Thursday, June 21, 2012

June 21st

Once we learn to laugh and play, we will have come closer to understanding our laughing playing God. The God of ridiculous promises is a God who laughs, a God to be laughed at and laughed with, until that moment when all pain washes away and only the laughter of God is left to be heard in the heavens.

-Joan Chittister

I saw that quote on facebook, and I had to copy and paste it.

I still hear the still, quiet voice of God, always in a current of love,  and so often in the music of humor. I know His voice as much by His good humor as I do by His tender love.

I don't write about it so much, because it's so personal, and I don't have the correct religious garments to cover up my childish adoration of Him. I feel silly, going on and on about Him in the unsophisticated way that I do.

Besides, people are always saying what God says or doesn't say, did or didn't do, is or isn't like.

Who am I to say? I don't want to add to all that confusion.

One person says Jesus appeared to him in a vision, and told him to preach about the reality of Hell, another is saying that He is knocking on the door of our heart, and can we hear Him?

"I have a word for you from God," they say, their eyes alight with the fire of their mission.

I remember hearing that; I remember the feelings of hope, dread and fascination that welled up inside me.

I saw a cartoon of people opening the door to some religious folks who were asking, "Have you found Jesus yet?"

In the couple's living room, behind the curtain are a pair of feet with sandals.

When I see that sort of thing, part of me winces away, part of me laughs, and part of me is fascinated.

If only it were that easy- part the curtain and voila! There is God, right it front of us, found out.

I see pictures of Him, looking so pious, so calm and serene, with a softly curling beard and doe eyes, or with His heart on His chest, encircled by a crown of thorns.

Whenever I see those pictures, I have to look and then look again, secretly. I don't know what I feel, when I see those pictures.

I don't think it's Him. I doubt Jesus looked like that even when He was weary and sat down at the well in Samaria.

On the other hand, He does look like that- to someone else. That's someone else's vision of Jesus.

My vision of Him is no more accurate than theirs, it's just that it's mine.

For the most part, I've stopped reaching out for Him like an insecure toddler, always tugging on their mother's dress.

Or trying to placate Him like a bride that's unsure of her husband's love and worries that if she doesn't bring him his cup of morning coffee and daily paper, he might get annoyed and stop loving her.

Of course, me being me, sometimes when I realize that I'm not worried, I feel guilty about it.

Because that's what I do. I apologize for everything- I'm so sorry, I need You- I must lack faith. I'm so sorry, I don't need You, I must lack desire. I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. I'm just wrong, I was born wrong.

"What will happen if I stop searching for Him?" I asked myself, furtively.

I suddenly saw myself forgotten, passed over by a god who was displeased by my lack of attention, my lack of desperation.

Then I'll find you, Jesus said, immediately, and His familiar voice was a strong, sure current of authority and love.

This is just my personal experience of God. I don't know how it translates for others.

I can't help but think that the best things about God get lost in translation, dry up in the words and fall to the ground.

Just like when we draw pictures of Him, He ends up looking more like where we're from than who He is.

Right now, I'm going deeper into the truth that I am always in Him; that I can't earn it, or lose it, or give it away, or give it up- that I don't need to prove it.

For myself, I'm discovering that God laughs, that He plays, that He finds life intoxicating. He never get bored, or tired of us, or worn out.

I don't know how God can know everything and still be curious, how God can be all powerful and still be meek, how He can hope all things, believe all things, endure all things.

But I'm learning that He does.