(Photo by: Rebekah Stratton) "The life of man passes away suddenly as a shadow" - Thomas a KempisOur lives are not guaranteed the next breath. We are not presently enduring through the worries of tomorrow or absolving the regrets of yesterday ever. We have one moment; one present and lovely moment to seize God's gift of life and it comes in no other form, but the dual reality of here and now. Experiencing the reality of what is true and what is actually happening is what we can delight in. This is why to be alive in the present breath is so precious and to be elsewhere in thought with any more occupation with the past or future then a gentle foresight is so life exhausting. Almost always, we delight in what we experience more than what was experienced or will be. I've found that often I plead God to be felt, known, glorified,beautified, and present in my presence in the now more than any other instance.
"It is an act of radical trust- trust that God can be encountered at no other time and in no other place than the present moment. Being fully present in the now is perhaps the premier skill of the spiritual life" (Manning, Ruthless Trust, 150).Too many moments of lavish, precious, beauty have I wasted in the preoccupation of what is not the here and now of what I have been given. In my spiritual life, God's providence seems felt and true less so in the moving of the mountains and more so in things I observe outside the windows of my study: the laughter and smiles of toddler-aged sisters rejoicing in their discovery of flower-like leafs, the birds dancing off the sky as if it were a stage to their ballet, and that overcast sky, pierced with sunlight that blankets the Earth through only pocket-sized breaks in the clouds- that sky that flows like an upside-down ocean in whom it's clouds are like waves that do not crash. And so it is, in these attuned moments, there exists the opportunity of life to be lived fully and for God to be exalted. His goodness surrounds us in both the mundane and the exhilarating, but it takes a special fidelity to the reality we live in, the present moment, the here and now, to be fulfilled in the only moment we have been assured of.
It is difficult when circumstances are not preferential or easy-going. There is too much fiddling with what we desire or dwelling on what we have not received and most times an agony with the present grief of that particular moment. In such moments we are starving for an escape, for what might be next, in hopes that it carries us through the anguish. Our living must long for God's gentle grace to bestow upon us a perspective that is grounded in a romantically, true, Truth: that we are blessed, saved, kissed by His Son and His Creation. We are pinned into a state of Grace when there is harmony with this exact reality and we find ourselves stuck in His love and affection and the compassion that all of life surrounds us in.
Those who are unable to hide the pieces of their brokenness and weakness like the physical deformities or social awkwardness that can be telling of a disability, the aged face of the elderly, the famished face of the impoverished, or the grotesque face of lepers are often marginalized due to the fact that they are living, breathing windows into our own fragility. The marginalized remind us of our brokenness, our weakness, our unlovable deformities. We want power, control, the illusion that life can be seized and in this possession that we are invincibly powerful. Inside this hollow power is a strong hope that it defines my value as great and that that greatness amends my character flaws and deep-seeded hurts. The marginalized walk stripped free of this illusion because they are knee-deep in the reality of their brokenness and it has imparted on them no escape-route. Over time they simply wish to live and to love the most that they are still able to love and appreciate. They embrace their reality, regardless of the circumstances, and this is why they own the keys to a divine love and joy. Their abandonment from non-reality helps them live more fully in every moment so they have the most presence to offer, the most love to offer, the most smiles to offer, and they offer the most acceptance of our brokenness and fragility. The marginalized are natural grace givers and wingless angels- they are Christ Jesus, in whom He associates Himself and His Kingdom with.
There is a man I assist who came into community with a lot of inflicted pain; he had been mistreated and hated and groomed to defend himself in order to be noticed, to be acknowledge, and to feel alive. He finds beauty in the most subtle details, yet he lacked the acknowledgment of his own beauty through years spent in an institutional life. He is desperate to connect; his cry of brokenness is a cry for relationship. In the depths of his inmost, mute, being he cries most every day to feel tied to others and for others to affirm this connection. At L'Arche, he has found in himself a greater peace of mind and healed wonderfully, but there is no robbing ourselves of the special anguish we hold. It is an anguish that reminds us now is not the time in which God's Will is fully realized, the perishable is raised imperishable, and the sting of death is withheld its triumphs. My L'Arche friend's cry for connection can manifest itself in anger and painful outbursts, but most times it is a cry of subtlety and soundlessness. I often take my friend for a walk and hold his hand. My hand is a source of security, connection, and appropriate affection for him. I use to think that gripping his hand tight and powerfully would send to him a primal message of superiority and strength, but learning to love through letting go of control and embracing weakness has become the central theme of my life at L'Arche. Now, I feel the weight of his hand, his firm grip, and I loosen and tighten accordingly to the situation. When he has to take a risky step, he holds tight, but other times he loosens up to enable a happy waive to the planes flying over our heads or to pet a dog that has joyfully approached. There is so much centralized focus in the physical embodiment of love and assurance and security with this friend of mine. He is, for the most part, nonverbal by choice. His choice expresses a difficulty to cope with the trauma of his life and his loved ones who have now passed. It's almost as if a part of his heart numbed in the passing of these dear family members and he wishes not to give it to anyone else in the same way. Perhaps he talks less to connect less after experiencing this heart trauma, but only God knows the whys and what-fors. God hasn't called me to analyze my friend so much as He has called me to walk with him, to hold him, to bring forth an inner peace through an environment of love, acceptance, and care. The primary mission of L'Arche is to love the body; to care for the physicality of our core members first with the understanding that it can transform the spirit. It is our belief that the inner-pain inflicted by societal rejection of disabled bodies can be salvaged and healed in a community of love and acceptance of their whole beings; mind, body, heart, and soul. So first, I walk, I talk, I grasp, I do my best to see his view, to feel his emotion, to understand his cry and to remedy it with something constructive and often ordinary- like petting a friendly animal or getting some fresh air or sharing a cup of coffee across a table. His moments of peace have taught me the necessity to be gentle and tender and in this I realize that when I hold his hand during our walks there is an exchange of intimacy occurring. Not a romantic, possessive intimacy, but an intimacy that helps us become attuned to the present moment; an intimacy that sits and settles and calmly instills companionship. My friend has become my teacher; a teacher to the lifestyle of the here and now, the present moment, the 'all-we-have-left' of today.
