A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “Go ahead and sit comfortably. Close your eyes, if you wish. Release the noise and distractions and chaos. Let go of everything that keeps you from being fully present to God right in this moment. Invite the Holy Spirit to open your ears to hear the Living Word.”

  Katherine’s voice was becoming irritatingly soothing, and Charissa shifted her hips in the chair. If she starts leading some kind of New Age breathing exercise, I swear I’m bolting out this door.

  Katherine said, “I’m going to read John 1:35-39, which takes place on the day after John the Baptist baptized Jesus. As I read the story, listen for a word or phrase that catches your attention. When you hear that word or phrase, just sit with it for a while.” Charissa dutifully closed her eyes and listened as Katherine read slowly. Very slowly.

  The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.

  The room was still as each person presumably sat with the word or phrase that had resonated. The word teacher caught Charissa’s attention. No surprise there. Now what? What was she supposed to do with it? She wasn’t sure if the word had chosen her, or if she had chosen it. And since she didn’t have any particular thoughts concerning it, she just waited until Katherine read the text again.

  Long minutes passed. What was taking so long? How could they be meditating this long on such a short and simple passage? C’mon, c’mon. Charissa crossed her legs, uncrossed her legs, and recrossed her legs.

  When Katherine spoke again, her voice was hushed. “Listen now for how that word or phrase connects with your life. What is God saying to you in this word?”

  The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon.

  This time something else caught Charissa’s attention: What are you looking for? The teacher was asking his would-be students why they were following him. What did they actually want? The students didn’t know. All they knew was that they needed time to investigate. They wanted to learn and understand. See? Why was “learning” the wrong answer?

  Learning was her passion, an insatiable thirst. If Jesus had asked her the question, “What are you looking for?” her honest answer would have been, “To know more.”

  At that moment another verse came to mind. Charissa couldn’t remember where it was from, and that irritated her almost as much as the verse itself: You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.

  You refuse to come to me.

  You refuse to come to me.

  Charissa heard the refrain again and again. What did that verse have to do with anything? She sat up straighter in her chair, half-opening her eyes to glance around the room. Nobody else seemed to have their eyes open, and many of them were sitting with their faces upturned and their hands cupped, as if they were receiving something.

  Like what?

  She closed her eyes again and exhaled slowly. How much longer was she going to have to sit in the silence?

  You refuse to come to me.

  The silence wasn’t silent at all. Not only was she hearing the swirling of words in her head, but now there was the sound of pounding in her ears. Pound, pound, pound. She pressed her fingers firmly against her forehead to try to stop the noise.

  Pound, pound, pound. Like a fist on a door.

  Katherine’s voice spoke above the pounding. “Now listen for God’s invitation to you,” she said. “This is the time to talk with God about what you’ve heard and seen.”

  But Charissa did not want to talk to God. She wanted to disappear from the group and not come back. She hardly heard the words as Katherine read the text again because her head was still ringing with the fragment of the verse that had caught her off guard. You refuse to come to me to have life. You refuse to come to me to have life . . . come to me to have life. Come to me to have life.

  Wait! Was that the invitation Katherine was talking about? “Come and see,” she heard Katherine say.

  Come.

  And see.

  See what?

  Drawing Near

  “So, what are you looking for, Hannah?” Katherine asked as the two of them sat together at the back corner table just past noon. The room was empty except for Meg, who was clearing away coffee mugs.

  “I’m not sure,” Hannah replied. “I’m just not sure how to manage this sabbatical. I want it to be a fruitful time for me, but so far I feel like I’m not accomplishing anything. I’m just feeling sluggish and tired.” She sighed slowly and tucked her hair behind her ears. “My senior pastor suggested finding a spiritual director, but I’ve never had a director before, and I don’t know much about it.”

  Katherine smiled and handed Meg her coffee mug. “Spiritual direction is all about prayerful attention,” she responded. “A director isn’t there to solve problems or give advice. The director’s role is simply to help you notice the movement of God in your life, to help you perceive the deep stirrings and longings in your spirit. And the Holy Spirit is always the primary director in the process.” Katherine leaned closer, meeting Hannah’s eyes. “Picture your life as a sacred text—the story of your life with God. By listening attentively to the Holy Spirit, a spiritual director engages in lectio divina, prayerfully reading the text of your life. It’s a ministry of holy listening, with one ear attuned to the Holy Spirit and one ear attuned to your story. No agenda. No achievement plan. Just a time and place set apart for drawing near together to the living God.”

