Seeing God

Psalm 16:11 “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

            When I think of God, it is often as a father—a deeply-loving, ever-caring, continually-giving, yet all-the-while-firm father.  One just like my own earthly father.  Our relationship was a special one, and because of him, I have a clearer picture of my Heavenly Father.  My dad loved me so much, and knew me so well, he only had to hear my voice over the phone to know if I was hurting.  And he only had to say "I love you, Rondi," for me to feel him put his arms around me once again as he used to do when I was a little girl at home.  I think God is like my dad—knowing me, loving me, encouraging me, strengthening me, guiding me.

            But I think God is also like my mother.  Now, she is one of my very best friends, but when I was growing up, she was feeding me, clothing me, teaching me, playing with me, and—all too often it seemed then—disciplining me.  I remember her saying every time she spanked me, (which wasn't often, of course) "this hurts Mommy more than it does you."  And in truth, it probably did, for I did not meekly yield myself to the paddle.  By the time she was finished, we would both be crying.  "Rondi, I'm doing this because I love you," she'd say.  Then she would hold me on her lap and cry with me.  I couldn't quite understand that kind of love when I was little.  I couldn't see why, if she loved me so much, she had to make rules that didn't make sense, and then punish me for breaking them.  As I look back on it now, it all makes sense.  And I know God is a lot like my mother—so patient, so gentle, so tender.  I know, too, that God was there for her then, doing what she was—and still is—doing for me:  showing me a clearer vision and understanding of true love, a love that keeps on loving under every circumstance.

            But God is more to me than a parent—loving and disciplining, caring and providing.  He's a creator, an artist, a musician.  He's serious about what He does, but He enjoys it and wants others to enjoy it, too.  I can imagine Him in the early springtime, hiding behind a newly budding tree, grinning with excitement as someone delightedly discovers the first cactus bloom or a delicate golden daffodil braving the still-cool March winds.  I can imagine Him in the summer, basking in the sun at the beach, His eyelids drooping lazily, a smile playing at the corners of His mouth as He hears the shrieks of laughter from children jumping the waves.  I see Him scuffling His feet through the leaves in autumn and drinking deeply of the crisp, clear fall night, gazing at the myriad of stars overhead.  I see Him in winter, delighting in each perfect, tiny snowflake—perhaps even pausing to throw a few snowballs.  I see Him marveling at the skill and agility of the skier flying down the slope; hear Him sighing with satisfaction at a winter sunset.  And I see Him looking around and smiling upon discovering that He's not alone in admiring the beauty—His beauty.

            I see Him in the orchestra pit, waving His arms enthusiastically alongside the conductor.  I see Him in the horn section, playing for all He's worth.  I hear Him in the choir, His mellow baritone blending and soaring with the rest of the voices.  I see Him in the audience, standing, with tears in His eyes too, listening to the triumph of the Hallelujah Chorus.

            I see Him on the ball field, running hard and fast into the end-zone, or making a flying leap to catch a would-be home run.  I see Him on the basketball court making a three-point jump-shot from the outside corner.  And I see Him in the crowd—watching from the edge of His seat, and cheering.

            I see Him in the work place, standing beside each one and encouraging them to give their best to their task.  I see Him taking His place behind the desk, taking care with every detail.

            I see Him in the church sanctuary, perhaps sitting beside a discourage worshipper, or thinking about those in and out of the church.  I see tears come into His eyes as He feels and understands the hurt in the hearts of so many.  But I also see through those tears a love that does not quit, a love that only gives more because it receives less.

            I see Him at every corner, watching, waiting, reaching out to those going by.  I see the longing in His eyes to take your hand and mine and hold on—through the good times and the bad.  I see Him.  I feel Him nearby.  Do you?

Be Still and Know

 I think one of my greatest pleasures in life is talking.  No doubt there are many in this sanctuary who share that joy with me…  I don’t know about you, but it has also been one of the greatest sources of trouble throughout my life’s experience.  I remember as far back as fifth grade my teacher giving me a sound thrashing with a metal-tipped bamboo stick for disturbing the peace (this was still in the days when this was legal)…and I have a scar to this day to prove it.

            I remember the extreme humiliation in 9^th grade of telling a friend who told a friend who told a friend something that I was supposed “not to tell anyone”…and being confronted with the evidence of my breach of silence.  In Sabbath School, I was an incessant talker.  My teacher was always asking my friends and me to “please, be quiet.”  Even in graduate school—once…only once—I was reprimanded for discoursing with my neighbor.  Oh, it was important (isn’t it always?!)  I needed to make sense of the lecture.  But my noise distracted the teacher, and he made no effort to hide his annoyance from me.  Or the rest of the class.  Embarrassing?  Totally! 

            My father used to tell me that I never listened.  No.  He used to say it rather loudly.  Sometimes I didn’t hear him the first time:  I was too busy talking.  You might say I’ve learned the hard way about the importance of listening.  Of being still.  Of giving others the opportunity to pass on information that could be vital to my survival and success…in school, in life.

