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I’ve been struck recently by the place of suffering and prayer in the
development of a deepened spirituality. I recently attended a workshop by
Franciscan priest Richard Rohr, OFM (Order of Friars Minor; Franciscans—Order in
the Roman Catholic Church). During that retreat he dealt with the place of
suffering and prayer—two differing paths—as pathways of deepening the roots of
spirituality. It resounded with me. At times I have experienced suffering,
angst, yearning—all as tools to hear with a fresh way the call and claim of God
in my life. And I’ve discovered another path—to be surprised by joy and caught
off guard by God’s delight. My experience has led me to conclude that when we
permit ourselves to be open to the surprise of God and we are caught off guard,
we are shaped by God. Four significant things happen to us. By the use of
personal story, I want to illustrate what happens.
1. When we are surprised by God’s delight, we are released from the
moment, but at the same time we enter more deeply into the moment.
I am privileged to live in Sydney, Australia. Sydney not only contains a
beautiful harbour and accompanying rivers that find their way through the
suburbs, rubbing up against ancients and stone cliffs, but also very large areas
of bushland and forest reserves. Our home, deep in the suburbs of Sydney, backs
into such a forest reserve of 2,000 acres of picturesque trees, creeks, walking
tracks, and native flora and fauna. While it poses a massive bush fire risk to
residents, resulting in local residents being trained in fire fighting, it also
provides a sanctuary for the spirit.
On one occasion I was working in the yard, sweating and focussing on the task
at hand. The weather was hot, my hands sore and red, and I was concentrating on
getting done what needed to be done. At that moment, two large cockatoos flew
over head. Cockatoos are native Australian birds and live in our neighbourhood.
Their large white bodies and broad wingspans are only matched by their almost
prehistoric scream, which at times causes backyard conversation to cease due to
the inability to hear over the noise. They are cheeky, vibrant, loud characters
of the bush.
So here I was, working in the yard, doing what needed to be done, and two
cockatoos, chasing one another, flew just over my head, screaming their
prehistoric scream, shouting at me and each other.
And in that moment, something extraordinary occurred. I was released from the
moment, released from all matters of significance—the yard work, painting I
needed to do, and the jobs filling up my list. I looked up and laughed, joining
their cry—a moment of liberation and release that went way down into my soul. A
moment of wonder and sanctuary. My release was deep—from responsibility, worry,
the future, and living.
But at the same time, I was drawn into the moment by being swept away with
the wonder of the bird song. I felt like I was swept away from the experience of
the suburban, backyard life, yet strangely drawn more deeply into that life. In
that moment, the yard looked different. My task seemed new. Life had a different
flavour. God was shaping me. When we are caught off guard by the Spirit of God,
we are released from the moment, yet at the same time we are drawn more deeply
into themoment.
2. When we are surprised by God’s delight, we are drawn toward others
and into community.
My life is fairly full. A young family, home renovations, full-on vocational
commitments, personal interest—it leads to plenty on my plate. Since I often
travel on weekends, Saturday at home is a very enjoyable experience. One of my
delights is to accompany one of our children to their sporting activity. I’m one
of those parents who are able to juggle reading the weekend paper and
encouraging the team (much to the disdain of some!)—and if there is a cappuccino
handy, I’m in seventh heaven!
So here I was, reading the paper, enjoying the sunshine, and keeping an eye
on the game, when I felt the feet of a small boy tapping into my back. I was
sitting on the grass, landscaped with terracing, and a boy probably not much
older than three had pulled his mother’s chair right up against me, his knees
and feet touching my back.
He was a stranger to me, as was I to him.
Pretty soon he had his arms around my neck, swinging his head around to look
at me, as kids like to do when climbing on your back. By now, I’d put the paper
down, a little regretful that my introspective and quiet Saturday morning was
being disturbed by the game of this young boy.
When he came and sat on my lap, straddling me as he was, I was glad to see
plenty of other adults around. “Child Protection Policy”—my mind reminded me! A
rather intimate way for another to sit on my lap—straddled and facing me, face
in my face, arms around my neck, talking, laughing, and playing—as though we had
known each other all his life. The game went on—holding my hands and swinging
backward, giggling, learning each other’s names (his was Thomas), trusting each
other, being vulnerable, open, and caring.
In the midst of this encounter with a stranger, his mother sitting a few feet
away, I heard the Spirit of God remind me of the need for balance in my life, of
the need to be open to others, of the need for touch, and of the power of
presence. I was encountered by God’s presence in that moment and found myself,
because of God’s presence, understanding in a way as though God was smacking me
on the side of my head, something already new. It happened in community,
in public, in a joy-filled encounter. And I wanted to be there. God was shaping
me.
