yet gentle touch molding and forming something new, something of singular beauty within me. What the final form will be is only in the mind of the potter - and even then, depending on the response of the clay, that form may be changed to something unexpected even by the potter.

Just what God is forming in me, I do not yet see. Perhaps he has something in mind, but depending on the clay and how it responds to God's hands, neither of us is quite sure -- yet.

-- read Jeremiah 18:1-6

God loves you and has a plan for your life

When I went to college (Houghton College in the southern-tier of New York State), I lived in a religious culture that was very certain about who God was and how God operated. Very often I heard, “God loves you and has a plan for your life!” (one of the "Four spiritual laws"). At times this was a comforting thought—after all, wouldn’t it be nice if someone else mapped out my life for me and made sure everything worked according to plan?

But over the years I’ve discovered that I often mistook my own desires for God's plan. I eventually came to appreciate God’s lack of pushiness. Yes, God loves me. And, yes, God has a plan, but it’s a huge plan, one that encompasses the entire universe. God invites me to cooperate with that plan, God "invites me to join the party" - as it were. But in order to participate in God’s big plan, I have to make choices every day—about the kind of person I want to be, about the priorities I keep, about the loves I nurture.

I no longer believe that there’s a connect-the-dots plan for David's life. Every day, David has options from among which he may choose; some are better than others. Yet, some are obviously wrong and harmful, but many are indeed good. When I learn to distinguish what is the best of the good, that’s called growth.

What’s my purpose? To grow into my God-created potential to love. That happens as I make decisions, but it involves more than that. I become my best self as I become more intimately engaged with God. So, I guess, it’s really not about a plan; it’s about a relationship.

-- based on Isaiah 43:1-7

How insignificant can I be?

The seminary where I was formed for the priesthood is located in a semi-rural area southeast of Buffalo, NY. On a cloudless night, you can walk out near "the lake" (an overgrown pond) and lay on your back and stare at the sky. There on a clear winter's night, you can see stars never seen by anyone in the city, or anywhere that experiences "light pollution." The sky is crystal clear, I seem to remember that you could even see elements of the Milky Way.

Then you start to think. How far away is that nearest star? How long did it take the very light that twinkles in your eye to reach this tiny world through a vast universe? Upon realizing that even the little bit of this vast universe we can perceive, how and why should God care about me - a mere "speck" in this incomprehensible universe?

Yet even with thoughts about how insignificant I may be, there is a certain peace that fills my breast, my very soul in contemplating how immense God is. That very insignificance becomes itself a gift - grace: that even so small, God cares about and shows God's love for me in revealing this part of creation to me.

-- based on Psalm 8

Someone to lean on

"With your rod and your staff, you give me courage."

For most of my life I have been "the strong one" - smart, entrepreneurial, willing to risk, and all making it look like I know what I am doing. The fact is that most of the time I am "flying by the seat of my pants." Many times I can feel like I am out there all alone. It also leads to a pattern where it seems to me that everyone looks to me for an answer or a solution, so when I am vulnerable, it makes it hard for me to find support in others. It's hard to ask for help and support, and even when I do, people often look at me quizzically like they don't know what to do since I was more often their "go to" guy.

The image of strength I see in this passage and the phrase I quote is reassuring to me. Even when I feel out there and alone, I can turn to God for the strength and the courage I lack. The grace I desire today is to be able to be more vulnerable in the eyes of others and to be able more easily to reach out to others when I feel weak.

"Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life." (sigh)

-- based on Psalm 23