Good news? Really, now.

Good news! At least that's what Gabriel called it. Good news, my ***! What sort of good news comes from nowhere, totally unexpected telling you that all of your plans and dreams are no longer valid-that everything you wanted is now at best "on hold" or more likely gone forever. 

That's what I fear about such so called "good news." 

Someone once said, "Be careful what you pray for, you just might get it." Therein is the problem. Not  the"getting it" but what happens once the prayer is answered. That's the funny thing about God and about grace--it's free for the asking, but once you're in...boy things do change.

It's almost never what you thought it would be. It's always different - and unexpected. Mary's fundamental disposition was one of divine acquiescence. So when Gabriel pops into the picture, it's almost a forgone conclusion what Mary's answer will be. But I am not so disposed.

As I move through this time of seeking, and I seek to make that disposition of acquiescence to the divine will may await around the corner. Who will my Gabriel be? And what his or her message?

my own, I fear what "good news"

--read Luke 1:26-38

In emptiness I am filled up

"All things come from thee, O God, and of thine own have we given thee."

Kenosis. Self-emptying. It's ironic that in seminary, while in direction with Fr. Gerald, this was the constant theme. And yet, as I have progressed through my adult life, I still have not learned that core lesson: before God can fill me, I need to be emptied of self. 

The emptying is not really a throwing away but a deepening realization that I really own nothing and have genuine control over nothing. That realization applies most radically to matters of the Spirit. If I would dare to enter deeply into the Spirit's life, I must be prepared to realize that I am opening myself to the great perichoresis - that inner dance of the Trinity. My emptiness provides a ready conduit for the life of God to course through me giving, taking, receiving . . . not me but God giving, God taking, God receiving from himself, by himself, to himself but all through me. 

I become as a great electrical grid. I am not the source of power. I only provide the means for the power to get from here to there and once there to accomplish "that for which it was purposed", which is ultimately simply the life of God in God's creation. 

Does that diminish my importance? Not really. How could the power of Niagara Falls get to my light fixture to enlighten my dark room if not for "the grid"? It is not only important, it is essential. In all of its sophistication from high tension wires to delicate electronic controls -- it's the means by which power is distributed and accomplishes its purpose.

Is this not the way with God? How else is God's creative, redemptive, and sustaining power to be delivered to this creation except through me and countless others like me? We are "the grid". But it is not MY power -- I am only the means by which that power is delivered. It is through me that God works God's purpose out . . . and only if I am empty of any obstacle. Otherwise the power short circuits, is frustrated, and is set for purposes not intended. In these obstacles, I frustrate the will of God.

My grace for today: show me the obstacles I place in the way.

-- read Ephesians 3:14-21

With groans from within

Somewhere in my memory bank is a statement by an Orthodox teacher that we in the West have an imbalanced view of God: that we so emphasize the person of Jesus (the Son within the Trinity) that our sense of the Spirit (person #3) is minimal at best. Consequently, we downplay the role of of the Spirit or relegate the Spirit to a phenomenon of the Pentecostal movement. Today's prayer text reminds me of this. This passage from Romans has always been a bit problematic for me. I have often simply skipped over it paying it little heed, but today's focus in prayer does not allow me to do so.

"The Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” What does this mean? I don't think that it is about speaking in tongues as some would argue, since that is a gift given only to a few. I think that this passage has a more universal application, that is, to all believers and so must mean something more.

When do I "groan"? Usually it is when I am in some sort of pain, or when I am "bone tired", or when I am at a total loss for words. Usually at these times, there is a deep emotional component to it -- more often than not, feeling that I am at my wits end and have no strength. I cannot rely on my own resources any more. Is this when the Spirit's groans take over? When I have finally exhausted my own resources and cannot think of another thing to say or do in my relationship with God?

If this is the case, why do I have to wait so long . . . why do I insist on "doing it all my own" until I can't "do" anymore??? Looking back at my life, I have found this to be so in my prayer. Oh, I pray and do all that the forms require and even a bit more but upon examination, I am beginning to realize that it is almost always on my terms and with my own "strength" whether that be intellectual, emotional, or even physical. Only when one or another (or all) these "strengths" fail am I driven to pray in the manner I hear described in the gospel as when Jesus is driven into the desert by the Spirit.

There it is again . . .  that pesky Spirit . . . driving even Jesus.

When I have experienced this great sense of weakness is when I finally "cry out" (a sort of groaning, I suppose). On these occasions, I have felt totally vulnerable, sometimes driven to tears, not just a tear or two, but deep wails. On these occasions, I have often questioned my own worth, wondered what was "wrong" with me, why I didn't seem to deserve "a break". Perhaps these times are the occasions of weakness of which have St. Paul speaks here. The wails are the sighs "too deep for words" and the questions are the beginning of real prayer - a discovery that only in God can I find the true meaning of my experience, my life.

I pray for the grace of reaching this point without the need to be at wits end to experience it.

-- Romans 8:26-27

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