Finding God On the Wild Edges

We often talk about being centered in God. However, as Christine Valters Paintner notes, “The holy one is at the very center of all things, but also waiting for you on the wild edges.”

Many of us would probably say that our lives are devoid of wild edges. Yet if we consider the things we avoid in life, we will probably discover that wild edges are all around us. What would it feel like to volunteer at a homeless shelter, a prison, or a nursing home and converse with some of the residents there? Is God waiting for us in those places? Might God be lurking in the art supplies that sit in our closet or in the piano that is gathering dust in the corner? Is God waiting to be noticed in a person you need to be reconciled with?

Being centered is terrific, but when we stay forever in that safe, comfortable place, we are excluding a world of possibilities of encounter with God. I once heard someone say “One of my favorite places to be is in suspense!” When we remember that God is present not just at the center of all things but everywhere, we can live in a state of delightful suspense about where our next encounter with God will take place … and if the Spirit has anything to say about the matter, that encounter is likely to occur on the wild edges of our lives.

Skinny Definitions of God

I recently began the Souljourners spiritual direction training program at Sophia Center, and during our residency week in July, instructor Lucy Abbott Tucker spoke about the need to avoid “skinny definitions” of God.

A “skinny” definition of God is one that places limits on the way God acts, thinks, and loves. We are envisioning a skinny God when we believe God won’t forgive us or others for something we have done, when we assume that God prefers Christians to Muslims, Jews, or Hindus, or when we believe God listens to only certain types of prayers.

According to the prophet Isaiah, God rejects our skinny definitions: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” says the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Is 55:8-9). Paul echoes this wisdom in his letter to the Romans, “Who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?” (Rom 11:34).

When we recognize that God is not skinny but boundless, we give up trying to predict what God thinks or wants and accept that God is mysterious. Giving up our skinny definitions of God is satisfying because it means we are no longer placing limitations on our relationship with God. Now we have the pleasure of being surprised by God, and we transition from thinking about God to actually encountering God.

Humans love trying to figure out mysteries, but God is beyond our comprehension. The best we can do is set aside our efforts to define and understand and instead be open to God who is with us in a myriad of surprising ways.

A Living Prayer

Eunice Schriver, who was born into a family that included a president (John F. Kennedy) and two senators (Robert and Edward Kennedy), made her mark on the world not in the halls of power but in championing the value and dignity of the powerless. She did this by establishing the Special Olympics for persons with physical and mental disabilities.

In scripture, we often hear that God lifts up the lowly, rescues the weak and afflicted, and treats all people with compassion. Eunice partnered with God in this work, which led her family to say after her death that she was “a living prayer, a living advocate, a living center of power.”

St. Paul, in his first letter to the Thessalonians, says that we should “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17). Perhaps the way to do this is to become “a living prayer” — that is, seeking to share in God’s life of love and compassion. We are each called to implement God’s vision in different ways, according to our gifts and passions and often prompted by people we encounter in life, as Eunice was influenced by her sister, Rosemary, who had mental disabilities.

We have many examples of how to be a living prayer — Jesus, the saints, and the innumerable people among us who shine with the determination to live fully and bring joy and justice to the world. Whether the prayer we embody consists of consistent acts of kindness and welcome or the establishment of a worldwide justice movement, let us live in such a way that people will say of us after we die, “She/He was a living prayer.”

Live Gently

Jewish theologian and peace activist Abraham Joshua Heschel, who lived to be 65, said, “When I was young I used to admire intelligent people; as I grow older, I admire kind people.” Heschel had good reason to admire kind people, as two colleagues helped him escape from Poland six weeks before the country was invaded by Germany. Heschel’s mother and three of his sisters were killed by the Nazis. In his later years, inspired by the teachings of the Hebrew prophets, Heschel worked for African Americans' civil rights and spoke out against the Vietnam War.

Mattie Stepanek

Heschel would have found a kindred spirit in Mattie Stepanek, who was born 18 years after Heschel died. Stepanek did not have the luxury of gaining wisdom that comes with age, as he died of a rare form of muscular dystrophy when he was age 14. In his short lifetime, Stepanek too was a peace activist; he called everyone to be “a peace seeker, a peace maker, a peace bringer.” He also was a proponent of kindness, saying, “Think gently, speak gently, live gently.”

In a polarized world, living gently is a gift to ourselves and to others. When we think and speak gently, we are able to avoid the shame of treating others unkindly and contributing to a culture of violence through our speech and actions. Living gently helps us foster an attitude of reverence toward all of God’s creation that generates healing and peace.

