A man is blind. Another man brings him sight. Then, things go awry in the seeing man's life. He is kicked out of his church. He is no longer successful begging, as he once was when he was blind. And then in despair, who does he find standing before him, unrecognizable to him at first. He finds God standing before him. The sermon preached at my church this weekend interpreted this gospel story. And I wept. There was a time that I thought God coming into my life meant only ease, peace, smooth sailing. Sometimes that is the case, but often it is not. The deeper I enter relationship with God, the more I feel is demanded of me. The more responsibility I have. When I allow God to dwell in me, the riskier I get. I risk being human. Making mistakes, hurting people. I risk being fully alive even if it threatens people. And I hold onto God like a snowboard that I am riding down a mountain. I just have to hold on. That is all I have to do. And how do I hold on? I hold on by paying attention to my body. And how do I do this? By dancing and by sitting in stillness.

It has been a hard week for me. I had to say things that disappointed people, maybe even scared them a little. I had to accept a mother that just cannot be in relationship with me. And I had to accept my body as it was, sick with the stomach flu for four days, bed ridden. I do feel a bit like the blind man. My life does seem to have gone awry in some ways. I feel frustrated with the understanding that God is present only when things feel good. Whoever said that to be with God is to be only in peace? How can we be human then? How can we see God if we only reside in the light? What about the cross? What about Jesus having faith and allowing God to dwell in him even in his greatest hour of suffering?

Life doesn't allow for this limited understanding of God. No wonder many of us are left without a relationship with God. There is pain, disappointment, your basic darkness in life. God isn't afraid of that. God is IN that. As I found myself running to the bathroom in sickness this past weekend, I prayed as I was sweating and cried. I prayed to see God right in that moment. Right in the darkness. I prayed that even though I lost my Mom again, to feel God holding both of us, right now. Not later when things look good. And I pray, now, as I walk into the unknown with my work and my calling, that I can see God standing beside me. I don't want to wait until I only feel good to recognize God. I want to see God, like the blind man, when things have gone awry. When things are dark and I am scared. That is my prayer.

 

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