Longing for the Attainable

Last night at the NCCZ, we talked about longing. We talked around all sides of it. I was down and tired so I focused on our need to accept things the way they are rather than spending lots of time and energy singing, talking, and lamenting about some idea about how they should be. I wish grace would rain down in an unmistakably powerful and glorious way. I would love to see the boughs of the mighty broken and the weak clothed with strength, literally and frequently. Unfortunately, it appears to happen too infrequently and unpredictably.

What I didn’t talk about last night was my own longing.  At times, when I slow down and let it happen, I experience a deep longing for the ineffable; the kind with aching and weeping. I suppose this is part of the eternity that is set in our hearts. I am sure it is that longing that drives me to search for community and justice.

I can’t stay there too long, though. It depresses me. It makes me angry about the way things are. Out of self-preservation, I force myself to see things the way they are. When I pay attention, the things I see would not be classified as mighty and powerful in a literal sense, but, at another level, are deeply profound and moving.

I had just such an encounter over the Christmas holidays. Nelson, my father-in-law, was in the hospital, near death, being treated for his newly diagnosed pancreatic cancer. Hospitals are an eerie place in the middle of the night. It was quiet, except for the rhythmical clicks and hums of his IV pumps. There was a soberness and seriousness to the moment, the kind that comes when our mortality is apparent. With a contemplative attitude I thought about Nelson. If I had to put words to my thoughts, it would have been for God to make his love known to him and give him peace. My meditation was accompanied by a familiar fear and emptiness; maybe such a prayer was futile.

I heard Nelson wake up, needing to sit on the stool toilet that sat next to his bed. His once strong, emaciated body was weak; he did not have the strength to help himself. I help lift him out of bed, pulled down his pants, and guided him to the stool. I waited as he struggled to move his bowels. After a few minutes, I help steady him in the standing position and started cleaning him. At that moment, I had an acute awareness within that my prayer was being answered. God was showing his love to Nelson. Nelson was quiet, but thanked me in a way I have never experienced from him. I pulled up his pants and helped him back into bed.

Through that experience, I learned something about how God chose to act. I wouldn’t describe it as mighty and powerful in the literal sense. I suppose it would not make for a suitable song to sing on Sunday mornings, but it was satisfying and good.

Longing and expectation may be different things. If I was scripting it, I would do it differently, but I am learning to pay attention to and marvel in the profoundness of the way things are. I suppose longing serves its purpose, and we can hope that it will come to pass some day. If what to come is anything like my longings, it will be mighty, glorious, and profound; however, I suspect that, until that time, the yearning and frustration that longing produces can only be relieved by paying attention to the way things are.