  Hannah thought for a moment before she replied. She wished someone would give her an agenda and an achievement plan, anything to help direct her time. Still, there was something attractive about the luxury of someone listening prayerfully to her life, and Katherine seemed like a trustworthy companion for the journey. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need,” Hannah said. “I feel like there’s so much churning around inside me right now, and I’m not sure how to process all of it. It feels dark and chaotic, and I’m too close to it, you know? I don’t have any perspective. No direction.”

  Katherine touched Hannah’s sleeve. “It’s hard to see light and hope when you’re in the middle of all the stirring, isn’t it? We need people hovering with the Spirit over our lives, watching for signs of life in the midst of the chaos and darkness. I’d be happy to explore that with you, Hannah.”

  Chaos, darkness, a hovering Spirit. Hannah hoped God would speak something into being. And soon. She was tired of the formless void.

  “Are you sure you’re up for lunch?” Meg asked as she and Hannah walked out to the parking lot together.

  “Absolutely!” Hannah exclaimed. Though she had packed some snacks this time, she had eagerly accepted Meg’s timid invitation. “How about if I follow you there?”

  They were just getting ready to head to their cars when they spotted Charissa pacing, visibly agitated as she talked on her cell phone. Hannah couldn’t help overhearing part of the conversation as they approached.

  “I don’t know, Mom. When I turned on my phone, there was a message from John’s friend Tim, saying that the ambulance was taking him to the hospital. And now Tim’s phone is off and I’m here without a car and I don�
��t know what to do.” Charissa started to cry. “No . . . no . . . There’s nothing you can do. I’ve left messages for a bunch of people, but nobody’s answering, and I just don’t know who else to call . . . I know . . . okay . . . I’ll call you later . . . Love you too, Mom . . . ” Charissa slumped onto a bench, holding her head in her hands.

  “Charissa?” Hannah said quietly, trying not to startle her. “Can I help you?” Charissa looked up and quickly wiped her nose. Meg reached into her purse and handed her a pack of tissues. “I couldn’t help overhearing something about a hospital and needing a ride,” Hannah continued. “If you can tell me where to go, I’ll take you.”

  “It’s my husband,” Charissa answered. “I don’t know what happened! He was playing football this morning, and he must’ve gotten hit hard. I don’t know . . . They just said they were taking him to St. Luke’s in an ambulance and that was almost an hour ago and I don’t know what’s happening!”

  Meg extended her hand to Charissa, gently helping her to her feet. “It’s okay, Charissa,” Meg said. “We’ll get you there.” She looked at Hannah. “Maybe it would be easier if we all got in my car. I know how to get there.”

  By the time they reached the hospital, Charissa had regained her composure. Meg dropped them off at the emergency room entrance and went to park the car. While Charissa stood in line at the desk, Hannah sat down on an orange plastic chair in the waiting room.

  “They’ve got him in for a CAT scan right now,” Charissa informed Hannah when she joined her a few minutes later. “They’ll let me back there as soon as they’ve brought him down from the radiology department.” She breathed heavily. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before. I’m sorry I fell apart like that. I just didn’t know what to do.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” Hannah said. “Just glad to be able to help.”

  Charissa sat back in the chair, looking up at the cable news program on an overhead television. “I hope they let me back there soon. I hate not knowing what’s going on.”

  Hannah followed her gaze to the television set and watched the closed captions scroll past. “I know,” Hannah said. “Waiting is really hard.” Charissa seemed lost in thought and did not reply. Hannah began to scan the rest of the room, trying to discern the stories behind the people sitting there.

  The young mother wasn’t difficult. Her face was clouded in apprehension as she rocked a lethargic baby, stroking the infant’s head and murmuring, “You’re okay, you’re okay . . . ” Hannah couldn’t help thinking that she was whispering the words not only to comfort her child, but to soothe and reassure herself.

  Then there was the gray-bearded man with shoulder length curly hair, wearing a leather biker’s jacket and holding his arm gingerly. He had his face clenched like a fist, trying to look like he wasn’t in pain.

