"Searcher of Mind and Heart"

Saturday, March 5, 2014

Today's reflection reminded me of an entry I wrote one Advent -- not the last Advent, but I'm not sure which one beyond that -- when I listened to a radio program timed well for the holiday called "Nobody's Family is Going to Change."  It was full of stories gently, cleverly, comically, and sometimes inspirationally demonstrating that families don't change.  Family members don't become the versions of them that you've made up in your head.

One was about a family that dealt with a dramatic change, however.  A conversion to active, evangelical Christianity from in-practice-at-least atheism in the family at large.  As part of the story, the young man described his somewhat rocky journey toward conversion.

Unfairly, because the story didn't have quite enough details to be sure, I blame the church he found for his belief that he had to have some amazing Paul-on-the-way-to-Damascus moment to know that he was really saved.  He admitted to getting conflicting answers when he asked if he was saved.  Catholics have a lot of things that you have to put up with that Protestants don't -- but we don't do that to people.  We don't make them doubt their own salvation -- especially when they are seeking God with open hands.

To be fair, most Protestants don't either.  It's unfair to lump them together like that.

But this young man decided to settle the question for once and all.  He went up to the highest hill near where his campus and decided to stay there and pray until God gave him a sign.  I saw, with some sympathy, a presumption in that.  You shall not put the Lord your God to the test -- but then, from his perspective, it seems more like himself that he was testing.  It was himself that he blamed when the experience didn't come for hours.

Then he described a rush of grace and peace and love and emotion -- speaking in tongues, singing...I forget all of it.  A recognizable moment of God intervening.

And all I could imagine is this finite man pray and demanding that God find him, speak to him, find some way to connect with him, and all along God striving, fighting struggling, searching to reach him too.  And I even imagine Him shaking his head, nodding to His angels, and sighing, "Oh, just give him the works!"

The reflection book asks if the idea of God seeking us is part of my understanding of grace, and here I can answer easily and absolutely.  Always.  I know how hard I make Him work to get through to me sometimes.  I know all the random, bizarre places I have found correction or comfort -- two sides of grace, along with the compulsion to reach out to others and higher toward God.

We are loved.  We are sought.  We are wanted.  We are understood.

We are spoken to all the time through every possible lens.  Because God knows how hard it is to catch us when we're listening.