Imagination of the Spirit

Reading a book called, The Sacrifice of Africa, by Emmanuel Katongole. One word-- Excellent. (Review to come)

I'm mulling over a central theme of his-- the imagination. As he addresses the weaknesses, in particular, of the social and political imagination of Africa, I noticed that my imagination for the celebration of Pentecost is so wrapped in the images of the church receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit, that I'm not sure I have left space to imagine new ways that the Spirit reveals himself and inhabits the world around me.

A helpful way Katongole addresses this in his book is to provide stories of how he's seen successful re-imagining. Perhaps the comments section will provide space to explore some stories.

Regardless, may your day and mine be filled with the Spirit, and an imagination open to seeing him at work in preparation for the celebration of Pentecost this week.

To wear faithfulness

To wear faithfulness in front of others
was to go completely rogue.  
It wasn’t my style,
nor was it in vogue.

But in the midst of my closet of shame,
faithfulness and vulnerability
were calling my name.

They did not fit,
in my eyes they did not flatter.
But my taste in style
didn’t seem to matter.

It called me out,
it claimed my pride.
The chic I sought
inevitably turned tide.

What I saw on them
was not really fitting for me.
My body shape
was not meant to be
a thing for those clothes
it was for me
to be a place of humility.

A place to restore,
a place to be home.
No more wrestling,
no more to roam.

To claim independence
and tranquility,
I lay my pride,
and hurt to thee.

You name it as a thing of stone,
and tailor it to be your own.
A dress with pearls,
a sackcloth with ash.
In each light,
it’s can’t be matched.

For the clothing you design
never goes out of style.
Wrapped in love,
it does beguile.
It swoons the hardened heart to be
a soft and precious purity.

Mesmerized by its truth,
it honors, sanctifies, and moves,
us to a rich and sweet perfume.
It drapes across our bod in ways
that could not, should not, be imitated.

For this fine fabric
of vulnerability,
kindness, and modesty
in truth is strength
in its entirety.

Only made by
one in three,
a weaver great,
the trinity.

And while faithfulness
is not the rage,
indeed to wear it in any age,
is to be a trend setter,
an example be,
for others, for self,
for all authority.

"For my deepest fear is for them to look at me, and only see what God is not using me for."

The Table-- a balance

When I was 16 everything was exciting. Every moment of worship was complete surrender. It was easy then, as I had every hardship to surrender and yet not a whole lot in my control. And it was all so mundane-- starting at a youth conference in Southern Illinois on a college campus, with a “rocking” band, great speakers, and an acting group called “One Time Blind”. Fond memories to be sure. Typical, though. As I look back on it, I sometimes conceal that time because of the archetypal nature of it all—teen, youth convention, music, emotional highs, etc.

But tonight, I understood those moments anew again. I was caught up in the complete surrender of myself to God. And I realized that no matter the circumstance, no matter the formula—I am in control of my surrender. And if, in those moments as a teen, I surrendered so completely because of circumstance—I still made the commitment. It was still my choice and I made it. No one else.

Tonight was different. It was on my terms, in my home, and amidst only me and my closest friend. And this time, it was a surrender to give up some of the most planned moments of my life. And in exercising my abandon, I remembered those freeing moments of my youth. And I realized, though I have been their most ardent judge and critic, I yearned to continue the honesty and unadulterated authenticity found there. In employing abandon, I used the most unused part of me—my full reliance on God. It cannot be taught outside of these experiences. And I realized that I had not used, what others would call recklessness and I name as faith, in so complete a way since my youth.

And it felt beyond belief.

It was so beautiful I cried.

And perhaps it was emotional, or circumstantial. But I realize that emotions and circumstance should have every reason to sit at the table with reason and diplomacy. They have a voice, too. And they have been mute too long. They awakened a part of me that has long been silent in this world of academia.  Too silent to be an honest reflection of myself. So, welcome back one and all to the table. May you speak with freedom, and may grace abound.