Find Your Way

Teach me your way, Lord,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
— Psalm 86:11 —

On each morning of a typical workday, I drive from my house to the church offices at the Sunwest Campus. I take the same route. I pass the same structures. I see the same road signs. I am fully aware of the speed limits and grant a subtle nod to the police officers as affirmation of my compliance. I do not need to look up directions any more than I need to remind myself to inhale and exhale. This journey has become second nature to me.

Juxtaposed with my commute to the office, my engagement with spiritual practices can be anything but a routine. The irregularity of occurrences is more like an arrhythmia than a steady beat of a metronome. The pulse of my practices is similar to the zeal (or lack thereof) in my efforts; when I do practice a discipline like Sabbath or silence, my mind may be willing but the moments are fleeting from one distraction to another, each one pulling for my attention or excusing me from continuation of the exercise.

 

Teach me your way, Lord,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
— Psalm 86:11 —

 

I wish spiritual disciplines felt more normal for me—“normal” in the sense that I could make time for them, just like I could actually make time out of thin air, period; normal in the sense that I could focus on one thing for 10 minutes so as not to distract me from my effortless ability to balance my work, family, and personal interests; normal in the sense that I could believe these disciplines to be filled with truth as easy as I believe the lies I hear in my head and from others.

Truth is, spiritual disciplines are far less human than I make them out to be. Spiritual disciplines are adventures in the divine, habits in the holy, sacred moments set apart from the way of the world. Spiritual disciplines illuminate a path to discover a new way to be human. My human nature is a part of me—capable of evil, culpable of sin, susceptible to pain—but my soul yearns to praise something… some One good, merciful, and a revelation of joy everlasting. If there is a new way to approach the anxiety I feel, the guilt to which I’m chained, and the longing I have for purpose, then show me the way.

Show me the way to such peace.

Show me the way to such grace.

Show me the way…

 

Teach me your way, Lord,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
— Psalm 86:11 —

 

Oftentimes, in practicing disciplines during Lent (or throughout the year), moments of pain and moments of praise are deeply connected and interwoven. It is difficult to stay on task and keep a rhythm of engaging in prayer or fasting, but there is a feeling of celebration and accomplishment when it becomes a healthy habit; after a length of time aching with an empty stomach, the smallest of morsels is a savory delight. I wish you could jump straight to the celebration without feeling the pain leading up to it, but there is something to the complementary pieces of pain and praise.

It would be so much easier to be “people of the Resurrection” if we didn’t also have to be “people of the Cross.” You can only be brought back to life when you have experienced the darkest depths of this world.[1]

During Lent, we slowly journey with Jesus. Having been all too eager to rush to the Resurrection, Jesus slows us down and shares the pain. Yes, we come to understand the pain of the Crucifixion all the more. We also come to understand his willingness to take on the pain we each experience in our own life, and with each burden we carry, Jesus replaces it with something more lasting, more forgiving, and more whole. Fully human, he feels with you; fully divine, he fills you. Carrying separation and guilt, you feel the weight of sin. Carrying reconciliation and grace, you feel the weight of God’s glory. This is cause for an Easter celebration!

 

Teach me your way, Lord,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
— Psalm 86:11 —

 

lentenguideThere are many routes to take when faced with different seasons of life, and as a church family, Harris Creek invites you to follow a daily guide in order to find your way as we head towards Easter. Take as little as five minutes a day to read a passage from the Bible and reflect on your need for a Savior, and I promise you God’s favor will fall afresh on you as you patiently and reverently pursue God’s grace and truth. Join us during Lent 2015 as we read through the Gospel of John and consider how to apply Scripture into our daily lives. We are sure to have unfaithful missteps along the journey when we forget to read or pass up on a chance to respond to the text, but my prayer for us is that the LORD will show us a way, that we will be encouraged by God’s faithfulness throughout, and that we will be united in awe of who He is.

 

 


 

[1] A local minister reminded me of a quote from Frederick Buechner: “Resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing.” It’s probably also safe to say that the first thing is not going to be the worst thing. Life’s first cry is generally followed by a few more cries along the way to the last thing. Being people of the Cross is not restricted to a particular event but a way of life, an upside-down kind of living in which the lowly, the weak, and the suffering are inverted as the holy, the strong, and those carried into glory.

galanhughes

Husband. Father. Reader and Writer. Disc Golf Enthusiast. Missions & Growth.

You May Also Like

FOSTER CARE: It’s an EMERGENCY!

Lent Day 1 Reflection

1 thought on “Find Your Way”

  1. Amen to find blessed the way to move on in life with the Holy Spirit to quard and showing us many the wells of life to drink waters and milks in delight of heaven to falling in us by faith in expecting miracles daily ,thanks and bless and pray,keijo sweden

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: