profshep, Author at Measured Musings

curious

“And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” Luke 1:28-30

There is no denying the look – head tilted in question, brow furrowed by confusion, eyes wide with wonder – the telltale signs of bewilderment. For Mary, it all started with a greeting. For students, it happens during an examination. For me, it is the result of years punctuated by pain and loss.

This, I believe, is the essence of Christmas: a sequence of happenings that seem to mystify all those involved. An old man who declared, “Do you expect me to believe this?” A young girl who inquired, “But how can this happen?” A barren woman who exclaimed, “How could this happen to me?” Even wise men asked, “Where is this newborn king of the Jews?” Jesus’ parents marveled at what was said about their son, and all who heard the shepherds’ story were astonished. It is a cast of characters that freely expressed their questions.

I, too, have so many questions. A relentless curiosity that seems all I have left of my identity – a connection to my past, a constant in my present, a continual hope of possibility. After years of experiencing so much unfamiliar, unprecedented, uncertain, I’ve learned to hold space for the unknown. A lingering conviction that favor is found in the seeking, the watching, the looking ahead with expectation. A truth I long to discover, know, and embody in the innocence of “what’s next?”

lingering

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

Are you still looking, still watching, still waiting for a sign – a confirmation there is more than all we see? It feels more days should have passed between the loss of God, and the possibility of a comeback. It doesn’t seem very realistic to recover from the depth of mourning triggered by the belief that God is dead and the joy, triumph, and celebration promoted at Easter.

When would you start envisioning a future after experiencing the effects of injustice, oppression, and abuse? When would you commence rebuilding a life after being stripped of every title, status, and position. When would you begin to believe again after losing your source of hope, joy, and purpose?

Currently, I’m curious how the meaning of this mysterious message has been distorted by my 2020 lens? I’m wondering what to do with slow moving emotions unmoved by an ancient text presented so factually, definitively, “scientifically”? I’m questioning how long the magnitude of the death I’ve known will consume the potential of rising again?

startling

Jesus asked her, “Why are you crying? Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener and said, “Sir, if you have taken his body away, please tell me, so I can go and get him.” Then Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him, “Rabboni.” The Aramaic word “Rabboni” means “Teacher.” John 20:15-16

It’s easy to take for granted the periodic patterns that follow a seasonal cycle. As a chill descends upon a summer in full bloom, I delight in the fall of color that leads to a barren twig, because I know that spring is coming. In the lull of winter’s rest, however, I often miss those first few buds, and the transformation from what looks like death to life appears almost instantaneous. But the surprise of what is not surprising at all is a wonder in itself. And the mystery of what is not mysterious to me is the nature of Easter.

Like when an image, idea, insight appears suddenly out of nowhere, seemingly outside the neurons of my brain, I can only marvel at the thought and contemplate its source. Or when I describe particle-wave duality, explain Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, teach statistical mechanics, the words may sound a little flat, and yet inspire awe in the open-minded.

It requires a bit of imagination to reason through data that is foreign to our everyday observations. What was it like to see blood and water flow from the side of the one who was pierced, to see that body placed in a tomb, to see a stone rolled in front of the entrance, to see that same one standing in front of you saying your name? A unique sequence of events composed as a study of true love and presented as a model of new life.

interlude

When they came together in Galilee, he said to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men. They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.” And the disciples were filled with grief. Matthew 17:22-23

Every day as the sun goes down, as daylight fades into darkness, as time is ascribed a new unique number, we experience an end. In the regularity of this finality, we may have lost a sense of reflection, mourning, or celebration commemorating the passing of what is finished. The monotony of this end followed by a beginning in the split second of midnight, doesn’t leave much space for us to experience the in-between, to feel the vacuum of nothingness, the void of consuming silence, the emptiness of waiting. There is no gap to wonder about all that will not or might yet be.

In contrast is an end for which there is a noticeable interval before the realization of a start. Here we find ourselves left wordless in this awkward interlude of a sabbath rest. A Holy Saturday that will not play out as it could, leaving us to find comfort as the masses would, convinced we will never again feel as we should, after losing the only one we knew who was good. A day to wallow in the darkness of death, secured by the seal of a stone, and guarded from the burglary of a grave. A day to wrestle with the foolishness of faith and a senseless foretelling buried deep within.

good

Now my soul is troubled. What should I say – Father, save me from this hour? But that is why I came to this hour. John 12:27

While traversing the surface of life covered with hills and valleys, I’ve experienced “rock bottom” many times. Each perceived a new limit, assumed to be the absolute lowest. It is impossible, however, for me to distinguish between a local or global minimum. Only a full view of the landscape can reveal the true nature of a state.

