Clear Water in the Wilderness
Last week, I wrote about the need for silence and solitude in our walk with God. This week, from Sunday night to Tuesday noon, I had the opportunity to put my own advice into practice while on a spiritual retreat.
With Good Friday in view, I was overwhelmed on this retreat by the reality of Jesus’ own silence before his accusers, and the tremendous love he showed in the wilderness of his waiting: waiting through insults, waiting through physical beatings and torture, even waiting through the agony of the cross. In witnessing Jesus’ waiting, the ways of God become increasingly clear. And in choosing to practice even a small bit of waiting ourselves, clarity can also be received.
In that spirit, I offer you a short parable that I composed a few years ago, though based on some real life experience! – Pastor Gregg
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On the arch of a modest footbridge, a novice monk and his master rendezvoused. Such was their daily practice. Master and disciple would walk side by side and speak—sometimes with words—of the mysteries of the spiritual life and the wonders of the biotic life that teemed below in the clear stream their footsteps traced. The ways of fish and snails. Ferns and aquatic plants.
One spring afternoon, as the sun reached its midday apex, the monks diverged from their usual path. The master guided his charge to a low lying bog where murkier waters swilled. As the disciple took in this unfamiliar landscape, the corners of his eyes grew tight, nostrils lifted in displeasure. The master produced an empty glass water jug from the recesses of his robe and crouched beside the turbid waters. “What do you see?” he queried. The dirty swirl of the bog was impenetrable. With a simple motion, the master submerged his water carrier and allowed the brackish water to flow in. The glass darkened as debris and water swirled around.
“Here is your daily direction,” counseled the master. “Take the water jug and return to the bridge. Close your eyes. Rest there, and relinquish all that your mind presents to your spirit. When you are serene in the deep places of your soul, open your eyes once more and look to the water.”
The disciple retreated to the bridge and followed the spiritual direction of his master. With quiet confidence, he drew his eyelids down. At once, a herd of wild animals began parading before his spiritual sight: stalking concerns, roaring anxieties, slithering self-pities, fears stalking his hopes of what could be and what would never be. Then ghosts arose: specters of regret, resentment, revenge.
Finally, from the deepest fathoms, came creatures of such darkness that they have no name.
The disciple watched, waited, and breathed deeply - trusting as each wave of concern broke upon the horizon and then disappeared into the deep.
After all these had passed, the surface of the disciple’s soul became serene. There he stayed, face uplifted, time’s grip loose. His mind became settled, silent, still. In this place of rest, the faintest echo of the master’s voice called the disciple to open his peace-quieted eyes.
Before him remained the jar of bog water, but now altered. The dark swirl had ceased.
The water appeared clean, clear, glowing in the first gold of evening light.
All the debris that once hung in suspension, had now sunk to the bottom in a modest lump.
All was serene.