In prayer this morning I find an invitation to reflect on the experiences and feelings of the last day. Where have I been aware of Your presence? Where, in the quiet peace of hindsight, do I now notice a touch of glory that was missed in the press of action and reaction?
It’s all murk, Lord!
It was a good Saturday. Restful. Curt and I worked side by side on separate projects. We enjoyed a break over coffee. Yes, I had that melt-down when my brain disengaged from my hands and I couldn’t do a simple ponytail, but the family surrounded me with understanding and I was reassured. A chest-cold begins to clear. Cait made tasty curry for the 20 who turned up to fellowship and study together. Her delightful kitchen-hostess ways sparked laughter as stories were swapped among her helpers and lonely ones found a place. It was nice to sit with Angie and Laura, “protecting the diners from my germs.” Amanda, Nate, George—new ones to welcome and listen to. Missed Pawan. I also notice I have retreated from a difficult one to love, and give that back to You.
But did I witness Your presence? In majestic glory? In subtle whisper? I recall inner movements toward or away from food, people, action and inaction. But You? Did I see You? Can I recognize Your imprint now?
The Lenten reading today sent me to Luke 9, the Transfiguration. (The event deserves a capital “T,” don’t You think?) Peter, John and James were on the mountain with You. While You prayed Your appearance changed to reveal the dazzling splendor of Your shekinah glory, and You were joined by Moses and Elijah. But Peter and his buddies were dull with sleep. They almost missed it. Yet somehow they fought the heaviness and stayed awake—and so they saw Your unimaginable radiance.
That’s how I feel. Dull with sleep; struggling towards wakefulness but so heavy. Tempted to despair over my dim, inattentive ways. But this morning You meet me with consolation: “It was as they struggled into wakefulness” (JB Phillips) that they saw Your glory! As I struggle today towards wakefulness, You allow me a glimpse, too.
Still, good old Peter immediately misses the point. “It’s a good thing we are here so we can fix things up for You, Lord!” But You quiet him. You hold him in Your presence. More than that, You advance and envelope him in it. The voice of the Father penetrates the cloudy confusion: “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to Him!”
Next, they found themselves alone again with the "everyday"Jesus they knew. Somehow more able to listen, I think. Headed back down the mountain into the mundane, to resume the journey toward the Cross.
Thank You, Lord Jesus, King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God. Amen.
