Spring was coming, maybe. A man much of the world will declare is God is making his way inexorably into death. He is going to do that ordinary thing people do every day. He is going to suffer and die. What makes this different is that it is God who is doing this and that God overcomes the sting of it all by being God, by being the One who attains victory not by escaping evil or by beating it to a pulp, but by surrendering to it and going right through the heart of it while remaining God.
As we begin the spiritual journey we relate to the Holy as it is revealed through the created order and experienced through our will, intellect and senses. Yet Jesus and the saints tell us there is more to the spiritual life than meets the eye or satisfies our senses. Just what this might be is hard to describe. Some call it unknowing, the worship of spirit and truth, being born again in the spirit, or, simply, faith. Though it was the miracles that brought out the crowds, Jesus repeatedly said that was not why he had come. And, further, he praised those whose trust in him came not from facts and objective data, but from the more obscure and intangible certainty of faith. However it is described, there appears to be a way to be with God that transcends the limitations of ordinary human experience. Yet it is not in itself extraordinary. It does not involve visions, ecstasies or any kind of spiritual fireworks. It is a more refined and subtle, deeper being with God.
As we watch Jesus walking toward the cross, we want to call out. “Don’t do it. Don’t go that way. And for heaven’s sake, don’t ask us to do it too.”
But he, who has set his face like flint will not hide from the insult and spitting. No, the amazing claim is that this grey day, this aging body, this meager life houses glory. And our reluctant following after Jesus is grounded in the slim hope that somehow, some way this is true.
Spring doesn’t come from some far distant place like an eagerly awaited guest bringing exotic presents. Spring recoils, bounces up from the heart of winter and jiggles before us like a jack in the box. The joke is on us. We strain to turn the crank that sets free joy and just when our guard is down and we think life is only a meaningless turning to an idiotic tune, out pops Jesus winking his eye. “Now, die!” he says. We, who thought we were chasing joy and were hot on its trail find ourselves swallowed up by life and dwelling in the inner parts of the God who creates joy.
We give names to Truth. We compose prayers, and rituals. We sew up little suits for Truth to wear. Over time Truth grows beyond the suits. Its legs stretch below the pant cuffs. Shirt sleeves ride up to the elbows. We try to stuff Truth back in its ripped clothes. We sew patches here and there. We get into fights about the right color of patches. We pay more attention to the clothes than to Truth.
Truth condescends to wear the forms we give it only briefly. Jesus bursts the wineskin of the tomb we called death. The church shudders, draws in its breath and exhales, bursting its seams. Some panic. Some become weary and simply turn away. When Truth as we have known and cherished it begins to grow beyond the forms which have mediated it for us; i.e. language, institutions, rituals – we may feel betrayed, resentful, angry or lost.
Here is a spare, bare love. All that is left is a man walking alone carrying what will kill him, the merciless weight of mortality. Here is only a naked soul surrendered to God, slung from the pillar of its own predicament. If God could enter into our humanity with humble love, can it be too much for us to do the same? There is no other way into the Realm of Love Here this is what is so: we all screw up. We all are limited and frail. And we can rejoice because we do not have to lie about it anymore.
Spring tenses in the roots of the pear tree. And all the creatures and mortals who were ever carried off in the teeth of jealousy or simply in the way of things, all innocence defiled, all vulnerability exploited sink with a sigh into a white dawn that stretches like a shroud wound round the world. “Come follow me,” the Dawn whispers. And we are all invited to take another step into that place beyond knowing, beyond feeling where everything really is all right.
Excerpts from Chapter 28 in Letters from the Holy Ground – Seeing God Where You Are
by Loretta Ross (-Gotta)
The Praying Life 