Eloi, eloi… (part 2)
Once again, I turn to the familiar cry of Jesus on the cross. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Why am I here, God? Why have you brought me to this place? I love the people, I love the work (when I’m able to give myself to it fully). But I feel out of place, like a wildflower planted in the middle of an interstate. Or maybe more like a weed in a garden. I don’t know.
In the last two years, I’ve read and prayed and thought of a different kind of Church, a different kind of Christianity. And my soul resonates with that. My mind rejoices in a faith that seems less like a straightjacket, and more like a comfortable pair of sweats. My spirit rejoices that a God who seemed so distant for long time now seems just a bit closer, just a bit more like a God I’d want to know. My heart quickens to think that this deep thirst may be closer to being quenched… or at least, satiated for a while.
But I feel like I’ve been paraded by the beautiful fountain, only to be led out into the desert. I feel dried up, abandoned, helpless. Where I am now seems like the opposite of that place I want to be. All those things that I have talked about the Old Church being? All those stuffy flannel-board images of God, all those meaningless repetitions of prayers and songs? That’s where I am. And it doesn’t seem my “new kind of Christianity” is making much of a difference.
Why am I here? Surely I am in the place God wants me to be, but why is it that – no matter how much I may see a place and think it’s where I need to be – why is it that when God puts me there, I almost immediately begin to feel it’s not right? I know it MUST be right. The circumstances behind it, the affirmations of the Spirit, everything shows me that God has brought me here.
So why do I feel like “here” is a desert, and not a lush pasture?
Is it OK to comment on your own post?
I was on the way to visit a church member today, and had almost decided just to turn around and go home. I was tired and discouraged, and didn’t think I’d be worth much. But on an impulse, I pulled in the driveway anyway. And when I walked in the door, she said, “Do you know, I was just praying that you’d come by.” She really needed a familiar face and some encouragement.
I might not be on the theological cutting edge, but I’m still in a place that God’s seeing fit to use.
You and I had a conversation today, and I had not read these entries, so much of our conversation makes much more sense. Go figure.
I think the closer we get, the more we realize how far away we are. It is like that with knowledge. The more I know, the more I am aware of how much I DON’T know. We are at best sojourners – visitors in a place where we do not belong. Sometimes we give in to the place, sometimes we strive for the better we know is out there “further up and further in.” Sometimes we are just tired and have to sit (and many of us never stand up again). Sometimes we have to back track. The road is narrow and dark, and maybe, just maybe, it feels like a desert because it is a desert.
Here’s to hiking further up and further in.