2020: Heart of my own heart, whatever befall

I consult my heart. If the experience of 2020 - largely framed around COVID-19 - could be surmised in one word, what would it be? 

Rest. Quiet. Tumult. Distraction. Sanity. Fatigue. Depressing. Hope. Reformation.

Such were the paradox of days since March to this moment, as life's pendulum swung from one end to the other. And all that my soul came in touch with bore the transferred weight of joys as well as sorrows.

A wise saying goes that life is made up a thousand joys and a thousand sorrows. And somewhere in between, God breathes into the fog and I am invited to a sacred pathway that opens up. A light rain falls. We walk, and talk, along what looks like an Emmaus-destined road. And finally the true questions emerge from within - "What is the condition of my heart, Lord? What am I taking with me into 2021?"

I'm growing into the answer from several meditations within Mark 6 - 8. Two strangely inter-twined themes come across - first, the continuing call to restedness and second, a deeper chiding to beware hardening of the heart and keep it tender.

Come with me to a quiet place

Mark 6:31 - 33 : "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest." So, they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place. But many who saw them leaving recognised them and ran on foot...and got there ahead of them...

Besides Jesus' exhortation to come TO me with our weary and heavy-laden spirits (Matt 11:28), this unique summon is to "come WITH me" to a place of hush. A journey together to a setting hidden from voices, expectations, and happenings. A reading in the context of Mark 6 suggests the disciples' were nursing a hodgepodge of emotions. Souls elated from the first taste of ministry success (v13, 30), as well as grieving from the intimation of John's beheading (v14-29). What they - and perhaps we - badly need is a space to process all that is going on, to reflect, and above all...to be held. But before they could even settle and arrive (literally), clamour had once again run ahead of them. Diverse interruptions to our intention and practices of solitude - in our physical spaces, mindless wanderings, spiritual inertia or even divine calling (work, ministry) - are all something we can too easily identify with.   

Of late though, I've been inching closer towards the contemplative life. This has meant taking un-rushed and focused time to "do small things with great love" (Mother Teresa), establishing a rule of life paced by sacred rhythms and honouring my body as a temple of the Holy Spirit. The exercise of embracing the liberty of Enough has been especially potent, rendering powerless the hurl of unrelenting demands on my soul for attention, action and affection. Another practice is being conscious to unassuming moments. Last week, a spot on my neck was plastered over - my little 4-year old boy drifted by, leaned over gently to land a kiss there, and went about his play. The innocence of that moment transcended love, as I knew it. And as a child myself, expressing such innate beauty to our Heavenly Father became a precious and complete gift I could receive and offer. All from contemplating a moment that would have typically passed me by. Carlo Carretto captures this sentiment well:  

Prayer is like love. Words pour out at first. Then we are more silent and can communicate in monosyllables. In difficulties a gesture is enough, a word, or nothing at all - love is enough. Thus the time comes when words are superfluous...The soul converses with God with a single loving glance, although this may often be accompanied by dryness and suffering. 

But equally this season continues to see many poor habits proving stubborn to dislodge. To name a few - numbing night-time screen time, returning to false comforts to self-medicate inner wounds, stepping on the pedal of an already quickened pandemic-induced WFH schedule, and being quick to crossover from self-control into legalism. And the casualty is a heart increasingly de-sensitised to the Holy Spirit. Trivial acts of rebellion form cavities around the centre of my being, while everything looks fine on the outside.

Keep your heart tender, my child

Mark 6:44-46; 50-52 : The number of men who had eaten was five thousand. Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go ahead of him to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountainside to pray... 

...he spoke to them and said, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened.

Mark 8:15-21 : "Be careful," Jesus warned them. "Watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and that of Herod." They discussed this and said, "It is because we have no bread." Aware of their discussion, Jesus asked them: "Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not see and understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear? And don't you remember? When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up? "Twelve," they replied...

Stern words for the disciples here. But it seems different from other biblical passages on the hardening of hearts. Here, there is some incongruence - after reacting in amazement to how wind and waves obey Jesus and pulling off an impossible feat of multiplying loaves and fish, we are told the hearts of the disciples were hard. Obviously, there's a lot more going on. Jesus sees the veil covering their spiritual eyes, but in typical fashion, offers some penetrating clues while leaving patient space for self-comprehension to set into their hearts and minds.

Coming into Mark 8, we can begin to piece things together. More and more signs were being demanded of Jesus - from the Pharisees, Sadducees and Herodians (believed to be a political party aligned to Herod Antipas) - as part of a political game to neutralise the credibility and growing threat posed by Jesus. At the same time, in all likelihood the disciples held counter-prevailing expectations for Jesus to ascend and preside over the nation as King. Certainly, the miracles were pointing in that direction. 

What's with the bread though? Leaven was used to make dough rise, and metaphorically represents influence and growth. So, Jesus warns the disciples against falling into the same egoistical trap and hypocrisy of the Pharisees. Instead, they should perceive the feeding of the five thousand as an act of loving provision and generosity, born out of deep spiritual compassion for sheep without a Shepherd.

In essence, instead of recognising the great I AM, the disciples saw Jesus for who they wanted him to be. Perhaps this mirrored the search for their own evolving spiritual identities and future prospects. As is the case for me, there are firm parallel imprints. The desire to see the nature of God - even in awe - in a way that fits my worldview (so as to retain control, and subtly boxing Him in). I much prefer to see the God of protection and provision in this season, mistaking gratitude as a means to suppress the sufferings that COVID-19 has wrought upon my spirit and family. There remains an unwillingness to fully expose myself to conflict and make necessarily rough transitions from past seasons, as I knew it to be. 

The truth of the matter is what's in the way is The Way. And if I could learn to welcome my sorrows, and to let God be God with all the uncertainty, wonder, gifts and mystery that He brings - my heart can find a renewed way of tenderness, that honours my being a work-in-progress this side of heaven.

Loving the Task, and Working the Light

All my life He has been faithful. All my life He has been so, so good. And it is no different now. This morning, Pastor Chew shared that how we exit 2020 will determine how well we enter into 2021 (and if I may add, how we align to the prophetic destiny that await us through daily acts of great love). 

I bring with me, into 2021, a renewed way of thinking and living - of being and doing. Yes, the Doing (working the task) needs to come from the Being (loving the light) but there still seems somewhere, an incompleteness. Mark Nepo shares a divine whisper that speaks into this gap. There is a deepening place and call for me to Work the Light by nurturing those life-giving practices of solitude with Jesus before the break of dawn to discover the WAY, sacred pauses (daily offices) throughout the day that attunes my hearing to the TRUTH, and letting the Word constantly permeate and soften my heart to experience the LIFE. Then, I can begin to Love the Task and fulfil the calling I have received in a worthy manner. 

As we come away with Jesus to a quiet place and close out 2020, may the words "Well done, good and faithful servant" settle over and into our tender hearts.