We can reinforce our intention to live gently with a simple blessing ritual. After dipping a finger in water, hold it to your forehead and say, “May I think gently.” Touch your lips and say, “May I speak gently.” Touch the area over your heart and say, “May I live gently.” When performed regularly, this brief ritual can help us integrate our desire to be a person of peace by checking us when unkind thoughts, words, or impulses arise in us.

We do not know how long we will have to be bringers of peace in our world. Mattie Stepanek showed us that even in a brief span of years, our efforts to live gently can bear fruit and echo long after we die and enter more fully into the peace of our loving God.

The Bloodline of God

As we approach the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, I find myself thinking of an observation by Kaitlin B. Curtice: “The bloodline of God is connected to everything.” At Pentecost, we are accustomed to marveling at how God’s breath animates all of creation, but have we ever considered that all things are connected through God’s blood as well?

According to Wikipedia, “Blood is a body fluid in the circulatory system of humans and other vertebrates that delivers necessary substances such as nutrients and oxygen to the cells and transports metabolic waste products away from those same cells.” In sharing God’s spiritual bloodline with us, Christ provides us with nourishment (grace, love, belonging) and a way to divest ourselves of the things that don’t serve us (for example, pride, fear, and greed).

We are connected to all people in the recognition that blood is life and that to spill another person’s blood is a grave crime (“Thou shalt not kill”). At the Last Supper, when Jesus took a cup, gave thanks and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant” (Mt 26:27-28) he was giving them — and all of us — a share in the life of God who loves us unto death. Through this bloodline of God, we are connected to all others in the Body of Christ, which leads us to reverence and gratitude. We honor the new covenant Jesus extended to us when we recognize that we are connected to each other through the bloodline of God and consequently treat each other as sisters and brothers.

Practicing Resurrection

Unlike most people, I have had the chance to practice rising from the dead.

The part of my vow profession ritual that friends found most powerful was not when the community and I made promises to each other, when I read my vows and signed them on the altar, when I sang the Suscipe (song of surrender), or when I received my ring as a sign of my commitment. Rather, what everyone remarks on was when I lay prostrate in front of the altar and was covered by a funeral pall as community members prayed for me. The pall was then lifted and I symbolically left behind my former self and rose to new life in Christ.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul says, “Now if we have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with Him” (Rom 6:8). Notice that Paul doesn’t say “After we have died with Christ”; he is talking not about the death of the body but about surrendering our desires, preferences, and prejudices so we can put on the mind of Christ, which means to know we are beloved of God and to extend that love to everyone without exception. Then we too may “walk in the newness of life” (Rom 6:4).

After my profession, I still find myself struggling to love others who, in my judgment, are not worthy of the generosity God shows them. When we attempt to die to self we don’t stop being human; as Catherine (Cackie) Upchurch says, “The human experience is a doorway to God’s truth.” In my encounters with others, I continually have the opportunity to experience God’s truth of love, inclusion, and patience. And now that I have ritually practiced rising from the dead, I know it is something I am called to continue to practice daily, albeit without the altar, the pall, and the prostration.

In Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim, Edward Hays offers this prayer on Thursday mornings in the season of spring: “May my rising [from sleep] be my rehearsal for my resurrection from the dead.” Every morning upon awakening, we all have the chance to lay aside our old self and put on the mind of Christ. May God bless our daily rising to new life.

Learning to Be Astonished

I have seasonal affective disorder. It hits most people in the winter, but for me, I am smitten in spring, when my desire to spend all my time outdoors with the flowers in the garden affects my ability to get my work done. The answer to this problem is clear. I need to redefine what my work is, as Mary Oliver does in her poem, Messenger: “My work is to love the world.” She goes on to say, “Let me keep my mind on what matters, / which is my work, / which is mostly standing still and learning to be / astonished.”

Something I saw recently that astonished me was a macroscopic photo of the face of an ant. It has what appears to be small horns and needle-like teeth and pores in its skin and whiskers, of all things. I never would have known with what care God fashioned an ant’s face if someone hadn’t looked at it closely and shared it. It is easy for us to be swept up in God’s grandeur in mountains, storms, and ocean swells, but God is just as present to us in diminutive things — seeds and grains of pollen and ant’s faces.

It is perhaps the most important item on our daily “To Do” list — to stand still and learn to be astonished — because it generates reverence and peace, which is a great need in our world today. So don’t worry if you have seasonal affective disorder; it may turn out to be one of the greatest blessings of your life!