Honey From the Rock

Honey From the Rock

I looked up from my sink of dishes to see a plump baby bird and his mom perched on the railing of my deck. The squat baby tipped his head back, opened his yellow-orange beak, and received what the mom graciously offered. The mom’s intense blue-black head flickered to the tree and then to the sky, cautious and attentive, before bolting away in search of more food. Meanwhile, the baby bird hunkered down on the railing, no squawk or complaint issuing from his mouth as his mom left him.

For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly moved.
(Psalm 62:1 RSVCE)

This little bird, trusting in the faithful return of his mother, made me see again how I should be with God. Every time the mother took flight, the baby waited quietly, resting in the firm and certain knowledge that she would return. The most squawking happened when the mother had landed on the railing and the baby chirruped incessantly, eagerly clamoring for the food which was soon to be given. Otherwise, he was silent. He hardly moved. He never made an attempt to go get food on his own or to make any sort of search for his mother. He just waited in confidence.

Or perhaps he simply followed his bird instincts that said his mom would return with food. Yet how much more should I wait hopefully on the Lord, trusting that as He has promised, so He will deliver. The Lord will not abandon me or forget me. He can be completely trusted and relied upon. Though He might seem absent or far away, He is always laboring to provide the very best possible in each moment.

I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.
(Psalm 81: 10 RSVCE)

No conversation, no questions, no complaints. Just a neck craning back and a beak opened wide to receive whatever the mom was going to give him. And the mom provided each time. Sometimes she took part of the food back out, held for a bit in her mouth, and then deposited it again in his waiting mouth. Whatever she gave was received as good. I didn’t see the baby spit it back out or question if he would like what would be offered. Simple receptivity.

In these actions, repeated several times as the dirty dishes passed through my hands and became clean, I found a challenge offered to me from the Lord. Would I be like that little bird and receive all that He would offer me? Would I not question if it was really good or if I would like it or if there was anything else, but would I instead just receive from the Lord all He gifted? Could I trust the God of all creation, Who has led me up out of my own Egypts many times, as simply as the little bird trusted his mother? Will I take the offered cup and drink fully?

But my people did not listen to my voice; Israel would have none of me. So I gave them over to their stubborn hearts, to follow their own counsels. O that my people would listen to me, that Israel would walk in my ways! I would soon subdue their enemies, and turn my hand against their foes….I would feed you with the finest of the wheat, and with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.
(Psalm 81: 11-14, 16)

Recently, I’ve been pondering the truth that God is always giving us our greatest good in every moment. It isn’t something new I learned, but it isn’t something I have often found myself considering. While I often don’t receive fully what the Lord is offering, it has been renewing my perspective of life events and situations when I try to view it from this perspective of unfathomable goodness.

The priest who spurred this pondering shared a story which I have also been ruminating over. He mentioned praying for rain as a child and how this nearly destroyed his belief in the goodness of God since the rain often didn’t come or was delayed. As a child, his perspective was that if God heard enough people, He would give what they were asking for or be convinced to give them what they wanted. Yet he offered a more Christian perspective of what prayer should be with the Lord. When begging and pleading for rain and it doesn’t come, the faithful follower of Jesus should be able to prayerfully wonder, Lord, what greater good are you doing here in this place of our need?

Continue reading “Honey From the Rock”

Waiting Without (A Foreseeable) End

Waiting Without (A Foreseeable) End

When asked why I chose Advent as one of my favorite seasons in the liturgical year, I replied that I appreciated the anticipation. Then, realizing what I had said and the truth of it, I considered how I also liked the set ending point of the anticipation. We are asking for Christ to come in a new way at Christmas and then He comes, December 25th, like clockwork. A definitive period of anticipation marked by a definitive end.

Life, however, is not like this.

Yet I have also come to realize that I am in the Advent of my life. Perhaps, however, we are always in an Advent. Maybe we are always saying, “Come, Lord Jesus” and hoping for a particular fulfillment. There is no definite end in sight, though. That which we long for and ardently desire isn’t simply four weeks away or even a year away. Instead, we wait and we hope. Even if it is clear that the Lord has a plan, it is eminently unclear how it will unfold. Will our desires be answered just as we long? Or will there be some circuitous, meandering path to fulfillment, realized only years later when we look back and can say that God answered, just behind a guise or beneath a veil.

I believe that I shall see the bounty of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord with courage; be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord.

Psalm 27

Advent is a time of anticipation, diving headlong into our hopes and desires, while also ordering them anew. It is a time of preparation, reminding me that I must always be actively preparing to welcome Jesus, even while my heart is led to long for other, earthly things, good as they may be. If the Lord came tonight, like a thief, I would be saddened if my response must be, “I was simply waiting for you to give me this particular gift and then I was going to….” How much better to be always in a state of welcoming and preparing to make room.

These past few months I’ve been taking a class on the problem of suffering. The proposal is that as Christians, we must hold that God, being good, allows the suffering from which He can draw a greater good for us, which could not be arrived at without the suffering. From philosophers to novelists, we have wrestled with this experience of suffering coursing through humanity, trying to see how it is both a mystery and yet also a means to encountering God. After one evening of reading, I was forced to look at my life and say to myself, “Everything in my life is offered as a way to draw me nearer to the Lord.” It was almost unbelievable, as I gazed at aspects I wished were otherwise, longings left unfulfilled, and wondered why God couldn’t have caused me to grow in some other way apart from the soul-deep suffering. While left with no definitive, particular answer, there is a comfort in trusting that the Lord will make His plan known at some point between now and eternity, revealing to me the ways particular pains were offered as gifts.

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