Strength, Vulnerability, and Beauty

A couple of snowstorms ago I had the chance to go see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company perform at the Kennedy Center, which I posted a video for a few posts ago.  But as wonderful as a video is, it doesn't describe the feelings I had while experiencing the performance.  True, it lets you formulate your own thoughts and feelings, but until you see them perform in person, I don't know if you truly experience the performance.

The dancing was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  It showcased the human body in all of its intended glory - muscular and strong with control over every single movement.  And each movement was the epitome of both grace and beauty.  From traditional ballet moves to yoga-like poses, all incorporated into one piece, the body moving with a fluidity that was awe-inspiring and truly beyond words.

And then there came a moment within the performance in which it reached out, broke the fourth wall, and offered me and the audience, a piece of the dancer himself - a piece of his heart, open and vulnerable, out there on a stage, for everyone to experience and see and touch.  It was during a dance to spoken word, and the words combined with the movements broke through to me, directly into my heart.

It could have been interpreted as one of the corniest moments of the show, but it was one of the most vulnerable.  Because it takes strength to be that vulnerable.  To open and share your heart, your passion, a piece of your identity in such a broad and beautiful way - that takes incredible strength.

There was also the beauty in seeing the human body in all of its intended glory.  Saint Iraneus said that "The glory of God is man fully alive" and each Alvin Ailey dancer showcased this truth.  Their dancing was a true echo of God, showcasing His glory.  They were fully alive in beauty, in strength, in vulnerability and they gave me a gift in being able to experience that joy.

Undone

All I can say at the outset of this post is that I hope I can capture the magnitude of all that is inside me right now - all that I am learning, and all that I have learned - about my Creator and how real He is to me these days. 

And part of me hesitates to go forth and proceed with this post.  It frankly feels awkward to write about my experiences with God.  Shouldn't I just write about, expound upon some of the awesome experiences I had last month?  Write about Red Bull BC One, or any of the other many wonderful things I got to experience?  Or crafting another tale about how there was a second mouse this past Monday?  Sure - I could do that.  But it would also be hollow and shirking one of the important aspects of this blog to me, which is to share a little that God is doing in my life.

Frankly, He has undone me.

Today in particular, I am feeling especially vulnerable to His love.  I don't know if it was the blue sky with white clouds, or the barren beauty of the trees in winter, or seeing these pictures of some friends of mine who have gone through a mighty struggle to bring their family together, or the post that accompanied the pictures, or reflecting on the true power and hope of the resurrection during my morning reading time, or processing through the meaning of suffering with the help of Philip Yancey in his wonderful tome, "Where is God When it Hurts?" during my lunch hour.

Perhaps the feelings of my heart are best summed up in this quote: "Every experience of beauty points to eternity." ~ Hans Urs Von Balthasar

How do I put into words the way my heart leaps when it sees a barren tree?  When that tree reminds me of the complicated beauty of life that lies underneath all the gloss and greenness of the leaves?  That the twisting beauty of each branch is like a thread that reminds me of my own complicated twists and turns.

How do I share the tears that spring forth when I read these following words from Philip Yancey's book on suffering and wonder if in my "Christian" sophistication I too have lost the power and hope of the resurrection and fail to share that with all those that I interact with?:

"On the day before Thanksgiving of 1983, Martha died. Her body, crumpled, misshapen, atrophied, was a pathetic imitation of its former beauty.  When it finally stopped functioning, Martha left it.  But today Martha lives, in a new body, in wholeness and triumph.  She lives because of the victory that Christ won and because of His 'body' at Reba Place, who made that victory known to her.  And if we do not believe that, and if our Christian hope, tempered by sophistication, does not allow us to offer that Truth to a dying, convulsing world then we are indeed, as the apostle Paul said, of all men most miserable."

How often I forget that Truth in my life.  That the hurts in my life, the wounds of my heart, will be healed and made anew.  And that this is the power of the resurrection - this life isn't the end.  Yes, we can begin living eternally here and now, but the wounds, the suffering, that we accumulate along the path are not the end.

This journey is filled with so many twists and turns.  In the span of one year I have gone from the lowest of lows to the highest of heights - and yet, my Father was there in all of it - even in His silences and distance.  And the thing is, unknowingly to me, Christ transformed my suffering.  He used it to reach a place of depth that I rarely visit on my own.  And because of that discovered depth, I feel the peace of His blessings to a greater degree than I ever have before.

How do I share with you, reader, the oppressive darkness and despair that covered my soul this past summer?  How do I explain the feelings of a broken heart from dashed, wrecked, ruined hope?  Praying desperate prayers, clinging to a thread of faith, though every logical fiber in my being said "what's the point?" and "is this even real?" How this was the second time in my life in which I have had a real crisis of faith?

And then how do I explain praying daily for my Lord to strengthen my hope just a few months later and rejoicing beyond words in the life that I have been blessed with?

