A few frail flurries fall and I sit, in this warm place…wondering.
My New Testament reading this morning is on the Year of Jubilee and I am thinking of freedom. I am thinking of a broken figure in a hospital bed, held prisoner by a body that once was taken for granted–a vehicle at will.
I think of brave words uttered from cracked lips, of a story telling long torment in an able body…and what it takes to realize the gifts we are given each day of our life.
Do you feel like giving up?
It is something I have to ask.
Do you want to live?
I stare out my window and I ask myself this question.
What does it mean to truly live?
To feel each passing moment in my marrow, detect the pull of gravity on my spirit–measure each turn of the earth with outstretched arms? How can I hear a moment call for calm solitude or clamor in wait of raucous celebration? How to be present in each heartbeat and feel each wisp of breath travel through my nose–move through my body as it is carries life into my unknown places?
Today, I need a map. I am lost–all turned about in this thing I call living.
Yesterday, I asked the boys, “What if today is the best day of your life and you miss it? What if you miss it because you are thinking about tomorrow? Or the next day?”
We were taking LucyMae on her Lenten walk–our constitutional these forty holy days. We missed our promise earlier, so we walked in the dark–light from neighbors’ windows peeking out at us.
Their moon-faces and shadow-mouths laughed and under cover of night the tide of their laughter sweeps over me and I know. I know they never would miss the best day of their life.
Children have a way of catching joy and carrying it out into their lives.
Why don’t we?
What if everything you knew and understood was pulled out from under you in a single instant?
The Year of Jubiliee came after seven years of Sabbaths. Seven times seven years. In the fiftieth year, liberty is proclaimed. Debts are cancelled; land returned to its original owner, countrymen who are slaves are freed…
I know that Jesus is our Jubilee. He came to set the captives free.
But there are no answers for lost days here. Only questions.
These empty eyes, these silent muscles do not know about the arcana of Jubilee.
So I bring it.
I come alongside. There are words. But presence is all that is necessary.
And the Name, unsaid, fills the room.
I feel each passing moment in my marrow; detect the pull of gravity on my spirit–stretch arms to feel the earth turning. I hear this moment call to me–it whispers all that is required. Each heartbeat ticks the seconds, each wisp of breath breathes life.
Do you want to live?
The Jubilee is inside of me. Sometimes I give it away.
My work is sacred.