Probably the most important thing you can do for yourself is to learn to listen.  Listen to everyone and everything.  Listen hard.  Listen with intensity.   And with intent to grow.  Listening can improve your life in three major aspects.  The first might be obvious to us because of our current situation:  Listening can help save our lives.  If we do nothing else but listen carefully to the health experts and our local, state, and national leaders, and follow through on as much as is humanly possible, we may very well save our lives and those of our loved ones, friends, neighbors, and community members.  Now is not the time to close our ears to their advice, thinking we can take care of ourselves.  That may be, but we need to consider others too.  Listening can save lives.

Which brings me to point number two about listening:  Listening can help improve our relationship with others.  My first year or so as a teacher was hard in a number of ways—mostly because I was learning so many things at the same time I was trying to teach them.  One thing I found out was that if I expected others to listen to me, I had to listen to them.   Being a talker by nature and habit, this wasn’t easy.  But I soon found listening to be a direct line to solid gold in my students.  It was learning to listen that helped me understand people more.  And I’ve found that every time I haven’t taken—or made—the time to listen, and I mean really listen, I’ve missed out on something important—for me and for the other person.

The third aspect which improves with listening is our spiritual life.  Listening to that “Still Small Voice” brings spiritual strength.  Some call it conscience, some call it the Holy Spirit, some call it the Voice of God.  That Voice of conscience and courage can’t be heard if we’re not listening for it, or to it.  But if we are, we can tune in to God in a way we might never have expected.  And our lives are better, happier, and more secure because we have “been still and [known] . . . God.”

The first two aspects of listening are probably not too hard to understand or appreciate.  It’s the third I want to talk about a little more specifically.  I think it’s the hardest kind of listening to do because we are dealing with something far less tangible than a teacher, a friend, a parent, a co-worker, a spouse, or the president.  Listening for, and to, God can be a very difficult thing to do unless we know what to listen for, and how.  There is no grade hanging over our head, there is no threat of grounding or losing privileges, there is no potential for physical sickness or loss of life if we don’t listen to God.  Only the promise of eternal darkness if we don’t, and eternal Light…and life…if we do.  Which, when we understand this, makes listening to God one of the greatest joys and privileges know to humanity.

How do we do this, though?  By being still.  By giving ourselves the quiet opportunity to hear God’s beautiful voice.  By looking around us, seeing all he’s done for us…knowing that He is our God, our Father, our Creator, our Protector.  Listen to what the Psalmist says in Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should collapse and the mountains slide into the sea, though the oceans roar and tidal waves wash away the land, though the mountains move and the foundations of the earth shake.

We have tasted the quiet stream that flows through the city of God, that comes from the heavenly Sanctuary, the place where God Himself is.

The Lord lives in that heavenly city, and it will never be destroyed.  He will protect us, and even if we die now, we will see each other on that resurrection morning.

When God speaks, nations crumble and the earth itself melts.

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Look at what the Lord has done!  It’s amazing what our God can do.

He can stop all wars anywhere in the world.  He can stop the flying arrow, break the biggest spear and smash the strongest defenses.

But He wants men everywhere to stop fighting.  So He says, “Be still and know that I am God.  My name will be exalted among all nations, and once again

 I will assume my rightful place as King.”

The Lord our King is with us.  The God of Israel is our refuge.

Did you notice what David says?  That if we are still, we will know God, in all His glory, in all His power.  He will be a safe place for us to go.  He will protect us from everlasting evil.

I heard Barbara Walters interview a popular rock star a number of years ago.  At the time, he was internationally famous, making millions of dollars.  He didn’t seem to have a moment to himself, what with touring and fans, etc.  I was amazed, then, when he started telling Ms. Walters that the thing that kept him centered, that kept him from losing his focus was silence, listening for and to God.  “If you have a lot of noise in your life,” he said, “How can you listen to God?”

If you have a lot of noise in your life, how can you listen to God?  Oh, how true!  For me, one of the ways I find God is through music.  Shakespeare once said that music can calm the savage beast…and I have found that to be true in my life.  Some of the  pieces that I turn to—to calm my nerves, to bring my blood pressure down, to clear my mind, to turn down the noise of the world so I can be still and hear what God has to say to me—include Ralph Vaughn Williams’ The Lark Ascending or Maurice Durufle’s Sanctus movement from his Requiem, or any number of other classical pieces.  Sometimes, I’ll listen to them over and over, just trying to push everything else out of my mind, and open it up to the peace that comes with listening like that.  If you get a chance, search them out and take a listen.  See if they don’t bring you some peace of mind and heart.  But I thought I’d share a song here that addresses specifically what we’ve been talking about today, and quotes the Psalm I did earlier…Psalm 46.  As you listen, open your ears, your eyes, your mind, your heart to the soothing healing power of God’s active presence in your life.  Be still and know that He is God.