When we are surprised by God’s delight, we are drawn into relationship with
others. My encounter with Thomas reminded me that God yearns for me to be in
relationship and community, and when I am open to God’s presence, I find myself
drawn into community.
3. When we are surprised by God’s delight, our spirits are nurtured and
confronted.
It was for the occasion of my father’s seventy-fifth birthday that my family
and I journeyed down the highway to Melbourne—a trip of 1000 kilometers(600
miles) that provides plenty of opportunity for the kids to learn to get along
better!
For Dad’s birthday, Tere and I prepared the meal, the kids the table, and Mum
and Dad simply enjoyed being both host and guest. Zoe, our daughter who
was twelve at the time, wandered into the kitchen looking for something to do.
In talking with her, I suggested she might like to saythe blessing for the meal,
a special blessing since it was her grandfather’s birthday. With a few ideas
from me, off she went into a quiet place and prepared her prayer—which was to be
one of the most significant gifts a family can receive.
The table was well prepared. The food was brought out, drink poured, and all
seated around the feast. Zoe announced that she had prepared a blessing, and it
would be she who would offer it.
So she began, reading with seriousness and care. She named Dad by the many
names we know him—Grandpa, Grandad, Dad, Fred. She talked of the blessing of her
grandfather, of his childhood, and his experiences of war. She thanked God for
his immigration, for his love for her grandmother, and for his faith and
discipleship. And so it went.
When Zoe finished her prayer the adults gradually looked up. Every face was
wet from tears. We were speechless, caught up in the beauty of the moment, the
profundity of the confession, and the extraordinary spirit at that table.
At that very moment of grace, we were nurtured by Zoe’s gift in claiming
God’s presence in the life of our family. Yet at the same time, we were
confronted by the reality of God’s companionship and journeying with Fred’s
life, our corporate life, and Zoe’s life. Confronted in our forgetfulness.
Confronted in our individualism. Confronted in our surprise—as though God were
saying, “How dare you be surprised by my presence as your guest and host.”
Confronted by our unawareness of God’s presence, God was shaping me.
When we are surprised by God’s delight, such as at that moment of simple meal
time, our spirits are nurtured and confronted.
4. When we are surprised by God’s delight, we are drawn into God.
The occasion was the Elementary School Choir concert at the Sydney Opera
House. One of our daughters was part of the local choir who joined with 750
other children to sing and make music in this distinguished and magnificent
international place. The audience was full of proud parents, grandparents, and
siblings, eager to enjoy the simple and heart-felt performances. Our family sat
scanning the children seated facing the audience looking for our girl, friends,
and faces we knew.
Toward the end of the concert the children all joined in a song with a
gentle, haunting harmony. The noise swept through the concert hall, filling
every nook and cranny. And it was then that I became aware of the tears rolling
down my face, the overwhelming sense of awe and wonder. I realised at that time
the overwhelming presence of God in that place—it was as though the sounds of
the children were the voices of God, beckoning me, us. It was as though God’s
presence was swirling around, washing over us, gently blowing through the hall.
Calling. Loving. Caring. Not wanting anything. Just being with us. God was
shaping me.
In this moment of surprise and delight, caught absolutely unaware and without
wanting anything, I suddenly knew God again and again.
When we are surprised by God’s delight, such as in this moment when I was
listening to the voices of children, we are drawn into God.
Finding God in the ordinary sometimes gets lost because of the intensity of
our focus. Seeking God in the detail seems like it doesn’t work. Yet our
experiences of extraordinary seem sometimes to be so far apart, we forget how to
recognise God. But on occasion, when we least expect it, in the midst of the
suburban and mundane moments of our lives, something happens. We are surprised.
We are captured by delight. These moments of finding God in the ordinary are
full of paradoxes: release from—drawn into; nurtured—confronted; freed—captured.
And it is in the paradox that I have discovered a lot more about this surprising
and delighting God.
I believe that God yearns for us to discover God’s presence in all that we
do. I hear the cockatoos screech differently now. Children’s voices sometimes
have a different ring. I am reminded to be playful. There’s something wonderful
about being alive and knowing God’s Spirit is dancing in my midst.
High priests are called to point to God in our present. That’s what being a
minister of vision is.
I’ve discovered the experience of being surprised by God’s delight. |
