I awoke this morning bathed in natural light, inexplicably tired after more than seven hours of solid sleep. And this isn’t the first time. Has anyone else been feeling this lately? This weight? This pressing heaviness of our chaotic world that seems to grow by the day?
Another headline.
Another mass shooting.
Another act of terrorism.
Another hate crime.
Another person that looks like me dying at the hands of law enforcement.
Another political scandal.
In this painful season of growing pains for our western culture - one that is saturated with violence and built on a foundation of oppression, its as if we’ve been living life for the past couple of months on a constant inhale. When do we release?
In the face of our brokenness, where do we find space to breathe?
The Hebrew Scriptures begin with a beautiful poem filled with vivid imagery. It is a powerful allegory of creativity — the idea that from chaos will always be born beauty and one that firmly roots my eschatology. It begins in darkness, like so many things do. The phrase Tohu wa bohu (תֹ֙הוּ֙ וָבֹ֔הוּ) which the poet uses to describe the scene and set the stage could be translated as ”waste and void," "formless and empty," or "chaos and desolation" and the spirit of God hovers over the chaotic deep. And then….something happens.
In fact, everything happens.
“1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.[a] 2 The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.
3 Then God said, “Let there be light,””
What was it that the early Hebrews managed to capture in their story? What was worth being passed down orally for generations, recorded and kept throughout history?
In light of modern scientific discovery of the beginnings of our world, what remains?
Over two thousand years ago, the Spirit of God in the person of Jesus would again move upon the face of the water. But this time, like he did in every aspect of his ministry, Jesus responded to Peter's request to prove that the unnerving figure moving barely within eyesight was him with more than just a solution, but an invitation to join him in doing the impossible in the midst of the chaos. The invitation echoed across the water in the single word, “Come.” And so he came, leaving the safety of the boat to walk out into the unknown of the deep risking life, safety and dignity to follow Jesus.
“25 About three o’clock in the morning, Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. 26 When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear, they cried out, “It’s a ghost!”
27 But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!”
28 Then Peter called to him, “Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.”
29 “Yes, come,” Jesus said.”
I know that invitation better than ever. I've heard Christ call, "Come." as I've walked onto freeways in protest, and into meetings with pastors in the pursuit of reconciliation. Most times, its not been easy. But on the dim days and in the hard mornings, during the times when my Facebook friends hurt my feelings by dismissing declarations that my life matters, or when I find myself addressed by faith communities as a problem that needs to be resolved instead of a reflection of God asking to be acknowledged, I have found beauty in the darkness.
The truth is, darkness is petrifying, and the uncertainty of the unknown can cause us to fear even God’s spirit when it shows up on the scene. But if we are willing to be called out past our distrust and to dare to press past our apprehension, we will discover a beautiful invitation beyond our comfort into the creativity that darkness inspires. And we are invited to do far more than spectate, but into full inclusion and participation with the divine in the pursuit of shalom from chaos, in the creation of a better world.
Whether by choice or necessity, when we approach the world outside of the ways our experience would prompt us to interact with it, we begin to do more than look at the murky figure walking on the waves. We begin to see.
And I’ve seen it over and over — not always from Christians, or even people I agree with.
I’ve seen it in the thoughts shared by a white middle aged mom, a delegate to the RNC who wore a Black Lives Matter T-shirt and was threatened to be forcibly removed, and in DNC protestors who called out abortion as a tragedy, persisting that we find a better solution for unwanted pregnancies.
I’ve seen it in the thousands of Muslims who voluntarily donated blood to the LGBT victims of the massacre at Pulse nightclub in Orlando in the middle of their Ramadan fasting, and in Christians who’ve circled mosques to protect the inhabitants from hateful mobs.
I’ve seen it in non-affirming clergy who can’t reconcile their exegesis of Scripture with the spectrum of human experiences in sexuality, but are consistently concerned with creating safety in their faith communities for all people, and in the work of a Syrian artist who practices resurrection by painting instruments of death and destruction, turning them into something beautiful.
I've left the church for a while, and I’ll talk a bit more about that later, but outside its walls, in places and people and ways that I'd never expected, I've found the Divine -- never failing to bend the moral arc of the universe towards good over and over, so that nothing is wasted. Now, I believe with more certainty than ever that especially in the dark, God is working. This certainty has radically changed the way I approach most things, and for now, these are the things that matter most to me.
Authenticity. I am more committed than ever to being a safe place for others by being fully present and unafraid of embracing the hard, both with God, and with you.
Intention. I am purposeful with my choices, knowing my capacity to create and shape the world I’ve been given. I am a force. I refuse to be a destructive one.
And my faith, which has become my greatest treasure.
I am filled with this inexhaustible force - a hope and belief that things are trended toward fullness and completion and goodness in our world. I call that hope for better the heart of the gospel, and I have come to know that force to be God.
I’m excited to share what I’m learning with you.