theROCK

A Still Small Voice

What do you hear when God speaks to you? What does the voice of God sound like to you? Do you know?

I frequently tell people stories that include phrases like: “and then God said to me…” or “I could feel the Holy Spirit nudging me…”. More often than not, if people say anything, they tell me God doesn’t speak to them. I know this to be impossible because there is absolutely nothing special about me. If God speaks to me, He speaks to you. He speaks to all of us.

I wonder if part of the problem is that we listen for His voice in the wrong places or ways. Like today’s first reading. The prophet Elijah is waiting “for the Lord to pass by” on Mount Horeb. Strong winds sweep the mountain, crushing stones.
But God is not in the wind. An earthquake shakes the very ground he stands on. But God is not in the earthquake. A fire breaks out upon the mountain, but God is not even in the fire. Instead, Elijah hears a whisper and bows before the Lord.

Don’t we often expect God’s voice to come to us in big, pronounced ways? Like our own burning bush moment or a James Earl Jones voiceover from the clouds. While God is certainly capable of big revelations like this, most often He speaks to us in that whisper—sometimes translated “a still, small voice” spoken in our hearts. We only need to be looking, listening, quiet, and calm enough to hear it.

 Instead of looking for God to set up a billboard for us, let us create that time and space to listen for His still, small voice speaking to us in our hearts.

We Belong to One Another

I recently spent a week at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN for some annual checkups I need. And while I had previously been led by the Holy Spirit to use my waiting time (which is a lot) for prayer for those I love, this time the Holy Spirit filled me with a deep urge to pray for the people around me—for all those who had sat or would sit in the chair I was sitting in, for all those who would use that MRI machine today, for all those who would visit that medical building or that gift shop, etc. In that act of praying for those I saw and those I didn’t see, I was filled with a deep sense of unity, of oneness, of participation in something beyond me that extends to the entire human community.

Today is Trinity Sunday, when we celebrate and commemorate our belief in the God who is One God in three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And while the theological implications of that are many and complicated, the simplest way to understand what it means to believe in the Trinity is to say: we belong to one another. We are not merely individuals existing in the world, but we exist in a system, a community of life and love. Just as I was one person at Mayo that week, I existed in a system of all patients. And as a participant in that system, God called me to share His light and love to those around me through prayer. To carry the burdens of others through prayer. To celebrate their joys through prayer. To walk with them and shelter them through prayer. Even without them knowing.

Just as Jesus is always in communion with the Father and the Holy Spirit, so too we are always in communion with every other member of the human race. We belong to one another. We are not in this alone. May our celebration of the Trinity today lead us to greater unity with those around us.

A Face Full of Mud

Sometimes, we ask God for a miracle, and we end up with a face full of mud.

Many of us suffer greatly in this life. And in the midst of this suffering, we pray for assistance, for Divine intervention. We pray to Jesus our Healer to work a miracle of healing for us or for another.

Why not me? Why not this? Why not now?

Often, so often, our prayers are met with a no. Or worse, silence. When we are suffering deeply, knowing Jesus is indeed the One who Heals, yet remaining unhealed ourselves can be immensely painful. It can feel like rejection, like forsakenness. It can lead us to that feeling of abandonment that Christ experienced on the cross: “My God, why have you forsaken me?!” I know the pain of that cry.

Today’s Gospel passage has taught me a lot about that cry. Because sometimes, as we see in the Gospel, sometimes the way God works His miracles looks a whole lot like a face full of mud.

Unlike most of Jesus’ other miracles of healing, this miracle is not neat and tidy, it is dirty…literally. Jesus spits on the ground to create mud and rubs it all over the blind man’s eyes.

Additionally, this miracle does not take place immediately at Christ’s touch or word—it is delayed. Only after the man leaves Jesus and follows His instructions to wash the mud off does the miracle occur. There is a time of waiting. There is a time of uncertainty.

This is my word of encouragement for those of us who cry out for healing and are left without it: Maybe the answer isn’t a “no,” but a “not yet.” Maybe it isn’t the neat, tidy, miracle that allows us to “drop our crutches” at the door, which in truth is what most of us desire. Maybe it is a slow unfolding that we barely see or a set of circumstances that just don’t seem like they’ll lead to our healing—such as a face full of mud. Maybe Christ isn’t even focused on our physical, practical healing, because what He desires more is our spiritual healing and He’s going after that first. As a result, maybe we won’t get the healing we desire until we reach eternity. And that is hard to understand when met by the God-Who-Heals-and-yet-Won’t.

Our path is still the path of the blind man. Choosing to trust Jesus, even with a face full of mud. Following His lead, even when that means walking away without our miracle. And being ready to see His healing work unfold in our lives. We never really know how the Lord is working to answer our cries. But we do know He is. Maybe He just needs time to gather more spit.