Sunday, April 8, 2007

Dearest God,

A couple years ago I purchased a CD entitled, Weaving Strands. A Native American tape, it lifts up the contribution of female Native American musicians. I listened to it and could not quite connect. I put it in a drawer and a few days ago I found it. I played it and still nothing really happened.

It was Good Friday. I had tried to prepare myself to get in touch with Christ, to live into the dark period just before the crucifixion. I feel an obligation as a Christian to enjoin myself to this experience as much as the love he offeres. Can't have one without the other. Crucifixion without love is senseless. Love without crucifixion is meaningless.

I had spent time in silence, kneeling in the back pew. I had sung "cross" songs on the way to a wedding. I had performed the wedding, sat at the head table with the couple, enjoyed seeing old friends, eaten a fine dinner.

At nearly 11:00 p.m. I headed into the dark to make the 45 minute drive home. I turned on the CD player, surprised when Weaving Strands started to play. Something happened. The music unexpectedly entered my soul. Each song, the chanting, flute playing, drums and singing were beautiful. In the dark night I felt the deep source, the origin of the music. I hummed, harmonized when possible, I felt myself dancing, my spirit in touch with the artists. The deep tones, especially the drums took me to a different place. That was when I realized I was back at the cross.

You had returned me back home with you which is exactly where I had wanted to be. You taught me to anticipate God's presence becoming visible in unlikely places. You drew me to an experience that I did not expect. What do Native American music, Good Friday and the cross, and a wedding have in common? I might have thought nothing. But I was wrong. They all lead back to you, separately and together. Although I was tired when I walked in the door at midnight, I was aware that I had met God on Good Friday after all.

So often
I am short-sighted.
I see only
what I have seen before.
I don't think
about seeing anything else.
But then you come,
restoring sight to the blind.
Oh, Lord,
sometimes I am blind,
blind to the possibilities
of you.
I can't see
because I'm not looking
or I see something
I don't like.
Take the scales
from my eyes.
Pour into my eyes
the cleansing waters
so that I may
see through your eyes.
Make me to see
You.

Love always, Andrea