On languishing

Idyllic moments, spent languishing in the warmth of light, the edges soft and tinged gold with frequent recollections.  We all have those days, the ones where all is right with the world.  When life is easy and joy abounds.

But moments like these can be fleeting.  And become slanted with the striving of replication.

I wonder what it was like with Jesus, in the days of his incarnation.  The days when he visited friends, laughed, walked, ate, and slept among this tight group.  I wonder if, after the first resurrection day, the disciples spent their quiet moments recalling his voice, his laugh, the weight of his hand on a shoulder.  I wonder if, even with the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, there were moments, in the still watches of the night, when they thought about what life was like before Easter.  If they missed it, if they longed for what they’d known before.  If, in spite of the indwelling, those amber-tipped memories kept them going more than they should have.      

Sometimes, I think we do just that.  We have a close moment with Jesus; we are unabashedly aware and immersed in the presence of the Holy Spirit.  And we live on that moment, letting it carry us, for longer than we should.  We let the memory of that moment feed our spirits, and instead of straining forward, we rest.  We slow.  We become stagnant. 

Empty Boat by Nancy Poucher

But that’s not what Christ asked his disciples to do.  They were to press forward, to live on the current and immediate presence of the Holy Spirit; not rest on their memories of the Incarnation.  And so, too, He requires his followers now to press forward.  Keep going, keep moving toward him.  When we have a moment with Jesus, with the Spirit, that is so other-worldly we can’t forget it, we are right to treasure it.  We are right to pull it out, and let it warm us in times that are weary and dark. 

But we shouldn’t rest on it so long that we grow weak from leaning too much on it.  Jesus calls us ever forward, ever toward him, ever deeper into his love.

Today, I recognize that I have spent too much time leaning on what was before.  Today, I recognize that the impetuous of Easter is forward motion.  Today, I recognize that I am to hold close those tender moments, to save them for when the road is too hard; but I am to press ever on.  Seeking other wanderers, offering hope to those in need of rescue, giving love to those who have been long forgotten by fellow sojourners. 

Today, I rise to action, out of love

because HE ROSE.