Holy Intersections

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!" Psalm 34:8

When I tumbled into belonging to that extraordinarily blessed group of people called God’s children, I was completely unprepared for just how blessed I was to become. “Blessed are the poor in spirit... those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted…” Blessed, right now and forevermore, is anyone and everyone who finds and enters into the Kingdom that is Among Us.

As a child I caught several captivating glimpses of an other-worldly Being that, in a startling and intimate way, I knew were meant solely for me in those moments. The other astonishing thing I knew was that those moments were self-revelatory; this Being, that I knew without a doubt was the all-supreme, holy, and sovereign God, was revealing fragments of himself to me with impressions that were seared in my memory forever.

Those fleeting but lasting impressions surfaced again in my 27th year and became more frequent and intense. I was pregnant with my second child, and although I was in a stable marriage I was carrying an enormous amount of baggage from my growing up years. I really had no hope that my own life would ever be happy, seen as having any significant worth, or that I would ever experience freedom from the soul-burning anguish of shame, self-crimination, and self-condemnation. I desperately wanted a better and happy lives for my babies, though, so I was glad to accept an invitation extended to my husband and myself by his brother to come and visit the little church he attended with his family.

Through the worship of this little gathering of believers, their praying, preaching, and their friendship, but mostly through the presence of what is holy in their midst, I was being confronted and surrounded with, and pursued by that same startling and magnetic being. It was as strong as it was tender and gentle and it beckoned me to come, to trust, and to rest in in its care. It spoke to me of letting down my defensive guard, and giving up my distrust, rebellion and my right to myself.

The conflict between my natural survival instinct and the appeal to lay down my life for God brought me to an impasse. I dangled in an in-between place for a while, like a worm writhing on a hook.

I was still in this middle state when the unspeakable tragedy happened. My brother, a tall, introspective, intelligent and quiet young man, decided his life was not worth living. He ended it with carbon-monoxide poisoning in a dark, cold barn on one of the most bitter nights that winter.

If it weren’t for that the holy presence showed up again I don’t know that there would have been a recovery for me. But it came quietly, gently, unobtrusively, and it made no demands of me. It came loving me and holding me with a strength I had never known, and it kept me intact through my utter brokenness, comforting me with an inexplicable comfort.

After my brother’s death it took me a few days to collect myself enough to process the hallowed visitation of that day and the lingering presence in the days that followed. There was only one appropriate response, I realized. I had nothing to give – what can one give to someone who is everything? The only thing I could do was the exact thing that had been asked of me, and that was to entrust my life to Him. Standing over a pile of laundry that I was folding in the living room of our little apartment I simply bowed my head and gave a silent assent: “Okay.”

Okay, you are God, and You are greater than I know. Okay, I trust You and believe Your love for me. Okay, it is You I want, more than anything else in life. Okay, I surrender my whole life to You. Okay. Okay. Okay.

With one simple “okay” the heavens opened up, and oh, the glory of being found in Him! It turned out that in giving up my life I actually came into it as it was meant to be.
“Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens; your faithfulness to the skies!” proclaims the psalmist (Psalm 36:5), and, oh, “Taste and see that the Lord is good!” (Psalm 34:8)

“God is able to do so much more than you can think or imagine,” says the apostle, and He has, truly. Most days my life is pretty average – I don’t live in an ecstatic spiritual state of communion with the supernatural – but through Christ the way has opened up for me to enter into an ongoing, abiding, healing, and life-giving relationship with Him. Much of this relationship is lived by faith, not sight, and it does not exempt me from life’s trials. But, just like the shepherd boy David who recalled how God had given him strength to overtake the lion and the bear attacking his sheep while he stood looking up at the giant Philistine, I draw strength from recalling these holy intersections in my life. My life is not just what you see from day to day. It is a life that, in spite of its normality, and, at times, its ragged and tattered state, is loved, cherished and watched over by a supreme being.

Dallas Willard, in his book The Divine Conspiracy, affirms my experiences. “God wants to be seen,” he says. “That is part of his nature as outpouring love. Love always wants to be known.” But, God is a person, and Willard also says, “Persons rarely become present where they are not heartily wanted. Certainly that is true for you and me. We prefer to be wanted, warmly wanted, before we reveal our souls – or even come to a party. The ability to see and the practice of seeing God comes through a process of seeking and growing in intimacy with him.”

How hospitable are you to God? Are you open to him making himself known to you? Have you experienced those fleeting but sacred moments when you were more open than you are today? What do those moments speak to you today about what the Being of those moments is like? What are you meant to draw from them now?

Jesus came to announce that, in him, the kingdom of God was now among us and, through him, it was accessible for all to enter in. The kingdom is open to you today. Blessed, blessed, blessed are those who pay attention to his words and find themselves within.