The Jesuit Guide To (Almost) Everything - James Martin [31]
Or we simply don’t recognize these moments as possibly having their origins in God.
“I don’t believe in God, but I miss Him.” That’s Julian Barnes, beginning his memoir Nothing to Be Frightened Of. Barnes is the acclaimed author of many books, including Flaubert’s Parrot. (More about that unusual bird later.) He takes as his subject his overpowering fear of death. Barnes writes, “I miss the God that inspired Italian painting and French stained glass, German music and English chapter houses, and those tumbledown heaps of stone on Celtic headlands which were once symbolic beacons in the darkness and the storm.”
Barnes misses God. Who is to say that this “missing” does not arise from the very desire for God, which comes from God?
One friend, a self-described workaholic who hadn’t been to church for many years, once went to a baptism of a friend’s child. Suddenly she was overtaken by powerful feelings—mainly the desire to live a more peaceful and centered existence. She began to cry, though she didn’t know why. She told me that she felt an intense feeling of peace as she stood in church and watched the priest pour water over the baby’s head.
To me, it seemed clear what was happening: she was experiencing in that moment, when her defenses were down, God’s desires for her. And it makes sense that a religious experience would happen in the context of a religious ceremony. But she laughed and dismissed it. “Oh,” she said, “I guess I was just being emotional.” And that was that.
It’s a natural reaction: much in Western culture tries to tamp down or even deny these naturally spiritual experiences and explain them away in purely rational terms. It’s chalked up to something other than God.
Likewise we may dismiss these events as being too common, too simple to come from God. Mike, a Jesuit high school teacher, once preached a short homily in our house chapel. The reading for the day was a story from the Old Testament, 2 Kings 5:1–19, about Naaman the Syrian. Naaman, commander of the Syrian king’s army, is suffering from leprosy and is sent by the king to ask the prophet Elisha for healing. In response Elisha tells him to do something simple: bathe in the Jordan River seven times.
Naaman is furious. He thought that he would be asked to wash in some other river, some more important river. His servants say, “If the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it?” (v. 13). In other words, why are you looking for some spectacular task? Do the simple thing. Naaman does it and is healed.
Mike said that our search for God is often like Naaman’s. We’re searching for something spectacular to convince us of God’s presence. Yet it is in the simple things, common events and common longings, where God may be found.
You may also fear accepting these moments as signs of the divine call. If you accept them as originating with God, you might have to accept that God wants to be in relationship with you or is communicating with you directly, which is a frightening idea.
Fear is a common experience in the spiritual life. Confronted with an indication that God is close to you can be alarming. Thinking about God wanting to communicate with us is something that many of us would rather avoid.
That is why so many stories in the Bible about men and women encountering the divine begin with the words, “Do not be afraid.” The angel announcing the birth of Jesus to Mary says, “Do not be afraid” (Luke 1:30). Nine months later, on the eve of the birth of Jesus, the angel in the fields greets the shepherds with “Do not be afraid“ (Luke 2:10). And when Jesus performs one of his first miracles in front of St. Peter, the fisherman falls to his knees out of awe and fear. ”Go away from me!“ says Peter. And Jesus says, again, ”Do not be afraid” (Luke 5:10).
Fear is a natural reaction to the divine, to the mysterium tremendum et fascinans,