I find myself gazing off out the car window and stuck on a field, or a building, or a memory that clings to the campus of Wingate University in my mind.
I am haunted by this experience.
So many moments where I was unprepared, immature or overly-confident. Moments where I talked more than I acted or moments where God just flat out taught me lessons the hard way. A Thursday night three years ago when I sat in this auditorium, overwhelmed with the weight of trying to counsel a student. I hid behind the stage curtains and cried out to God for help. Or the Saturday afternoon where my closest friend came in town to visit. I still see her walking down the sidewalk towards me in my mind, the late afternoon sun radiating brilliantly from her skin. Or the Friday night I walked through the still-silent night in the middle of campus, sat right next to the lake by the student center and opened my Bible to read. I was hoping that God would somehow show up, that He would grab my thumbs and stop them on the right page. “Well done, my good and faithful servant!” He would declare from the starry sky, and I would know that I was through. But He didn’t show up. That night I gathered no comfort from Scripture, and I felt the weight of my own small existence as I desperately searched the stars for God. He was not through with me yet.
And yet I am blessed by this experience.
The moments when I was so sure the weight of God was somewhere in the room, where I could literally feel Him brushing up against my t-shirt. The moment where I looked into teenagers eyes, one after another and painted a purple cross on their forehead. “Remember, Christ accepts you just as you are,” as I dabbled the paint against their skin and I thought for sure that I was no longer inhabiting my own body; that somehow Jesus had taken up residence and I was lucky enough to bear witness to this holy act.
I will always remember closing out my first summer of camp. Our staff huddled into a small basement and my mentor ensured that I sit next to him. I had no idea what was going on but in the next moment we were washing the feet of the person next to us. He sat me down right beside him so that he could wash my feet! But that holy moment was not through yet. I worked in the lunch room all that summer with our camp pastor and we had always joked about washing each others feet. In that small basement in Louisville, I broke turn and walked right over to where she was sitting, removed her shoes and washed her feet. Holy moments that have blessed my life abound in my camp ministry.
Blessed and yet haunted; I think this speaks to the entire human experience. Even if we are blessed to be rich, or abundant in opportunity, we are still haunted by depression, anxiety, over-work and isolation. Even if we are bound by conditions of poverty, we are blessed to know that there are things that matter more than money. We are blessed to no end to live in a country with clean water, food to eat, shelter and medical expertise, but we are haunted by the endeavor of bringing these blessings to the entire world. Even when we are haunted by the disaster nature can bring, we are blessed to know the goodness of people when needs arise. God has breathed spirit into us and yet we come from the dust, a stark reminder of our human condition. As Paul writes, “[We are] sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing and yet possessing everything.”
I am caught in this junction of being blessed and haunted; here and not yet there. I am the sum of all of my experiences and yet constantly evolving from them. I have spent a year preparing to move forward to divinity school and yet here I am, the place where I have spent the past four summers. Even as I am here at camp, I have already left for a conference to prepare for divinity school and then come back. My body is physical here, and my heart is emotionally here, but I find my mind trapped somewhere between the spheres of here and there.
This is an experience that we all share. How do we become fully present here and now while being fully prepared for what is to come? How do we enjoy the stage in life we are currently in and the folks sitting around us at this moment, but look forward to new stages, new places and new people? And most importantly: How do we hope for a heavenly kingdom while bringing about an earthly kingdom here and now?
If there is any truth to be found in all of this, it is this: We are all here but wanting to be there. We have so much surrounding us that calls to us, “Stay here where it is comfortable,” and yet we are constantly called by a God that loves us too much to leave us where we are. It is a haunting and yet blessed experience. And somehow, we have to find a way to dwell in the wonderful mystery of our experience. We have to find a way to be okay with here and not yet there.
Comments