Beyond the Cloudy Skies
On the light that you cannot see...
I like to go outside in the early morning. Before the sun goes up. One of my favorite things to do is stargaze as I meditate on the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our Father, who art in heaven,”
I say as I look towards the heavens.
“Hallowed be thy name.”
Looking at the vastness of the sky, those words land a little differently. One Jewish observance I’ve long admired is the commitment to not even attempting to speak God’s name. Even by accident. And when I think about God having created the universe I get a glimpse of when I’m up early in the morning… I, too, worry about whether trying to name such a dangerous creator is a bit presumptuous.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
Walking around my neighborhood, I stare at the heavens and think about them as the unquestioned domain of a supernatural Creator. And I look forward to the day that we, here on earth recognize, that everything we see down here is ordered by the same Creator. Maybe we’ll learn to stop trying to overrun it with our own designs someday.
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
Recognizing God’s power gives me not only the confidence to ask God for what I need, but the peace to ask for just enough for today—recognizing that such a Creator holds the future in their very being.
“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
This is the first part of the routine that genuinely challenges me. It’s the first request that comes with a condition. It’s the reminder that I’m asking God to reward me with forgiveness… to the extent that I forgive other people. And I won’t lie… sometimes I don’t feel like forgiving people. But as I wander beneath the stars, I am reminded of how small I am even as God has empowered me to take up space in the universe. It’s a humbling experience every time. And so I keep praying. As we forgive our debtors. Almost as if to say “remind me that loving an enemy requires seeing myself in them.”
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
I love that part of the routine. I get to get bossy with God. “C’mon now! Don’t test me! SAVE ME!”
“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. Forever.”
That’s when I back off that bossy stuff from the line before. “I’m just kiddin’ big G! You in charge! Always!”
“Amen.”
May it be so.
That routine is how I like to start my mornings. I’ve found that it keeps me grounded.
But every now and then… my routine is disrupted. By the atmosphere. Because when it’s cloudy, I cannot see the stars.
I’m left staring into a dark gray void.
The sights I look to for hope and inspiration are hidden behind a mass of gasses that are even hard to see themselves, because it’s dark out. All of the sources of light (and their reflections) are hidden behind these clouds.
And it feels like I’m just saying these words into an empty void.
But on one such cloudy morning, I had to remind myself: the stars are still there. Even when you can’t see them. Behind those clouds, all of the lights you’ve come to meditate with are still there, shining as bright as ever.
Sometimes, it’s easy to be distracted by the darkness.
But through it all—the light is still there.
Here’s a couple of pictures I snapped (in the Wasatch mountain range in Utah) last week that remind me of that truth.
I like playing with words. So that’s what I do. Whether it be with tweets, videos, essays, sermonic presentations, Bible studies, podcasts, or speaking engagements of other sorts, I’m always trying to figure out how to provoke an image in a seeker with some combination of words.
If you’ve enjoyed any of the words I have to offer, check out my book Theologizin’ Bigger: Homilies on Living Freely and Loving Wholly wherever books are sold!
