“I never suspected
Resurrection
and to be so painful
to leave me weeping
With Joy
to have met you, alive and smiling, outside an empty
tomb
With Regret
not because I’ve lost you
but because I’ve lost you in how I had you –
in understandable, touchable, kissable, clingable
flesh
not as fully Lord, but as graspably human.
I want to cling, despite your protest
cling to your body
cling to your, and my, clingable humanity
cling to what we had, our past.
But I know that…if I cling
you cannot ascend and
I will be left clinging to your former self
…unable to receive your present spirit.”
~”Mary Magdala’s Easter Prayer,” Ronald Rolheiser
This week has been a long journey in trust. The Father is opening up parts of my heart I didn’t know were still hurting, and showing me the ways my trust in him has been broken or disturbed.
At the heart of all that I’m going through, Abba is sorting through what I do with my desires. I’m not just talking about the things I’d like in life or the things I enjoy. I mean the deep, aching, longings inside of me. I’ll bet you know exactly what these desires look like for you—they are those areas we’ve dreamed and prayed and hoped for since we met Christ. The ones that come from being made in God’s image, and that are ultimately holy and good, that God uses to continue redeeming this world.
For me, there are lots of ways these desires are manifested. It’s the hope I have to be a faithful friend, a warm listener. I ache for friendship and brotherhood that never ends, that is used to refine and grow us deeper into the Father’s vision for us. And I long to step fully into my own destiny with everything I have in me, to pour out my entire self for the sake of the love that has never let me go.
Mostly though, my soul yearns for the wild, impossible dreams I’ve had of what God could do in this world through me to become a reality.
I’m naturally a dreamer. I have a huge imagination when it comes to Abba’s heart and the things he is gearing up to do in our lives. I dream big when I read that God “is able to do far more abundantly than all we ask or imagine, according to his power at work within us” ~Ephesians 3:21 (In US??? WHAT?!?).
I dream big in my friendships, when loved ones go through trouble and hardship and the Lord allows me to have hope and see the beauty that’s still in front of them.
And let me tell you, I dreamed BIG when it came to my Race.
I heard the Lord promise things I could hardly believe, but believe them I did. I heard him promise that this will be the season when I’m able to run to him and serve others with everything he gave me, and let nothing hold me back from being my truest self. Several people have given me the word “steadfast,” saying that this is the year I’m completely unaffected by what goes on in or around me. And my whole Race so far, I’ve wanted desperately to believe it’s true. But the longer I’ve gone without seeing the Lord’s word fulfilled, the harder it has been to believe.
This week, the Father dug into some parts of my story I’ve never let go of, reminding me of times I heard him promise big things and ended up feeling like he only ever let me down. He led me back to several instances when I felt like my expectations and dreams of the things God would do seemed “bigger” than the reality he actually wanted to give me. And I realize I’ve been like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus in Luke 24, who are, as Ronald Rolheiser puts it, “so focused on their former image of (Jesus), their former understanding of him, and the way he was formerly present to him that now they are not open to seeing him as he walks among them…By clinging to what once was we cannot recognize God’s presence within a new reality.” And I think I’m finally learning to let go of past hurt, and open my hands to whatever reality the Father wants to grant me.
I’ve realizing how easy it is to mix up our God-given dreams with our own human expectations of how those dreams will play out, and seeing that I’ve spent a lot of time, like Mary Magdalene, clinging—with my hands too full of my own expectations to actually receive the dream itself.
I’ve been looking at the lives of David, of Joseph and Abraham. If the Lord promised me even one third of what he spoke over these men, I honestly doubt I’d be willing to believe it. Can’t you imagine their disbelief? “Really, Lord? The sun, moon, and stars bowing down to me?” “Me, the King of Israel??” “An entire nation coming through me?? That will bless all other nations?” There’s no way I’d buy into that one.
It’s a lot to believe, even without considering the parts of their story God didn’t mention. I find it curious that he promises these men all the beautiful, grandiose parts of their stories, but neglects to tell them about the fact that they would also be thrown into prison, chased out of the palace they were told they’d rule from, accused of adultery, and spend years and years of waiting before anything else would come about. It seems he forgot to include the dirty details of what their lives’ anointings would entail.
Or else there’s something different God wanted. Maybe he cared more about the maturity and strength that years of pain and confusion and “hoping against hope” (Rom 4:18) would bring than he did just fulfilling his word.
And this, I think, is what it means for the Lord to give our lives purpose. It means that we’re destined for suffering, confusion, and unfulfillment so that we can become truly human while we are held in his arms.
He’s showing me that in this life, our deepest dreams will too often go unfulfilled. Life is hard, and we’re going to be hurt and let down time and time again—“in the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable we begin to realize that here, in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished” (Karl Rahner). The perfect satisfaction of a soul cannot come about this side of eternity, and that is a reality we all must learn to grieve together.
It must be grieved, so that we can let go of the expectation we had for our dreams to be fulfilled in a particular way. Because the Father is still good, and his presence still brings peace, even when we can’t have the answers we seek. Because he still gives good gifts, even if our souls are never satisfied in this life.
Letting go is allowing me to choose love for my Father, even if my deepest dreams are never met. His grace is giving me the strength to love the unfinished symphony, to cherish every bit of beauty he ever dropped into my reality, even the ones that felt unfulfilled.
~Joel
“Even if these stars burn out,
leaving me with nothing at all to sing about;
even if my whole life,
I never find the place where I belong,
You are still my song.”
~”Hollow Home Rd,” Brolly
