40 DAYS

 

(Part Three)

“City lights shine on the harbour, Night has fallen down,
Through the darkness and the shadow, I will still go on.
Long, long journey through the darkness,
Long, long way to go;
But what are miles across the ocean
To the heart that’s coming home?”
~ Eithne Ni Bhraonain / Nicky Ryan / Roma Ryan

“It is not objective proof of God’s existence that we want but…the experience of God’s presence.” ~ Frederick Buechner

I finished April Soul Food with these words, “My baptism, I believe, is when the Holy Spirit stopped hovering and started seriously meddling in my life. Did I not somehow say he could…?”

A person might think that with the experiences I shared, previously, that everything would be great for a little while, But, no! After my baptism, the Spirit drove me straight into the wilderness right into the middle of the mess of my own darkness.

A lightbulb turned on over my head as I began to make notes for writing this month. I remembered that Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness right after his Baptism. What might this mean for me? Some pondering required. Jesus was 40 days in the wilderness. The Israelites were 40 years wandering in the desert? If the number 40 does mean a long time, and if that long time was for formation and even transformation, then, I can begin to understand my own wilderness darkness in a new light.

Jesus was taken to the desert to confront temptations and to prepare for ministry. If that was what my wilderness experience was about, what did I confront? What were Jesus’ temptations? With what did he wrestle? Henri Nouwen said that, in the desert “he [Jesus] was tempted with the three compulsions of the world: to be relevant (“turn stones into loaves”), to be spectacular (“throw yourself down”)” and to be powerful (“I will give you all these kingdoms”). There he affirmed God as the only source of his identity (“You must worship the Lord your God and serve him alone”). In the desert, Jesus gave up control of himself, and his possible desires, to the will and plan of his Father. Hmm…

Almost as soon as we left Boulder, arrived at Ft. Benning and found a place to live, Dave had a temporary duty assignment in Oklahoma for three months for officer’s training. I was not able to go with him because I was five months pregnant with our fifth child. Since I would be due to deliver about the time Dave would be coming back to Georgia, and because there was always the question of whether I would get to the hospital in time, the doctors would not let me travel.

So, I was plopped down, alone, with four and 5/9ths children, knowing no one, having no friends, no support group, and no help. I didn’t know the way around town. I had never been alone like this before nor had I ever had this much responsibility. I was scared. The church was a long way across the city, but I did manage to get there, occasionally. The weather that summer in Georgia was terrible and I started to be afraid of storms and wind – something in Colorado that I rather liked. I also became terrified of tornadoes. Too much Wizard of Oz when I was a child, perhaps.

After three months, Dave came home, we moved onto the base, and I delivered child #5, a daughter. Dave was gone, constantly training soldiers to go to Viet Nam. Again, I had the home and child responsibility to myself. I developed a pretty severe case of post-partum depression, though I didn’t know that was my problem. I had never heard of it. My fear of storms intensified, and I began to have panic attacks. These didn’t go away for years, even after Dave got out of the military and we returned to Colorado.

Oh, there is another very important piece to this story. Dave left the army to finish his degree after which he planned to go to seminary and become ordained. Panic!! I knew that I wasn’t good enough to become a priest’s wife, and I didn’t want to live in a goldfish bowl, so I talked him out of it – for a season. God had other plans. But, I had another reason for God to be angry with me.

Dave and the kids started to go to church without me. I couldn’t leave the basement. I was afraid of God. Weird, huh? After my earlier experience of God, this doesn’t make sense. I knew God was chasing me, but I believed it was because I had done something wrong and not because of love. I still had the belief that God was a punishing God. Alcohol became my drug of choice. It was the only way I knew to keep the fear somewhat at bay, and I began to live in the basement watching out the windows to see if there was a tree leaf or a blade of grass moving. I tried to keep control – of my surroundings, my circumstances, my children, and myself. If bad things happened, it would be my fault. Storms and tornadoes might take me away from my family, hurt them, or damage our home. I wouldn’t be able to take care of them or anything else – a self-fulfilling prophecy as it turned out.

I was very depressed, so I eventually began therapy and began to understand myself, somewhat. The doctor diagnosed a stress induced chemical imbalance and we started working on that. After about five years, God dangled music in front of me and that got me out of the basement. Dave joined the choir and I thought, “Choir!” Maybe I can do that. God does have his ways and some major healing began. St. Stephen’s had a mid-week communion service which I attended in addition to the one on Sunday. I discovered that if I had communion twice a week I could stay above ground. If I didn’t, I couldn’t. My panic and depression began to recede, and I started to believe that God loved me.

