(continued from part 1...)
So here's the thing...when I came home, and started working at home, with my boys, the headphones disappeared. They didn't vanish into thin air, mind you, I just felt sort of weird not being able to hear the boys when they'd fall, or get into a fight, or wander off in the grocery store. The grocery store seems like the scariest, but let me tell you, the rough-and-tumble punks that these boys seem to draw into fights are WAY scarier! (j/k, j/k.) Plus I looked sort of weird just walking around with these big -28db headphones on. So they're downstairs in my garage on a hook.
Well, what do you know? Put down the headphones, and I didn't listen to my iPod Bible nearly as much...no, really, I'm serious. Anyways, for awhile, I rationalized that I was "in the Spirit" as much as I had been before, and maybe I could pull it off this way at some other time in my life, but I've been feeling the loss. Do you know that feeling? That you are missing out on something good, but don't really know where it is, or why you're missing it? And you don't even have that good a reason.
I used to say sometimes that in order to hear God speak, you have to put his words into your lexicon, your language. You can listen to a Spaniard talk till he passes out, but if you don't know any spanish words, well, it's just more of that babble-speak. It can't bless anything more than a sneeze. You have to know the language. It has to be in your head, and in your heart. And it takes a lot longer to use if you're just wandering the streets of Spain, "soaking in the spirit of Spain." Or just "following your gut." Usually a few lessons in Spanish, and ongoing communication in Spanish help.
...
So I went down into my basement this morning, and sat down in my special "chair". Usually that's enough to transport me immediately into a spiritual trance that would make George Harrison blush. No, just kidding. I looked at my journal, over here, and the piles of different devotional readings I've compiled over the years of trying to bridge the gap between me and God. I started to read the great standard, "My Utmost for His Highest" noting with a bit of disgust how many pages I had to skip to get from the bookmark to the current date. I wonder how many people in the history of the world have memorized the first 20 or so entries of this book?
I started, and then I stopped. The book sort of fell shut in my lap. I was so frustrated. This damn thing isn't going to get me any closer to God! HOW!?
I suppose I have so many of these books because no single one of them has ever done the trick. Maybe the next one. Right?
I looked up the verse that our good preacher was going to briefly touch on during today's homily. As I read, I started to catch myself sort of glazing over. Not good.
I picked up my journal. I'd sort of stopped writing in it, because I was caught myself just writing. I didn't feel like I was interacting with God so much as writing down what I'd tell him IF I was actually interacting with Him. Stupid? I don't know.
On this morning, I was going to push through. I wrote-a couple lines. A thought. And then I'd focus in and pray the thought-the line. And I wrote a good portion of the page. Now, sitting here, I can't tell you what I specifically prayed for-but I can tell you that the time spent has left an impression of sorts. I kept praying the Jesus' spirit and God's word would be like smoke.
When I was young and hip I burned up sticks of incense. I'd light 'em up, and flick on some colored lights and "get in touch" with my inner self. Or something. I'm pretty sure I'd still do it if my wife didn't dislike very strong fragrances as much as she did. I'm pretty sure I'd look as dorky now as I probably did then as I sat there trying to go to my happy place.
There's something mystical that happens when you light incense and sit back to observe it burn itself out. For thousands of years burning incense has been a crucial part of bridging the gap between man and his faith-god. Something about smell, something about the intangible mist of smoke-maybe the act of setting fire to something potent, something closes the gap. And causes the man to remember. And every time he smells *that smell*, he knows and feels in the core of his person that he stands on holy ground.
That was the thought I kept having as I sat in my special chair in my little room. God, cover me up with smoke. Make Your spirit like a cloud that I walk through-as I pass through wrap me up. Follow me with hundreds of swirling tendrils-and like a grape-vine tie yourself around me, only instead of me holding You, stand me up. Let your word be to me like the smoke of incense. That it would permeate my clothing, and be like oil on my skin, so that through the day, I catch the scent of Pureness, the scent of Holiness, and the aroma of the throne room of the God of All.
I loved that prayer. I kept thinking about it through the day. Incense will leave it's trace on your fingers, and you can hold them to your face and smell the incense that is left. But if you want to really reek, you gotta light that thing. And then you have to stand over it, and draw the smoke over your face, over your arms. Rub it into your clothing and through your hair. Even suck it into your lungs, like cigarette smoke, smelling it with every breath.
That's what prayer needs to be. That's what getting close to God is. That's why we have scripture. It's not to know each story, so that as you go, you say, "ah, nope, I already know this one. Skip to the next one." Today I learned that God's word stinks. And you can totally tell when somebody has been around it. Or when you've been around it.
Word.
Amen.
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