But from the perspective of any bottom – the only way out is up. This ascent requires energy gained from an external source or transferred through heat and collisions. A journey that can be delightful when marked by the warmth of a gentle touch, or painful when scarred by the sting of a hot tempered blow. Only a handful will experience a view from the top or height attainable in the time allotted. Outliers striving beyond their limits to achieve a goal, follow a vision, pursue an ambition knowing the effort will be rewarded by a glimpse of grandeur forever etched in their mind, inscribed in their heart, engraved in their soul.

The awe of an hour, revealed in context of a troubling question, rationalized in hope of a purposeful plan, doubted in view of deep personal pain. Such was the road to the cross. Palm branches fashioned into whips, loyal followers converted into betrayers, royal blessings turned into crucifixion. A Friday that was only “good” in view of the true meaning of the word. Complete, whole, lacking nothing – a perfection echoed from the beginning and finding fulfillment in an end.

reflection

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 Corinthians 13:12

Unpredictable, unknown, uncertain – it is impossible to find affirmation in negation. When change is more rapid than adaptation, transitions more abrupt than response, consequences more sudden than reaction, it’s easy to get lost in the unprecedented.

Ambiguity has clouded my vision, isolation has dulled my perception, worry has blurred my judgement, and I feel overwhelmed by an exponential growth of dread. How long will routine remain hidden, obscured, concealed by the crisis of a moment?

But when I look in the mirror, I am struck by the one who is present, holding my gaze, standing face to face. This reflection that exists here and now cannot tell me if I am stuck, have reverted, or am evolving. This impression that is immediate before me does not know the time of day, which season, or what year. And yet it appears – quiet, still, fixed – recognizing this one who is known, and finding hope in the part that is seen.

blankness

After a long time the king of Egypt died. The Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out. Out of the slavery their cry for help rose up to God. Exodus 2:23

Time – it is impossible to capture it, pin it down, hold it in a word. So much time passes, and so few words to express its essence as it elapses. Only glimpses, fleeting moments that reveal a hint of the gravity of each second. During this interval, Moses named his son, “I have become a foreigner in a foreign land.” 40 years in Egypt, 40 years in Midian, and “after a long time…” the gap is abruptly broken by an event, slowing down the space between the period and next capital letter.

This is how it is reading God’s word. So much seems to have been left out, and yet for some reason, I assume the thoughts recorded are the ones I most need to hear. But I’m still left longing for a description of the waiting, looking for insight in the pause, searching for guidance through the void to keep my imagination from running wild in the blankness of the middle where it’s easy to get lost.

weaning

But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. Psalm 131:2

What is it like to trust? To taste bitterness, and yet swallow without revenge. To feel powerless, and yet uncrushed by the weight of the middle. To smell fear, and yet inhale the mystery of tomorrow. To hear silence, and yet follow the rhythm of each hour. To see nothing, and yet know you’re not alone.

The only way to endure questions without answers, trials without goals, waiting without destination, is simply to trust. Stepping into each moment like a toddler who is unaware, unconcerned, unable to fathom what lies ahead, but never wanders far from the shadow of the one who sees.

hubris

When Moses heard what they were saying, he fell face down on the ground. Numbers 16:4

What is your reaction when you are face to face with the pride of another? When you survey the position they covet, the plans they control, the power they crave. When you observe the excessive interest they take in their own wishes, their own will, their own way. When you notice the only right they see is the right that makes them right. It seems we could experience one of two responses – lift up our nose or fall flat on our face.

It’s always sad when the arrogance of one is challenged by the hubris of another. “I would never think this thought, say those words, do these things – I am, after all, above that.” And with that, they rise to their defeat. In contrast is the response of one deemed more humble than anyone on the face of the earth, the one who hit the dirt. Whether humility is a weakness or a strength, it could only be true of those with weak knees as they descend to the summit of the valley, fall to the stature of the lowly, and drop to be first as the last.

dialogue

“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Jeremiah 33:3

Overwhelmed – that is how I feel every time I believe God speaks. Immediately you may ask, “But how do you know it is God speaking?” Well, I did just ask him a question, or I did just wonder about an idea, a plan, a person. The next thing I know – I heard a response that echoed my heart, magnified a thought, and pressed deep into my soul with a weight that can only be expressed as, “I’m overwhelmed.”

It will feel as if time stopped for an instant as the unseen made itself known. It will seem impossible to move on to the next moment as previously intended. It will leave you in a state of pure adoration – more humble and grateful than the minute prior. And regardless the words you heard, you know it was simply His way of saying, “I love you, too.”