It occurred to me this final week of Lent that the problem with trying so hard to be in Christ and to be aware of Christ in me is that when He fit into Jesus’ divine humanity, God shrunk about as much as He possibly can. He can’t fit in me, maybe not even with Christ’s help. To spend all of this Lenten time and Lenten energy to become fully aware of the magical majestic magnificent miracle of comingling my own humble humanity with divinity could very well be an absurd and impossible feat, even with all of this prayer and fasting and going to church.
Maybe this is the phase that all lofty endeavors experience, when thoughts of abandoning the quest seem super-rational, and the quest starts to tarnish. After all who am I to dare toy with the grand notion that I could be a cell, even an airy spirit cell, in the body of the creative, luminous, intelligent, awesome Trinity? Slap my face and bite my tongue, I say!
Please don’t misunderstand me; I am infinitely grateful to Jesus the Christ for building the bridge to reunion with our Creator and God, the Father. Being tossed out of the Garden of Eden has been hell. Without Jesus, we would have no hope whatsoever of living with God forever. Death, whether it is the separation-from-God kind that makes us distrust Him, or it is the last-heartbeat-kind, death haunts this outcast soul. Christ appearing like a resurrected Adam from straight out of the Garden was and still is a shock to humanity.
As loving as He is, Jesus digs one pitfall for aspiring immortals. His familiar humanity blinds us to God’s infinity. How can I be in Christ-God when I can’t even imagine what that means?
Pal Jesus, brother Jesus, servant washing apostles’ dirty feet, I’m afraid that your humanity causes me to lose touch with reality. So before I climb Golgotha, dragging my heavy cross remind me of who You are.
Reality check: PTL.
Lord, God, Creator God
Father of my fathers
Light of the Sun
Author of Love
Pure, unchanging, unwavering Will
Will to heal
Will to unite
Father forgiver, tolerant and wise
Patient and good
Light-years beyond human frailty, intellect
Author of righteousness
Maker of earth and heaven
Playmate of time
I can’t reach you.
Even with my Easter lily,
Even with my white candle glowing.
How can you hope for my eternal life?
I can’t reach you.
Christ bending so low on the Cross to grab my hand,
and I can’t even stretch far enough
to tap His golden toe in the moment when He dares to be only mortal
because I am blinded by His awesome celestial glorious splendid vast wonderful light.