On Falling Rocks and Troubled Waters

In case my last post wasn't direct enough, the past few days have been hard. Thanks to my beloved blogsiblings for your words of solidarity and encouragement. You have no idea how you bless me, or how much it means to ask and be answered. Of course, it was Jesus who said "Ask and it shall be given you."

Tonight, He put His two cents in.

I wasn't thrilled about going to baptism class. I was feeling very weak and tossed and uncertain, not remotely competent to stand with my new friend Jason as I sponsor him in this process. But I felt like I was at least up to the first two elements Judy reminded me of: show up and pay attention. Before I knew it, rocks were falling into the choppy cauldron of my soul.

Rock #1: Instruction in Reality -- Each year, those participating in baptism are given a t-shirt that bears the logo of water and the cross on the front, and a single word on the back. Jan explained that a different word is selected each year. This year's word? Beloved. As she said the word, I had one of those Homer-Simpson "D'oh!" moments. God split the word in two and it became a command, answering the question of my last post: BE LOVED. I realized I haven't been paying attention to that reality much lately. I felt sheepish. Which is appropriate, since I am a sheep.

Rock #2: History, both Personal and Corporate -- Becky (whose heart I love) spoke on the symbolism and history of baptism, and at one point she shared how those going into the waters of baptism would disrobe as they came up and let the flowing waters carry their old garments away. As that image formed in my head, another rock dropped as I remembered my own baptism experience. It was in a pentecostal church, and my best friend Peter stood by me as I entered the tank in a scratchy blue polyester robe. The church leaders started praying loudly for me, that the Spirit would transform me in the waters. I went under, and that moment felt like an eternity -- a warm, fluid eternity where God is very close. Immersion in God. I came up suffused with joy, and soon went to the small room to change back into my clothing. As I entered, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and was shocked to stillness to see that the robe was still blue. The reality in my soul said that, in the waters, the robe had become rich, white cotton, luminous in its purity. It didn't seem possible that the robe was still blue. As I removed it, I felt God hold me in place and clothe me in that white robe of the Spirit. I realize some might think I'm skirting blasphemy here, but I really believe I heard Him say "You are my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased." Talk about undeserved favor... Beloved.

Rock #3: The Power of a Name -- I'd seen the Jesusy-baby-name-books on the table when I came in, and thought of the perceived irony of my own name. The brown wood-and-parchment plaque that used to hang on my bedroom door said: JEFFREY, Peaceful One. Given the chaos of my adolescence, I always got a good chuckle from it. Becky invited us to look up our names and write on a stone something we resonated with or felt called to around our names. The book I picked up listed literal meaning and spiritual implication, and it had a slightly different take. It gave the literal meaning of Jeffrey as "DIVINE Peace." My name is not at all based on MY peace, it's based on God's peace. Revolutionary. Just above it, I saw "Jefferson," a nickname my friend Holly gave me years ago. It's spiritual implication was "Contemplative." Something started to shift. I wrote down on my stone: "Contemplate the peace of God."

Rock #4: A Friend, A Film, Abide -- Bob had been setting us at ease all evening in his honest, mildly self-deprecating way ("And now there will be a few minutes of awkward silence I'll break up shortly"). I noticed he had written on his stone, "Abides in God." I like the word abide. It tastes like that divine peace, like actively waiting, like restful resistance to being tossed. I remembered the main character in The Big Lebowski, another Jeff who lived the identity of "The Dude". Whenever someone asked him "How's it going, Dude?", he'd invariably respond: "The Dude abides." In spite of the fact that the viewer couldn't tell if this serenity was the product of Zen or vast quantities of weed, I liked the sentiment. I aspire to abide. Abide in belovedness, contemplating the peace of God.

Every new remembrance or realization shook me, jolted me, forced my perception in a new direction. As each rock plunked into the waters of my soul, it produced a new set of waves, and this is what's so amazing. Each expanding circle of ripples cancelled out more and more of the choppiness. I re-visited who I am and whose I am, and as I did, the waters settled. Belovedness. Cleansing. Divine Peace. Abiding.

The waters are still stirring, though not much more than can be expected when the Spirit is hovering over them (at least, I hope that's what's happening). Part of my reason for blogging all this is an attempt to make sure I don't stick my spoon back in the pot first thing tomorrow morning and start making waves again. That would be entirely too in-character. But now, as I prepare for bed, all I am is grateful. Christy (fairly new to blogland, but already feels to me like a welcome mothervoice) frequently ends her blogs with two words I'm going to shamelessly appropriate tonight:

Deo Gratias.