‘The mystery of God’s presence can be touched only by a deep awareness of his absence. It is the center of our longing for the absent God that we discover his footprints, and realize that our desire to love God is born out of the love with which he has already touched us. In the patient waiting for the loved one, we discover how much he has filled our lives already. Just as the love of a mother can grow for her son can grow deeper when he is far away, just as children can learn to appreciate their parents more once they have left home, just as lovers can rediscover each other during long periods of absence, so our intimate relationship with God can become deeper and more mature by the purifying experience of his absence.’
– Henri Nouwen, Letters to Marc About Jesus.
Lent is an intriguing, interesting, perplexing paradox. It starts at the time of year where winter and spring engage in a wrestling match for dominance over one another, even though spring always wins out in the end. It involves letting go of parts of life in order to discover other parts of life that have been with you all the time. It invites us to listen to a silent Voice, to look for an invisible Vision, to think about an uncontainable Being, to feel a mysterious Spirit.
In short, during lent, we are to engage an absent Presence.
that sounds really esoteric and uber-namby-pamby, no?
i mean, about the only place i could conceivably go from that statement is into the ether-sphere of pseudo-philosopho-babble (if there even is such a thing). and as hard as i may try (and even succeed on occasion), there are still many others more gifted than i to pontificate along that line of reasoning. i just seem to be a little too earthy for that.
i think about music instead. and movies. and food. and empty clothes hampers.
last saturday, i arrived home from springfield, mo, after celebrating my in-laws’ 50th wedding anniversary with kirsten and the boys and most of her family. it was a wonderful and memorable occasion. i came home a day before the rest of my family so that i could be at church on sunday (it IS my job, after all).
so i was home. alone.
at first, i enjoyed my new-found and short-lived freedom. i put on the music i wanted to listen to. i rented a movie i wanted to watch. i ordered the pizza i wanted to eat. i didn’t think about what anyone else in my family may have wanted to hear or eat or watch. the ‘lion’ within me was set loose for a night. ‘I AM BRIAN…HEAR ME ROAR!’
and then i listened to the music…and i watched the movie…and i ate most of the pizza. and none of that could fill the loneliness that crept into my senses after i finished my little bit ‘o fun.
i started wandering around the house looking for something, someone, anyone. the roar of my soul had turned into a rumbling in my stomach, and then an ache that came more from my heart than anywhere else. i went into our downstairs bathroom to sit down and wallow in my sadness.
after a few moments, i noticed an unmistakable scent. it came from the boys’ clothes hamper. it was empty, but the smell of their dirty laundry still emanated from the straw fibers of its being (they ARE teenaged boys, after all).
it’s a pretty unbearable smell, one that i’m counting the days until it dissipates (or at least until they embrace the wisdom of showering more than once or twice a week). but in that moment, it didn’t disgust me. rather, it made me smile. and then laugh. and then ROAR with joy.
then i went into the boys’ rooms…and i swear as i sat in the stillness and silence, i could hear ian’s infectious, musical giggle, trevor’s impersonation of will ferrell doing alex trebec on celebrity jeopardy, both of them singing along to their favourite music…and i swear they were there, right beside me. not physically, but in Spirit.
i went upstairs and had a similar experience of kir’s presence…in our bathroom, our dresser, the empty half of our bed…our empty clothes hamper. these were not just memories being rekindled in my imagination.
their presence was real to me.
and i experienced their presence in their absence.
people will point to to a bird flying in the air or leaves rustling in the trees or the shape of sand dunes in the desert or on the beach to describe the reality of air, the power of the wind. you can’t see it, but signs of its presence are everywhere. when i hear insights such as these, i’m reminded of a quote from Jeremiah Biggs, a child in one of my favourite Christmas movies, The Preacher’s Wife:
Just because you can’t see the air doesn’t keep you from breathing.
And just because you can’t see God doesn’t keep you from believing.
and while these thoughts ring true, what i experienced the other night – and perhaps what we are all called to experience during lent – is not so much a reminder of the invisible nature and presence of God, but rather, an encounter with the One whose presence is actually revealed most poignantly IN his absence. maybe it’s something more along the lines of needing to experience the emptiness of hunger in order to truly receive the pleasurable sustenance of food as a gracious gift rather than as something i earned the right to enjoy. or needing to feel the pangs of loneliness so that i might be opened more fully to the real presence of companionship, relationship, love.
to sense the joy in suffering.
to engage the pleasure in pain.
to experience the Presence in absence.