A week or so ago I wanted pictures of sunrise from the mountains, so I got up before dawn and drove north of Boulder to Flagstaff Mountain. Only I didn't actually check the weather or anything. I got there, and it was already a grey bucket of suck. It was cold, overcast, and had I concentrated on what I wanted instead of what I got, it would have been ugly and unwelcome. Instead, I focused on the here and now, on what was right there in front of me. This tree, this icicle, hanging from this rock. This mist swirling around my feet and shoulders.
I ended up having the most amazing experience ever. It started to snow. Black ice formed, and the dogs and I slid our way down the mountain. There were wild turkeys. There were elk. There was holiness and connection and light and love. I pondered the "mountaintop experiences" of my misspent youth in Pentecostal holy rollerism. I concluded that maybe they were all wrong and stupid to attribute a mountain top experience to G-d when maybe it was just the mountaintop.
Later that week I told my friend Irim about the experience. She reminded me of the name G-d gave himself in the bible: I AM, meaning "this present moment." That resonated.
Yesteday I went to contemplative mass at the liberal Catholic parish. There was music and there was silence. We had reflection questions. This was the one that spoke to me.
"In Matthew, Christ the King is described as a shepherd. Some modern shepherds are using technology to keep track of their sheep: a collar with a heart monitor senses when sheep are in distress and sends a text message to the shepherd, along with the sheep’s location. If you could send a text to Christ the Shepherd, what would it say?"
After making my way home on public transit, I texted my priest the following: "Dude. What the fuck are you thinking? Where the hell are you? Get your ass back here. Do you have any clue what these wolves are up to?" #textstojesus
Later in the mass we did the sign of peace in silence. I felt an echo of the mountaintop as I held and hugged people in silence. Eucharist was immediately afterwards. Eucharist is the center of the life of the church for me. It is the reason we come together. I was scared, and I was yearning. I cannot say that I believe currently. I cannot even say I want to believe. I want to tear down everything that is false, and rebuild what can remain, no matter how small. So I stood in line, and when Mother Kae put communion in my hand I literally COULD NOT say "Amen". I started to cry. I said "L-rd, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief."
I took the Body of Christ and ate. I took the Blood of Christ and drank. There was no connection, there was no Jesus. There was dry bread. I choked on the dry bread. There was wine. I had a sip of red wine, and there was nothing except a slight improvement in the ability to swallow the bread. I stumbled back to my chair. I sniffled quietly. I let the tears fall. I remembered the mountain top, and I remembered I AM, this present moment. And I thought "Even in dryness, I AM. Even in unbelief, I AM. Even in nothingness, I AM. So this too is G-d. This too is this present moment. This too is presence.
And it was
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