Another teacher of presence to the present is the story of a stranger. He is a man I often see who sits in the same seat, around the same hour, in the same coffee-shop I like to attend. He is old, senile, slow, and smiley. I've found myself greatly annoyed by his presence because it seems weak and desperate for the attention of others. He often gets up, walks around, makes small talk with the locals, and returns to his seat. When he gets up from his seat about ready to make his rounds, I imagine a mental image of me crunching my eyes shut, crossing my fingers, and thinking, 'Please, please not me, please don't talk to me! Let me read and study and sit in solitude and silence! I did not come to appease your need for relationship in this day.' Many times I've avoided and squandered his invitation to converse. I have overheard his conversations with others plenty (having a few with him as well) and have realized that as mundane the transaction can be his temperament is symbolic of an inner-peace that I have not reached nor can fully fathom. Children run to him, giggling, seeing in his physical weakness and wrinkled face a tender smile. They bring a human face to this man- a loving compassion for the prized human being he is despite his societal status, but also because he brings these children a human face as well. In all the children's naivety, silliness, and smallness, he regards them as precious beings who deserve the greatest of love because their zest for life and innocence is pure gold. In fact, this man is not simply human, but uniquely human... for he sits and marvels at the world around him. He is not desperate to taste his drink, to brazen an important phone call,to read a book, to type away on a lab-top, or to pay and bolt out of there. He searches and sees out the window a world that must be appreciated, he sees in everything a view to be mesmerized. When a toddler runs to him and acts silly he doesn't demand respect or proper-behavior, he simply rejoices in their joy, pinches a rosy-cheek, and lets them scurry off while he converses with the parents. He is a man who has learned, in all the rugged years life has brought him and that he has brought onto himself, a simple desire to sit and see and experience in a state of contemplative gratitude- grasping the here and now of his life and in so doing, making each breath a song of worship to His Abba. This is a practice that many of us have not practiced well enough.
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thess. 5:16-18)There is gratitude to be discovered and uncovered in all circumstances; we're being encouraged to give thanks because in every moment there is reason to be thankful. It is not grounded in our illusions or our worldly renowned treasures because they are all what God's Spirit speaks through Solomon as, "a chasing after the wind" (Ecclesiastes 1:14). As Jesus commands the storm, "Quiet! Be still!" (Mk. 4:39), so does He command the storm within us. A ruthless trust in Him can devour our worries in the beauty of the here and now. Jesus tells us to watch the birds in the sky and not to worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will take care of itself; that our days are riddled with enough trouble of its own (Mt. 6:26, 34).
Jean Vanier says in an interview, "The big thing for me is to love reality and not live in the imagination of what could have been or should have been or what can be... and somewhere...to love reality and then discover... that God is present." I hear in these words that the most necessary thing is to love exactly who and what your reality is made of. It can be someone on your heart who is not present or someone fully present whom your heart beats in ignorance of and in this attentive, intentional, gratitude of your reality, God's felt absence or felt rapture entangles our faithful trust to our Abba- similar to those last words Christ uttered before His last breath atop Golgotha, "Father, into your hands, I commit my spirit" (Lk. 23:46).
So when you breathe, breathe with a ruthless trust. A trust that is not entitled, but grateful. Be vulnerable to the worthiness of each passing moment. Be humbled through the knowledge that your life is a passing shadow. Give presence to the present and acknowledge the rhythm of your growing-up son or daughter or sibling or self; the sound of music traversing through nature's wildlife; the motion that naked, winter, branches make swaying to and fro with the wind; the laughter of your present friends; the tears of a loved one or a crying nation. There really is only here and now to acknowledge life as gift and give thanks to the Giver.
Are you listening?
This is it. This is all we have to salvage and to savor. Here and now.
Writing while listening to: David Crowder Band- "O God Where Are You Now (In Pickeral Lake? Pigeon? Marquette? Mackinaw?)"
