“Why do we fast, but you do not see, Lord?
Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?’” (Isaiah 58:3)
I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately. With an electric vehicle and the crazy PG&E prices, I’ve found that there are plenty of places around Novato to park and plug-in for a few hours while I walk over to various coffee establishments to do some church work. Save some money, get some exercise, and get some work done. It’s a win-win-win! (Does that make it a Trinitarian win?)
At any rate...At first, walking was just about getting from one place to another. A minor inconvenience. You see, I’m really busy. My work life, family life, ‘me’ life; it all adds up to something crazy. There’s not a lot of time to waste just walking. So...I’d hurry. Oh no, I don’t run. My knees are not the greatest. But I’d walk about as quick as I could to and from the cafe.
Along my walks I would run into people all the time, some I know, but most I didn’t. I would pass them quickly without a second glance. There was no time for interaction. I’d walk down many streets you all know: Grant, Novato Blvd., Center Rd., all over downtown. Sometimes, when I’d walk along Redwood Blvd in the mornings, I’d notice it was crowded. There were many gentlemen waiting for their rides to get to their respective jobs. And, yes, I’d pass them with hardly a glance too. There are several regulars that sit on street corners begging for food or cash too. Yep, I’d stay away from them too. There were business owners opening up their shops, the regulars making their way to the coffee shops of choice, the employees running late to their work gigs.
They were busy. I was busy. So, we walked on by each other.
Until one day. As I made my way down Redwood, one of the gentlemen waiting for his ride to work collapsed right in front of me. The other men he had been standing with began to squat down beside him checking his pulse, listening for breath. I, too, stopped, and bent down with the group. I’d done CPR training years and years ago and so when they asked if anyone knew CPR I jumped in and offered to help. As I moved closer the man began to stir and even sat himself up, coughing. We all stayed with him for another 5-10 minutes to make sure he was okay. In that time, I met Jorge and Juan, and several other men. When they learned I was a pastor, they asked if I would pray with them and for their friend. And, of course, I did.
Afterwards I wished them all well and moved onto my coffee shop work spot for the morning to begin work on a sermon for the next week; a sermon about faithfulness and discipleship, and about love, and generosity, and sharing good news with the world.
Several sentences in, I stopped. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t seem to do anything.
You see, I’d been telling myself for a while, that my busyness - the countless tasks on my to-do list - were all about Jesus; all about serving the church, sharing the good news with the world, being a disciple, and husband, and parent with all that I am. I was so productive, after all, accomplishing so much.
But God gave me a gift that morning. God made me stop, interrupted my schedule and my plans, to teach me to ‘see’ again.
As the author of Isaiah writes, “Why do we fast” seemingly do what we think is holy, and right, and faithful, and yet we, at times, do not truly see? Why do we seemingly do all the right things, and yet they stunt our spiritual growth through our own blindness?
Sometimes, with the greatest intentions, we do and do and do...but we can begin to put blinders over our eyes. We can get lost in the ‘doing,’ even if the ‘doing’ is centered on being faithful to God, and still develop tunnel vision. We can get lost in ourselves, in our biases, in our preferences, in our patterns of faithfulness, in ways that can blind us from the times God moves us in other directions.
So, for me, my walks became different after that day. They became spiritual walks with God...I spent more time doing the seemingly unimportant, and less time doing all that stuff I thought I had to do. I walk, open to what God might give me, or what I might see, not what I expect to see. I gave up a part of me and my own agenda, so that I might better be a part of God’s, making room for the unexpected.
Perhaps in this season of resurrection, we might all take a step back to look, and listen, and learn to see again. God might just show us a whole new spark of new life.
With Hope & Joy,
Adam
