Abiding

“Abide in me as I abide in you.” Jesus speaks these words in John 15 in the well known “I am the vine, you are the branches” parable of which songs and poems have been written over the centuries. I like metaphors and I therefore always loved the rich imagery of God as the vinegrower and pruner. I never paid much attention to His command to abide.

Theologian and storyteller Dr. Meg McKenna references this abiding in her introduction to Harm Not the Earth. The verb “abide” is used eleven times in the first eleven verses of John 15. “It is a very religious and biblical word, and one that is not often used in familiar conversation. It means: to tolerate, endure, act in accordance with, remain faithful to (as in a promise). One always abides ‘in’ – it isn’t something one does alone.”

That puts a whole new spin on Jesus’ “wherever two or more are gathered in my name.” He promises His presence with certainty when two or more people pray together. He’s also present when I am alone in prayer without another person, for He is one and I am one and we are one together.

Ever since I read her words several days ago, I've been struck with Jesus' side of abiding in our relationship; what he is tolerating and enduring me the way spouses and friends tolerate and endure each other's idiosyncracies and stubbornnesses; and how He is "acting in accordance with" who I am being and how far I am allowing Him into my heart and life. If I can expand my time with Him, He can expand His work through me. If I can open more of my heart to Him, He can increase my compassionate response to all who my words, my glance, my touch, my voice can reach. In truth, they are His words, glance, touch, and voice to begin with for I am His. He will act in accordance with what I give Him.

When my children were growing up, we'd call them into the front room away from the rest of the house when we wished to speak to them privately. They were always a bit nervous when we did so, for their immediate fear was they'd done something wrong and were about to be chastised. Our response to Jesus when He says, "Come to me (all you who are weary)" is often the same. Our desired conversation with our children was certainly sometimes to correct an approach they were choosing, but more times, it was an encouragement, a suggestion of help with something that was challenging them, or a secret surprise we were planning for another family member.

"Abide in me" requires our choice to do so. He can abide in us only "in accordance with" how much we allow Him to do so. Our gift of free will is unretreivable; God will never take it away. It is eternally ours and honored by God. Our biggest challenge seems to be going to the front room without fear, in complete trust in the enormous gentleness and exquisiteness tenderness of love filled with mercy and faithfulness of the very One Who created us in the first place.

Forgiveness

We focus so long on the closed door - for example, anger we may be feeling - that we fail to notice the open window we can go through. Forgiveness is the open window, the escape from the room filled with hurt and anger in which we feel trapped. But we're not trapped at all really. We can leave any time. It is only our stubbornness or desire for revenge or apology that keeps us there.

God is like the firemen outside that window of the burning building of your anger.

"Jump. I'll catch you," He begs.

He will catch you. His arms are wider than the entire universe that we can conceive in our minds, and then some. He is our safety net. It is our choice always to either die in the flames or leap to safety, leaving the hot anger for Satan and his minions. It is always our choice.

My forgiveness felt like I was jumping on a trampoline. I'd let go, release myself from the fiery anger and leap into the safety net. Ga-boing! Next thing I knew, I was back on the edge of the window of the burning room. I'd actually, figuratively, walk back into the hot, burning room and walk around it, revisiting my anger. Then, I'd leap again and Ga-boing again.

"As soon as we understand something, we have to be detached from our understanding in order to keep abreast of the exquisite delicacies of the divine action," says Fr. Thomas Keating (Contemplative Outreach News, vol. 27, No. 2, June 2011). To be detached means letting go. God shows us this with His Divine Mercy, endlessly forgiving us our sins and insensitivities, our stubbornness and misbehaviors the way a gentle parent firmly guides and overlooks a two year old's bad behaviors, choosing to focus on how adorable she/he is when sleeping or cuddling or innocently observing life. We have a hard time understanding how God can forgive us because we think only of the "terrible" part of the terrible two's, or focus only on the number of dandelions in the grass instead of the thousands of beautiful blades of green grass before us. Likewise, in trying to forgive, we must choose to see the grass not the dandelions, see the beauty in the child at rest, not the behavior of the child who's overtired or overwhelmed.

Forgiveness begins with our consent to forgive and is completed by God's merciful grace that finishes the job and puts out the fire. It is always easier to dig out the root of one dandelion than to ignore it until it has spread its seeds far and wide. When we form the habit of daily prayer, Mass, or lectio divina, we give God the opportunity to purify us, to weed out our dandelions and keep our souls green and fertile, or if you prefer, filtering our muddy waters so His "divine light can penetrate to the bottom of our being." Keating

excerpt from my soon-to-be-published memoir, Leavened.