Joel 2:28
Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.
I remember when I began this blog four years ago as I was anticipating traveling to Israel/Palestine with a group of folks from Luther Seminary. I was lucky enough to go my first year of seminary, but I have to confess: I am a bit jealous of those who are going on the trip our final year. They carry with them many hopes: for the trip, for the future, for things as yet unseen. I presume that many of them - like me - long for that transcendent moment of clarity, in which it all makes sense. I hope it happens. I remember being disappointed at not feeling much different while I was there relative to when I am at home... I wanted it to be transcendent, and I was still me, and I was still me when I came back. I have come to realize I am me with a nose for incense (frankincense, specifically), for street food, and an ear for languages I did not grow up hearing.
There are so many places we long for transformation. We see it so easily in others, but cannot see it in ourselves. Having spent four years of my life in seminary, I look back see the same dorky girl that I am now (seriously, my ID picture is worse than my driver's license)... and then I tell myself all of the randomly cool stuff I have done since then, and I am still the same dorky girl. I know I have grown. I know I have changed... but I look at my peers and see their striking transcendent beauty, their transformation, and the shadows cast by their light. And I am still the same dorky girl, making faces at myself in the mirror.
So often, we long for transcendent moments to make us different than what we are. We hope for something that will turn on the light within us only to realize the little flicker of flame that has always been there is the only light we will see from within. Going to a new place, seeing, smelling, hearing, and touching new things doesn't change us, but it leaves little bits of us strewn about all of the places we visit...
...even if those places are as close as a nearby coffeeshop where the owner knows you by name
...even if it is the place where you make your morning coffee
...even if it is the place where you run your hand down the bannister, leaving all of your wishes on the wood that has been touched by hundreds of other people who thought nothing of it
or
...even if it is the place you swear you'd never return,
We live as little flickers of flame yearning for transcendence, for fire, to be more than just a little flame, more than just a little faith, more than a feather of hope and a dream for the future, but we rest so uneasily in our own skin that we forget that it is ours. We forget how to dream. We forget how to laugh. Slowly, we forget how to be our authentic selves, and, hoping we are destined for something other than a true self, we chase after shiny false selves. They are only facades: bits and pieces and nips and tucks cutting away at the Gift we have been given.
You, dear friends, are transcendent.
Your light shines even when you are unconscious of it,
Even when you are convinced it has gone out.
Your light shines in the darkness,
The darkness cannot overcome it
No matter how long the night.
Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.
I remember when I began this blog four years ago as I was anticipating traveling to Israel/Palestine with a group of folks from Luther Seminary. I was lucky enough to go my first year of seminary, but I have to confess: I am a bit jealous of those who are going on the trip our final year. They carry with them many hopes: for the trip, for the future, for things as yet unseen. I presume that many of them - like me - long for that transcendent moment of clarity, in which it all makes sense. I hope it happens. I remember being disappointed at not feeling much different while I was there relative to when I am at home... I wanted it to be transcendent, and I was still me, and I was still me when I came back. I have come to realize I am me with a nose for incense (frankincense, specifically), for street food, and an ear for languages I did not grow up hearing.
There are so many places we long for transformation. We see it so easily in others, but cannot see it in ourselves. Having spent four years of my life in seminary, I look back see the same dorky girl that I am now (seriously, my ID picture is worse than my driver's license)... and then I tell myself all of the randomly cool stuff I have done since then, and I am still the same dorky girl. I know I have grown. I know I have changed... but I look at my peers and see their striking transcendent beauty, their transformation, and the shadows cast by their light. And I am still the same dorky girl, making faces at myself in the mirror.
So often, we long for transcendent moments to make us different than what we are. We hope for something that will turn on the light within us only to realize the little flicker of flame that has always been there is the only light we will see from within. Going to a new place, seeing, smelling, hearing, and touching new things doesn't change us, but it leaves little bits of us strewn about all of the places we visit...
...even if those places are as close as a nearby coffeeshop where the owner knows you by name
...even if it is the place where you make your morning coffee
...even if it is the place where you run your hand down the bannister, leaving all of your wishes on the wood that has been touched by hundreds of other people who thought nothing of it
or
...even if it is the place you swear you'd never return,
We live as little flickers of flame yearning for transcendence, for fire, to be more than just a little flame, more than just a little faith, more than a feather of hope and a dream for the future, but we rest so uneasily in our own skin that we forget that it is ours. We forget how to dream. We forget how to laugh. Slowly, we forget how to be our authentic selves, and, hoping we are destined for something other than a true self, we chase after shiny false selves. They are only facades: bits and pieces and nips and tucks cutting away at the Gift we have been given.
You, dear friends, are transcendent.
Your light shines even when you are unconscious of it,
Even when you are convinced it has gone out.
Your light shines in the darkness,
The darkness cannot overcome it
No matter how long the night.
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