Tag Archives: Wandering

We Took A Walk

Yesterday’s meandering started with resentment. I was annoyed about something, and I almost wrote about it, but that would have been unfair to the people involved. Instead I decided to leave it alone and putter around on Craigslist. I’m hoping to start a new ministry at my church for young adult types, so I figured I’d advertise a bit. After posting there and on Facebook, I was sufficiently distracted.

I thought maybe I’d try designing a new “thing.” Visual art isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I have a pendent that I designed that came out really well. It’s designed around what the Eucharist represents. It’s two hands together, holding a flower with a butterfly on it. It represents life, sacrifice, change, redemption, and togetherness with God.

I didn’t come up with a new design because a question occurred to me. If Jesus is really present in the Eucharist, what does that actually mean? What does it mean for us, and what does it mean for him? I googled a few things and watched a few videos on YouTube, but I couldn’t really find an answer, so I decided to go for a walk. Sometimes when I have a question, I look high and low for the answer and forget to ask God.

One thing I did find before I left was that when we receive the Eucharist we receive the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus. That sounds great, but what does that actually mean? I started thinking about when he said “I become one with you, and you are one with me.” I also read that we become “vessels for the Lord.” All of this together was sounding very complicated.

So I left my house and started asking questions. We took a long walk. I don’t remember all of what we talked about. Something that bothered me at first, though, was the idea that a perfect God would become “one” with an imperfect me. What does that do to or for him? I started working with the analogy of someone taking care of a sick friend. The sick person isn’t necessarily going to make the healthy person sick.

My analogy started to get a little muddled, though, because I started thinking about how taking care of a sick person makes a healthy person better in other ways. They become more patient, or more compassionate, or what have you. But Jesus is already perfect. So what does he get out of it? What does he want to be with us for? Then it hit me. God is love. By necessity, he loves. It’s just God being God.

While figuring all this out, I was talking out loud. I would have looked like a crazy person, but I live on a busy street, and no one was around. I had been talking and asking questions the whole time, but at this point I was speechless. We got down to my church, and I thought I’d just see if the door was open. It wasn’t, so I started heading for home.

We wandered along for a little while, but I had to ask: “So, I still don’t get what it means that I’m a vessel. I mean, what does it mean for me that we’re ‘one?'” It means that he’s making me more like him. It means that he’s always with me. It means that I can do things I wouldn’t otherwise be able to.

It also means that I have a job to do. I have to love like a crazy person. I have to forgive the unforgivable. I have to tell people who God is and what he does and why he does it. I finished off last night with this: “Lord, if you are light and you’re with me, let me be a light, too.”

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly

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We Are Of The World, And That’s Okay

I was taking a walk yesterday, and I was amazed at just how colorful the trees in my neighborhood were. It’s kind of funny, actually; it’s like I forget that they get this way every year. They really are beautiful, and they drop giant piles of orange and red leaves that smell amazing.

I take a walk just about every day if it’s warm enough outside, and yesterday was about perfect. It was a bit cool, but not uncomfortably so. There was a bit of a breeze, and the sun was warm. My walk takes me around the horseshoe of the street I live on, then down a busier street, and onto the street that leads to the cemetery. I then wander down to the back of the cemetery, which is connected to my friend’s back yard, and I cut through there to get home. I sometimes sit in the back of the cemetery for a while and look at the sky or follow ants, or sometimes talk to my grandmother on the phone. Sometimes I just talk to myself. Yesterday I just sat there with my eyes closed. It was very nice.

There are a few particularly colorful trees on my street, and they, along with a video I remembered, made me think of something: The world itself is not evil. The world worships God. A similar thought came to my mind after seeing (or rather, hearing) this video in one of my classes. It is the sound of crickets slowed down to what they would sound like if they had the same lifespan as humans:

I remember a quote from John Keats that has stuck with me since high school. He said in his poem Ode on a Grecian Urn: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty–that is all/ Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” An idea that is thrown around a lot at my school is that, as Christians, we should be “in the world but not of it.” Well, the fact of the matter is, we are “of the world,” and I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. Nature is beautiful and innocent, and we are natural beings. Obviously we, along with many things we create, have been corrupted by sin, but we were created in the image of God, and I think that somewhere within us, that innate goodness remains. If it didn’t, I don’t think it would be possible for us to know God. Furthermore, I don’t think it would be possible for us to be creative.

What I’m trying to say is that the trees changing color is their way of worshiping God. Birds singing; crickets chirping; water flowing and giving life; the sun rising and setting everyday; it’s all Creation’s way of worshiping, and saying “thank you” to the Creator. As humans, we often try and do it so elaborately, with complicated music and ceremony and what have you: but in a way, even just existing and acknowledging where we came from and our place in the world is a form of worship; possibly the purest form.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!