I am so thankful.  Thankful for all that the Holy Spirit has revealed to my heart lately.  Thankful that in every experience of beauty that I have been blessed to go through, He has spoken to that hurt heart and given it healing, revealing a little of Himself in each instance.  Thankful that He was (and is) in every smile from a friend.  Thankful for a wonderful family that is as constant in their presence as He is.  Thankful that He is teaching me about real forgiveness, humility, suffering, and most of all love in all of these things - A true love that knows me - that sustained me through the dark.

So, here, at the end of this post, I hope that I have been able to communicate some of the true majesty and true mystery of my Lord.  He has undone me this year - in more ways than I will ever be able to explain here - and I will keep praising His Name, thanking Him for doing so.

Reflections on Fall

I know that fall is almost over, but I came across this reflection that I wrote about a year ago when I was reading back through some of my old journals, and I really like it, so wanted to share it (please forgive the run-ons and lack of grammar...). It was written when I was housesitting out in Amissville, as I was sitting outside on the back porch of the house.

Lord,

I feel as if I am in Narnia Lord. It is so perfectly and devastatingly beautiful right now, gazing out into a sea of green, shades of green, when the world and nature enter this season of passing away; when the trees, instead of glorifying in their strength and beauty, fall and fade into the passing of the season with dignified forbearance. In this last gasp of life, nature, the earth, bursts forth in a flurry of color and warmth, as if to remind us that in death, abundant life is found. The winter, no matter how long and how cold, cannot hide the life that courses underneath it forever.

The mountains rise in the background, gracing the scene with tangible icons of forbearance. Their timeless beauty and grace stands firm, unmovable, with wisdom and knowledge, whether crowned with the greenness of trees or the blanket whiteness of snow.

And coursing through it all is the primal pulse of all living things. The symphony and cacophony of crickets, beetles, birds, and all other insects. Flowers bloom in all their beauty, not ready to succumb to the inevitably of the season around them. And the sun; the beautiful, glorious, life-giving Son; the sun that provides all warmth and light shines its life-giving rays upon all - made bearable by the wisps of wind that breeze through it all. It rustles all leaves, lifting and gently depositing those that have succumbed to death; those whose brief, glorious life adjoined to the branch, has now passed. They will no longer dance with their brothers and sisters because that part of their journey is over. Lifted from the branch, one leaf here, one leaf there floats on the currents of the wind - whether or mighty or soft, and comes to the next phase of its life.

There is a deep magic here. There is a power felt in it all - whether sheer power or love or both, it is mysterious and incomprehensible. It can only be felt and admired and awed. It can only be delighted and reveled in - it is revered. It is revered and loved because its Creator is in all these intangibles - it is the ray of beauty that parts through the clouds - it is the breeze that brushes through my hair and past my face - it is the joyous noise of an unhindered laugh - it is the grace and steadfastness of the mountains - it is the beauty of death and the pain of life - it is the incomprehensible but deeply felt mystery of all the earth that shines in its primordial state.

It is beauty unscathed, untouched by all the awful things that have corrupted life. It is God -God in all His awesome glory and unnerving power and mysterious love. It is past all understanding and reason and can only be felt on soul-baring love and level. There is no understanding this confluence of beauty, death, life, warmth, light, whispers, grace, and forbearance. There is only the heart and the heart cannot put words to the awesome wonder and beauty that God's creation gives to God. Nature worshipping its Creator and the Creator continually gracing and loving His creation. There is no shame, no guilty, no constraints.

Each piece of creation sings forth the song of its purpose and nothing can deter it from doing so - no internal or external force plays upon it, no will manipulates it from its path. It only obeys the will of God and God in turn gives it beauty because of its obedience.

Exquisite Simplicity

Is there anything more beautiful or soul-satisfying than the beginning of spring or fall? Here in Virginia, both seasons usher in the long months of winter or summer. But for a few brief weeks the weather and everything in nature converge together to bring forth some of the most exquisite beauty that can be found or experienced.

This past weekend saw nature shine forth in all its glorious simplicity and gift us with glorious weather. You couldn't sit inside. And in being outside, with the sun shining forth its rays, the breeze whisping through your hair, and the glory of a bright blue sky bursting at the seams, renewed hope entered my heart. I can't say what the hope is for - maybe it is the knowledge that all the beauty and glory of nature is just an echo of what awaits all of us in heaven, with Jesus. C.S. Lewis spoke of heaven in The Great Divorce, describing it as just that - something that was brighter, sharper than what we see here on earth.

There were just a ton of ways that God spoke to me this weekend - through Father DeMartino's sermon on the Prodigal Son to the verses we looked at in YL leadership, especially John 1:5

"The light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it"

(NLT). This shouts out hope to me, the hope that both is a product of and fuel for faith - Hebrews 11:1

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

And hope and faith are what I need now - now at the "turning of the tides"...