It was a soul friend, last week, who reminded me that Jesus, in the desert, was faced with giving up control of himself to God. I’ve had to give up control issues, too, although they do rear their ugly head from time to time. I also had to get rid of the punishing God of childhood.

Um…aren’t I supposed to be writing my story about the Holy Spirit? Yes, I am. This is the long chapter.

Years later, my mother-in-law (who did not believe that the Holy Spirit was active in the world anymore – or so I thought) said to me, “Isn’t it funny that when the Holy Spirit gets hold of a person, it is like they have been slammed by a tornado?” Bingo!

This is the air I breathe. This is the air I breathe.
Your holy presence living in me.
This is my daily bread. This is my daily bread.
Your very Word spoken to me
And I, I’m desperate for you. And I, I’m lost without you.
This is the air I breathe. ~ Hillsong

Why Am I Here?

“Praise, my soul, the King of heaven; to his feet thy tribute bring;

Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven, evermore his praises sing.

Alleluia, Alleluia! Praise the everlasting King. ~ Hymnbook 1982

“Why are you an Episcopalian?” he asked.

I actually had an answer that was on the tip of my tongue without having to spend time pondering whether it was the right answer.  Pretty good for an introvert, I think. Many, about 50, years ago, Dave and I were looking for a new denomination where we could worship.  God was calling us to something else but we didn’t really know that.  We just felt that the denomination where we were was not where we needed to be.  Now, I know that it wasn’t where God wanted us to be.  All the reasons we thought we had for leaving the old denomination really had nothing to do with it, but they did send us on our search.

I shared this desire with a neighbor over coffee one day and she said she thought we might like her church – the Episcopal Church.  Dave was stationed at the University of Colorado at that time studying engineering, and St. Aidan’s was across the street from the engineering building.  He went to the church while on break to sit for a while (this was still when churches could be left open) and began looking through The Book of Common Prayer – 1928 version. Did I say this was a long time ago?  The Prayer Book had fallen open to the service for Holy Communion and he read this invitation that falls just before the General Confession.

“Ye who do truly and earnestly repent you of your sins, and are in love and charity with your neighbours, and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways: Draw near with faith, and take this holy Sacrament to your comfort; and make your humble confession to Almighty God, devoutly kneeling.”

I wish we still used this prayer more often.  It is in the “new prayer book” – Holy Eucharist, Rite I. It could even be written in a more modern language and that would be fine with me, but it was the words of this prayer that spoke to us. It acknowledged that, yes, we are sinners but God is a God of love, of forgiveness and he is always inviting us to return.  It said to me that even though each turning back is a new beginning, we weren’t starting over at our own beginning.  We do begin, again, but not in the same spiritual place.  By our returnings, ongoing spiritual growth and transformation is possible.  I had always believed, before, that I was never making any progress in my spiritual life.  I’m not even sure that I knew there was a spiritual life.  Reading this prayer, changed our lives or, perhaps, I should say began the process of the change.

Why am I still an Episcopalian? The question was implied. I am still an Episcopalian because this is my place.  It is my home.  I was called here and I haven’t been called anywhere else.  But, it is really even stronger than this; I feel I have been sent and told to stay. I loved the liturgy and the mystery of this church since the very beginning.  It helps fill the emptiness in my soul.  When we receive the bread and wine in communion with others, we are fed spiritual food and “re-membered” together into the Body of Christ—Christ’s body on earth to our community and for the world. That is mystery.  How does this happen?  How does bread and wine do this? How does this God-filled bread and wine do this?

Years ago, I was going through a very difficult place in my life.  I had deep depression and panic attacks. I could hardly leave the house and, when I did, it was frightening.  Later, after I was some better, I found that if I attended a mid-week communion service in addition to the Sunday service, and received the Body of Christ in bread and wine, I could make it through the week.  If I didn’t, I couldn’t.  It is only through God’s Grace that mere bread and mere wine becomes Christ’s body. It is only thorough God’s Grace that sinful human beings can become Jesus’ body.  Only by Grace can we have an intimate loving relationship with God—He who chases us constantly and desires this relationship with us. We all are called to this.

Is the Episcopal Church perfect?  Nope.  No church is perfect.  Nothing on this earth is perfect, but God in his love and mercy will guide us, nevertheless, and by our turnings toward him, work out his plan for us all.  Imperfect as any church is and I am, this place is where I still stay.  I need it.

“Grace is something you can never get but only be given. The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you. There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach and take it is a gift too.” ~ Frederick Buechner