Crooked Altars
Crooked Altars
(originally written from a previous blog in March 2014)
Last month, I had the opportunity to get away and spend some much needed time alone with God at the Holy Family Shrine. More often than not, when I let too much time lapse between these get-togethers, I’m slapped with the reality of how utterly exhausted I feel. Ever been there? When my ears are pierced with a resounding silence, I find myself flopping down in the pew…my body caving in to the beating of busyness I put it through – limbs growing heavy and I can barely hold my head up. At right about that awkward phase where I contemplate curling up into a sleepy ball (because we all know the coolest way God speaks is through dreams, right??) or pushing through it, His word comes gently,
‘Come to me… I know you are weary…I know you are burdened… I will give you rest.’
Ahhh, there You are. Hey, Jesus.
And the tears flow….and release comes….and long ignored burdens are finally faced. I don’t know the names of those burdens, but I feel them. Their weightiness is brought to the surface especially at times like these where a jealous Bridegroom refuses to be overshadowed by my excuses or ministry…or, if I was really honest – my unwillingness to allow Him to search me and know me in my innermost being… and I Him. Slowly, I felt my tightly-wound heart begin to unravel in His presence.
This past year, I have had the privileged of knowing and meeting with an amazing spiritual director. A sweet little catholic lady who has proved to be the most unexpected blessing in what feels like one of the most formative times in my life. Her soft-spoken words from a previous session echoed loudly and wildly through my head now, ‘Are you able to receive His love?’. The reply that came out of my mouth at her in that first session was nice and spiritual… but my REAL thought was, ‘Seriously, Lady?! You don’t know me! How dare you penetrate my fake facade! I was in Sunday school before I was born! I did the motions to all 122 stanzas of the Father Abraham Song while I floated around in the womb!’ She just stared at me in awkward silence. It was like looking into the very eyes of a poker-faced Jesus….and He was calling my bluff.
“Are you able to receive My love?”
Here He was again, but this time, it was just us. The whole place to ourselves. This moment to ourselves. Finding it hard to catch a breath between the sobs and tears streaming down my face, I looked out the window and exasperatedly choked out probably the most raw, honest words I have ever spoken,
‘I want to, but I don’t know how.’
Immediately, His peace burst in like a violent flood ravaging through a house- sweeping away with it meaningless & futile possessions…a much needed invasion for this cluttered, weary heart. I spent a few minutes there, finally letting Him have his way. I turned to face the front of the sanctuary and something caught my eye…the masonry work on the altar table. This is one of my most favorite places, with gorgeous architecture and amazing water features. I’m sure no penny was spared in making it a blessed haven for weary travelers to meet with God. And here it was – at the very front under the cross, being roped off from visitors out of sacred respect and surrounded by angel statues sat an altar…and it was crooked.
The stones forming the pillars were noticeably off balance, even to my untrained eye, yet the table was completely level. I thought about all the imperfect altars built since the beginning of time, from Noah to Abraham to David, The Last Supper and even taking communion with my church community… all imperfect in some form, but all marking some of the most reverent moments in history between an all-knowing Creator and the ones He called beloved.
I prayed through salty lips, ‘Lord, my altars, the things I lay before you, not knowing what or when or how, I do so imperfectly. I don’t know how to this… to do life. All I do in my attempts to build you that magnificent altar…all my striving…all my control issues to rid these burdens myself… it all falls short in light of who You are.’
“Yes, yet I have declared it sacred & acceptable, because My altar… My life, given for you, was sacred & acceptable. Lay it down once and walk away… don’t touch.”
I grabbed a pen and this is the dialogue that spilled onto the pages of my journal:
Lord, Here is my altar – imperfect & unseen by human eyes, built with the feeblest of hands, half hearted – for desperation & exhaustion override the willingness to do so out of love.
Here is my altar – on it I lay down every attempt I’ve ever made, to gain access to the love you give so freely, without reservation or expectation
Here is my altar – on it I lay the fear of man, the drive to hold onto the burdens of that which I’ve never been called to carry.
Here is my altar – on it I lay down who I am. The parts I know and the parts I wish I didn’t. The parts that make me who I am even though they yet remain unseen.
Child, Here is My Altar – limitless & perfect love declared over you – a love which cannot be attained to, worked for or earned. Only simply received.
Here is My Altar – the way of the cross – where personal rights don’t exist and wrongs are forgiven. Where I was forsaken in order that you would never be alone.
Here is My Altar – where my strength is made perfect in weakness, where perfect love not only casts out fear, it makes no room for it in the first place.
Here is My Altar – my dwelling place in you. A place I have deemed sacred – the place where I am more near than the very breath you breathe. Where My glory is manifested as I am glorified.
That is My Altar. Now go and live loved.