Sunday, February 25, 2007

Dearest God,

My preaching has changed from the inside out. Ever since my return from my renewal, I have felt a sense of God's presence on Sunday mornings. The music, the anthem and hymns, always prepare me for preaching. The prayers and liturgy offer me a mini retreat as I step aside from daily living to worship the God who lives among us. By the time I stand to offer the Living Word of God, I feel a wash of waves coming over me, like the ocean at high tide.

Perhaps the most important time in the service for me is the minute or two that I pray as the congregation sings the hymn just before the sermon. I warble the first and/or second verse, then pray until they finish offering their praises. During these valuable moments, I ask God to forgive me. I make my request to be an instrument of God. I want nothing to stand between God and God's people. I want any smudge on my soul to be removed so that I can be an effective speaker for Jesus Christ.

The last few weeks I have felt this spirit consciousness, a holy space developing. My mind and soul can see a visible movement of God. It's like a ripple from the movie Contact. I step inside it or it surrounds me. It is a gentle stirring as I pray. The final moments of that prayer usher me into this different arena. By the time everyone is seated, I am seated as well in the site of the Spirit. I can't explain it any better than that.

As I exhort, I have an uncommon feeling that I am preaching from the inside out. It feels like my sermon is not on the paper or in my head, but rather inside my skin. Like it is a part of me. And no, I don't do drugs. I've never taken a drug so I don't know what that feels like. Never been interested. Won't be. This is a physical feeling. It "wears off" as I walk down the aisle following the service, giving the final blessing. Strange. It's been very strange. Yet, calming, a transparent expose of God's livingness. While I am somewhat mystified, I know its Source.

I feel power surging into me at times. The message feels like a true word of God, however, I am somewhat cautious. After all, I spend time reading the scripture, the commentaries and sometimes excerpts of a book or magazine. I write everything that comes through my mind, sometimes 10 or 12 pages of notes. Then I go back, look over them, begin to sort. Ideas or illustrations will come to me or I will grab a current publication. My hubby will share a thought or two and it begins to come together. That's when I go to bed, sleep on it. In the morning I rise early to continue to work on it, then rewrite it, committing as much of it to memory as possible. I rehearse it on the way to the church.

Do I believe God is part of this process? Absolutely. The caution comes from a rootedness because I tend to enjoy time "in the clouds." Sometimes it's difficult to move downward. Yet, it seems to me that both the clouds and the rootedness give balance both to me and the message. Does that even make sense?

I don't know that I will ever be a great preacher. I don't know if my messages, or God's, will ever penetrate the human soul on Sundays such that people will grab hold of that same feeling, be transformed, and live differently in some area of their life.

I am human, capable of reaching out for the Spirit of God. But I am still human. Clearly, I am not God. Never will be. I'm not a nut like Jim Jones or any of those preachers who "left the planet." Yesterday my humanness thanked God in my prayer for my ordination. For I realize the high calling of God upon this human soul. The message seems to become a mix of the human and the divine. I surmise that is what it is supposed to be.

I know I am rambling. But I am taken aback by my experience these last three weeks. I will stay open, listen. Maybe Lent holds some of life's mysteries for me.

Your Holiness,
your divine mystery
never surprises me.
Yet, I am filled
with awe and wonder
of the highest caliber.
To wander in the spirit world
gives me perspective
and challenges me
in certain places in my being.
Faith is not static,
dull, or dead.
It is living,
acts of God
springing forth.
I can't begin to describe it.
I just know
it is the place of my greatest joy
and humility.

Giving praise, Andrea