Sometimes I experience God’s presence so acutely it’s as if I can feel the Holy Spirit brush over my skin. My flesh prickles and my scalp tingles. I am enveloped in clarity and a pervading sense of peace. On two separate occasions recently I’ve even been reduced to sobbing and shaking in His obvious presence.
But this is not the norm. Far from it, actually.
I tend to shy away from people and places with all the feels. Typically, my first reaction to sensing I’m in a high-emotion situation is to withdraw into myself. The cynic in me is quick to seek out underlying theological fault lines that crack the assumed holy ground on which we tread.
Theology is defined as the study of the nature of God. While I have experienced His presence in a handful of places that certainly have marked me, I admit it’s the nature of His absence which has made greater impact on my theology.
In my day to day I struggle to find Him.
For a long time I’ve seen this as a personal failing that needs to be rooted out. What a fraud I must be, attempting to teach others about my God that I have to search for daily to feel connection. I look at other teachers in wonder that they don’t combust in Holy Spirit fire. Why is it so hard for me to find Him here among the dishes and laundry and routine? I read other writers who find it beautifully in every corner and crumb. And sometimes I do, too.
But that is not the norm. Far from it, actually.
So as a means to cure myself of this obvious failing I turn to books. Of course, I do. I research prayer and spiritual disciplines. I take up fasting and meditation and scripture memorization. I listen to sermons as I seek to simultaneously scale mountains of laundry and spiritual experience. I often come to my times of daily prayer drained, not sure if I’m up to another wrestling match with God. I confess and ask Him to root out anything that causes this distance I perceive.
In the meantime I keep writing, keep serving, keep cleaning and cooking and nurturing. I keep reading and praying and listening and worshipping. I keep looking, like Elijah, for the small cloud on the horizon that will surely come dump some rain. Sometimes it’s enough to keep me going, keep me searching and digging for a solution to my problem. Sometimes it just makes me angsty, and thirsty.
I continue my research on the spiritual disciplines, because it seems the most logical place to look and there must be something I’m missing. What have I not tried? What do I not yet understand that could offer relief? I cry out with the psalmist: Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me! You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart says to you, “Your face, LORD, do I seek.” Hide not your face from me. Turn not your servant away in anger, O you who have been my help. Cast me not off; forsake me not, O God of my salvation! (Psalm 27:7-9 ESV)
Then just a few days ago I found a quote in a book that set me free. I hope that sounds just as dramatic as it felt for me in that moment.
“While physical, mental, and innate awareness of God’s presence or voice is one of the most glorious things a human can experience, his hiddenness is as much an act of love as his presence. Like the tree digging its roots deep in the earth, desperately searching for the water it needs to survive, we pursue God in spite of what we experience or feel. God’s seeming absence is vital for the growth of our soul. Spiritual maturity requires both presence and longing.” –Nathan Foster, The Making of an Ordinary Saint
Presence and longing held in balance by hiddenness. Holy longing that drives me to keep digging my roots deep into the bedrock of scripture, not because I can know all there is to know about God or can manipulate Him to give me what I desire, but because in this searching process I am forced beyond the instant gratification of my emotions. I am forced to steady my stance and see how much sinking sand has made its way into my otherwise solid foundation.
I have not somehow become unworthy of His presence. He is not turning from me in anger or disappointment. In this holy hide-and-seek He is drawing me deeper, further up and further in, teaching me to walk by faith and not sight.
So this is the norm. This is maturity, actually.
This is the making of an ordinary saint.
Photo cred: audi_inspiration Flickr Creative Commons
This is such a great piece, Aleah. Really beautiful and affirming.
Aleah, this is so good and truthful and freeing. Thank you for sharing this deep fear and reminding us that it’s not a question of worthiness. I loved this.
I loved that book by Nathan Foster. Your post made me want to re-read it. As much as I loved his dad’s book, Nathan brought holiness into the everyday.
I’m really enjoying Nathan’s transparency and find myself easily able to relate. I think Richard’s book inspired me and Nathan’s comforted me. 🙂
Wow, really wow! This is EXACTLY where I am at. I was just thinking this week I was so tired of feeling bad for all the things I’m supposed to be doing or feeling or getting with regard to God’s work in my life. I realized that doesn’t the very fact I am still searching and wondering and seeking count for something? Yes, of course it does! His Spirit is at work, I’m so thankful for the way we can search for Him with our own unique personalities, He never turns us away!
YES: this is beautiful. I read Richard Foster and Henri Nouwen and I wonder, as I watch my kids color or as I fold socks, “what’s my problem?” That quote is a beautiful mile marker in figuring out this sanctification stuff. May we be brave enough to love the longing.
Erin, me too! With both of them. Which is also a reason I immediately resonated with your book concept. Have you read The Practice of the Presence by Brother Lawrence? I’m often reminded of a fantastic quote from it: “She seems to me full of good will, but she would go faster than grace. One does not become holy all at once.”
It’s now on my to-read list! You’ve intrigued me. 🙂