Apparently, somebody snapped this picture of me at Lynchburg Prays yesterday.
Candidly, I struggled to connect with this large, boisterous gathering like I did at the first (much-smaller) event. I experienced some practices outside of my faith journey. I was distracted by the voices around me. I struggled to focus my prayers. I grew impatient with extended moments. My arrogance cast shadows on the parishioners of other churches who surrounded me. I knew I was wrong. I also knew the discomfort was beneficial for me.
Healing usually requires pain or at least awkwardness.
I’ve learned that right feelings often follow right behavior. So, I knelt and bowed to the ground—one of the international symbols of submission and surrender.
I’ve had to do that a lot during the past few years, and especially over the past few months. When my heart wants to stand and demand others to conform to my wishes and my worldview, I need to get low. To listen. To ask questions. To read or watch or listen to voices different than my own. I need to hold my hands open and relinquish my ego. I need to recognize the trauma or influences that have shaped others, and I need to admit I’m a product of the same. As during this photographed moment, I don’t have words. I can’t give answers, because I don’t have them. But I can give posture and silence—and space for God to feel his voice invited.