Reachable, yet Untouchable: a God of Paradox and Synonym

From birth,  I was  taught that I could approach God anytime,  anywhere.  This was a comfort to me although it wasn’t until I began traveling that I truly discovered the realness of this God as described in Psalm 139:  "You hem me in, behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. . . . Where can I go from your Spirit? . . . Your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast" (Psalm 139:   5, 7, 9, 10; NIV). 

The promise of that protection kept my heart from thumping audibly during a border interrogation in East Berlin.   It kept the scream in my throat instead of letting it escape when a  sword swallower  came after me in Beijing.  It kept me firm in Cairo when a swarm of panhandlers accosted me.  It kept me calm on a moonlit night by the Sea of Galilee.  It kept me safe during a careening ride through Paris.   And it brought me peace riding through Johannesburg amidst pre-election rioting.

The promise of that protection keeps me going still, although my everyday life as a school teacher seems boring and safe compared to the exotic excitement of my sometime summertime escapes—until a few weeks ago, until Covid-19 put a global life-or-death price on every move we make, relegating us to a virtual world-wide lockdown.  Still, I revel in the knowledge that even at home, the God of Psalm 139 is always with me.    This God is easy to believe in, easy to trust in, easy to be comfortable with. And yet Old Testament readers know there is a side of God which is not so reachable or comfortable.   This side of God requires that we “fear Him” and keep at a distance.  If seemingly diametrically opposed to the more common view of God, it must be reckoned with nonetheless, and if possible, reconciled.

The "reachableness" of the God I find in Psalm 139 is necessary for comfort, courage,  and community.  I need to feel the strength and power of  God in my  life.  I need to feel His warmth, examine His light, and  experience His protection to survive the emotional elements of human nature.    All this, I find in the nearness of God.  But the "untouchableness" of God is also necessary for revelation, respect and reflection.  I  need to know the strength and power of God in my  life, but I need distance to give me perspective,  space to give me cognizance, and  room to give me thought.  All this, I find in the "farness" of God.  The paradox is that  God must be both near and far if I am to feel Him and know Him in all his “awful” comfort and glory.  The miracle is that He can be, and is.   Paradox and synonym, different but the same.

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Except We Forget

"So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have.  I think it is right to refresh your memory" 2 Peter 1: 12-14 (NIV)

            One of the wonderful things about God is that He knows us so well—knows our strengths and weaknesses, knows just what we need to carry on.  Unfortunately, we sometimes have a very human tendency to forget about His love for us no matter what—especially in times of trial and change.  At least this is true for me.  Consequently, I need to be reminded, but I think we all do.

            In the wake of the state’s decision that all schools need to close their doors for the next few weeks, my husband and I spent most of last week (our Spring Break) working out how we were going to transition our classes from face-to-face to distance learning, figuring out what was most important to cover and how best to do that in the most engaging way.  Not an easy task but fortunately there are a lot of resources out there of both the digital and human form. 

            In between all the researching and planning, we’ve done a lot of praying—praying for family, for friends; for our school, our community, our church; for our nation and, yes, the whole world.  This Covid-19 experience is something none of us has experienced before.  We may have gone through challenges in our past—some of them on a grand scale—from world wars to hurricanes, from various versions of the flu to 9/11—but nothing that has virtually shut things down globally like this. 

            Covid-19 has spread to the very edges of the earth and all but paralyzed some of the world’s great civilizations.  Listening to the news could cause us to despair of ever recovering.  And yet that’s the exact moment when we need to refresh our memory, to recall what we’ve known all along:  that God is still with us.  He will not forsake us.  One of my favorite texts remind us of this fact:  "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)  And then there’s this from the pen of Christian writer Ellen G. White:  We have nothing to fear for our future except that we forget how God has led us in the past.  (Life Sketches p. 196)  

            Yes, we are living in uncertain, confusing, and even scary times.  But if we recall nothing else from the past—whether gleaned from books or from our own experience—we should clearly see that God has been there, through it all.  That knowledge can inform how we respond to this new challenge.  We may have to live our lives differently going forward, but the main things will remain the main things:  our relationship with God, with our families, and with each other.  Make those count so the next challenge that comes our way will not shake us, regardless of its magnitude.  Except we forget, we will have nothing to fear.

In Spite of Everything

Another poem written at the Heinemann Boothbay Literacy Retreat, June 25, 2013.  It's a "found" poem based on a line from an Edward Hirsch poem: "In Spite of Everything, the Stars."

In spite of everything, God
is still in charge.
I mean--He's there.
He sees all, knows all.
He's engaged in a great war
testing whether mercy
trumps justice.

In spite of everything, I
don't blame Him.
Not for wars, pestilence,
Hate, loss.
All the things that bring down
happiness.
And life.

In spite of everything, He
loves us.
this I know.
I've seen it.
Heard it.
Felt it.
Deep in the marrow
of my bones.

In spite of everything, Love
will triumph over evil.
The lame will walk,
the blind will see.
And we.
Shall.
All.
Be.
Changed.
In spite of everything.