Friday, July 23, 2021

Almost Sixty

It feels kind of like a confession,
when Paul writes these words...

"I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me."

Like someone asked, "Why are you the way you are?" 
And that was his answer.
It has always seemed such an intensely intimate statement to me.  
Knowing at least some of the story of how his relationship began with Jesus, it was definitely intense and intimate.

There were more than a few times in my life when someone reached out and touched me on the shoulder, grabbed the collar of my jacket, or even pinched my ear, drew me close and gave me a talking to... 
I think that probably every time that happened, I needed it.
At the time however, I wasn't so sure.  
And particularly if anyone else was witness to that moment, I really didn't like it.  
It was embarrassing.  
In hindsight however, it now feels like those folks were making a well-intentioned investment into my life.

I'm almost 60 now.  I have to lean in sometimes to hear what I need to hear.
Nobody does that with me; grabs me by the collar anymore.
The Damascus road is long ways away
, even my own revelation road by another name.
More often it seems that Jesus is saying to me, 
                            "Hello, I am standing at the door and knocking..."
(He doesn't even knock loudly)
It's fairly easy to ignore him there...knocking...quietly.
But if I do that, I miss the instruction.  I miss the answer to the plot line twist that Paul has led me into...
             Why?...Why did Jesus take hold of me?...Not Paul, but me?
The question hangs in the air like the horn blasts I hear in the quieter moments at dusk, from the tanker ships heading for the Port of Tacoma near where we live.  I wonder who is answering to those blasts and what are they commissioned to do in response?
What am I to do with these days before me? 
With this chapter of life?
I have found a way to discover the new road.
It's a prayer really.  It begins like this:
"So...Jesus...Tell me about you."
I know it doesn't sound like a prayer.  
It's not very flowery, or lofty, or theological sounding.  
But maybe it's all of those things.
It leaves a space for me to be taken hold of, by him, and by his words.
Where might the dialogue move to next?
What might I learn about him, about this life, about His Spirit in me?
I confess... that more often when I come to prayer, 
I am most ready to tell him about me, 
                  my take on things, 
                            my priorities, 
                                 my plan,
                                     my (fill in blank here) 
                                             and that leaves precious little room for him to reveal,
                                                                               ...that for which he took hold of me.


E.

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