Let's jump back a month or so in time. I had just gone to the class on being aware of God, learning to recognize God's presence and I wrote (Looking For God):
"It's OK to know that God is God, but I really do need to look around,
pay attention, and recognize that God is with us in the light and in the
dark, in the good and the bad, in joy and disappointment... in all
things."
Two days after that class was the concert referenced in that post, and I really focused on paying attention, asking some of the same questions we had gone through while contemplating photos. Anyone who knows me will know that I have been accused of being a groupie. I own that tag, but wish that those who want to label my affinity for the music could understand that I feel this particular music. It sounds crazy, but when I listen there is not just an emotional connection, it is physical
for me. I feel the music in my gut, in my liver and pancreas. Sometimes it
makes me think of the way Carlos Castaneda described seeing people as
luminous beings, egg-like shapes with our strength coming from a strong,
fibrous beam of light emanating from the navel. Of course, he was in a drug induced hallucination at the time, but the description reflects what I feel. It is palpable physical energy. And I have felt that since the very first time I listened.
I already knew that I have a visceral connection/reaction. On that night, though, by focusing on paying attention to the presence of God, the real question became why? What is the music telling me? Why do I feel so strongly? What does this music reveal about the nature of God? Probably the people around me thought I was either crazy or some kind of reviewer, because I started taking notes on what the answer to that question might be. Right there, in the concert hall, I scribbled away on the back of a receipt.
Maybe because I questioned myself, maybe because I focused on paying attention I had a revelation. Listening to the music allows me to see and hear the gifts that God gives us. When I listen I feel that knowledge, physically, emotionally and spiritually. When I become transfixed by the sight of their fingers moving so incredibly quickly on the guitar, there is no doubt that a generous God gives us incredible gifts. I imagine people who find and then use their gifts are doubly or triply blessed. I am thankful they have found and use theirs, and at the same time incredibly jealous.
The second part of the realization is when I am alone, when I am able to "Spanish rap" to Rococo, or just singing along at the top of my lungs as though I were Beyonce or some other incredibly gifted singer, I also feel the hope that some day I will know what my gift is, own it, and use it. Thanks to Suzanne for providing me with the questions that revealed this to me. Thanks to Rob and Al who first suggested I listen. And deepest thanks to Javier and Jim, for the music that helps me figure out how I find God. How do you find God?
Wow! I thought I had the next post under control and ready to go and then today made me change direction. I attended the funeral of a wonderful man, devoted to family, a dear friend, a loyal public servant. You would be hard pressed to find anyone who had a negative word to say about Ed. This morning, though, I was really struck by his wife's loss. High school sweethearts, married for 66 years. I cannot imagine how she feels, and every time I thought about it I felt this horribly deep emptiness.
This afternoon I went to visit and read to another friend, and the first passage I read contained the answer and comfort I needed. Funny, I no longer consider things like this a coincidence, and I am thankful that I was paying attention and able to see the passage for the gift it is. I have no better words than these from Discernment by Henri Nouwen:
"Although memory sometimes brings the painful past closer in the present, it also creates a deep desire for reunion with those I remember and for reconciliation with what is past. The power of memory is not only that it allows me to relive the past but also that it transforms the past in the present and the future.
For example, I feel closely related to many friends who have died. I remember them in faith and expectation that I will see them again. The memory of those I love makes me desire a reunion, a new encounter face-to-face. In some mysterious way, in the absence of a loved one from the past, I sense a spiritual closeness in the present that prepares me for a reunion in the future that is deeper and fuller than their presence in the past or their presence in the present.
I can even say that I must remember those in the past to make full reunion possible in the future. Their memory is in a certain sense preparation for seeing them again. Remembering grandparents, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends who have died or gone away is not just some sentimental, pious custom of those who can't move on; it is the continuation of a relationship that still exists and has yet to come to fulfillment. Indeed it is the Spirit of Christ that tells us there is a coming reunion more profound than the relationship in the past or present.
Would it be true to say that remembering a friend of family member in death allows for a spiritual communion to develop that was not fully realized during their physical presence? Can we say that memory unites us in spirit with a connection deeper than physical union? If so, we must confess that bodily presence not only reveals the real person to us but also hides the real person from us. One's physical presence both reveals and hides the deeper, more authentic self that I desire to encounter. In physical absence, the spiritual presence is no longer blocked. This mystery sheds new light on life and death. Being fully alive means being truly present to God and others as best we can. Dying means not only leaving but also entering into a more intimate relationship and a deeper spiritual presence than was possible during physical life."