  The man reading a newspaper, wearing two different colored socks and drinking from a Biggby Coffee cup, gave nothing away. Hannah wondered if he was waiting for someone. He looked too calm and nonchalant to be waiting for anyone suffering a severe crisis. Then again, maybe he had put on two different socks because he was rushing to get to the hospital. Maybe the crisis had passed, and he was feeling relieved.

  Meg’s arrival interrupted Hannah’s wandering speculations.

  “Any news?” Meg asked.

  “Only that they’ve got him in for a CAT scan right now,” Charissa replied. “Sounds like it might be a concussion. I don’t know. They said they’d let me back there soon.” She looked at her watch and drummed her fingers on her lap.

  Hannah reached into her tote bag and pulled out some trail mix and chocolate. “I remembered to pack some food today,” she said, offering the snacks to the others. “Would you guys like something?” Charissa and Meg both chose chocolate. Hannah was just about to approach the woman with the baby to offer her a snack when the doors to the restricted area opened.

  “Hey, Charissa!” a male voice called out.

  Charissa spun around and exhaled in relief as a young man in muddy gray sweatpants and a navy blue college T-shirt approached her. “Tim!” she exclaimed.

  He came over and gave her a friendly hug. “Did you just get here?” he asked. She nodded. “They took John up for an x-ray a little while ago, and then as I was heading out here to try to call you again, I ran into an old friend in the hallway. Sorry!” He rubbed some dried mud off his elbow.

  “So what happened?”

  Tim shook his head. “Oh, you know how gung-ho John is. What he lacks in muscle, he makes up for in heart.”

  Charissa flexed her eyebrows.

  “He was going for a catch and collided hard with another guy,” Tim explained. “He hit his head and got knocked out. He was conscious when the paramedics got there, but he was still pretty woozy, so they brought him here for observation. He should be done with the x-ray soon.” He glanced at Meg and Hannah. “Hey, Charissa, if you’ve got friends with you, is it okay if I head home? I told Jenn I’d watch the kids this afternoon. Your car’s still at the football field, though.”

  Meg spoke up. “I’ll make sure you get your car. Don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?” Charissa asked, looking reluctant to accept the offer. “I don’t have any idea how long we’ll be here.”

  “I don’t have any other plans today,” Meg replied. “I can be here as long as you need me.” Hannah saw the young mom glance anxiously at her watch and wondered how long she had been waiting.

  “Thank you,” Charissa said. “I really appreciate it. And thank you, Tim. Thanks for taking care of John for me.”

  He grinned. “I was taking care of John long before you came along, remember? Just call me and let me know how the all-star’s doing, okay?”

  Charissa nodded. “I should call my mom back to let her know I got here. She was worried.” Charissa looked at Hannah and Meg. “My parents moved to Florida last year,” she explained, “and it’s hard being so far away, you know?” Finishing off the chocolate bar, she excused herself to make the call.

  Meg waited until she’d gone and then turned to Hannah, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I jumped in there to help without thinking about where you need to be. I can drive you back to your car, if you like.”

  “No, it’s okay. There’s nowhere for me to be.” Absolutely nowhere. Hannah took a bite of her granola bar and glanced again at the mom. The baby was crying weakly. Help her, Lord, Hannah prayed. “Anyway,” she went on, “I don’t mind being back in a hospital waiting room again. Kinda feels like home.”

  Meg smiled. “We all have our gifts, don’t we?”

  “And I’d say you have a gift of compassion, Meg.”

  Meg flushed and put her hand to her cheek. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I was just thinking how I would feel if I got a call from Becca and couldn’t be there. I’d hope someone would take care of her for me.” A nurse was summoning Charissa back to see John.

  “Poor thing,” Meg said gently, watching her stride through the doors. “You know, when I saw her crying and heard it was her husband, I had this sense of panic rise up inside of me. Like I time-traveled twenty years in a split second . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

  Hannah pulled her attention away from the mother and baby to focus on Meg. This was no longer casual conversation. She couldn’t shake the sense that if she kept very still, Meg would continue to draw near. Hannah held her breath as she waited and prayed.

  When Meg spoke again, her voice was trembling with emotion. “The day my husband died was terrible,” she murmured. “I got the call at the house that there had been an accident, and the ambulance was taking Jim to the hospital. To this hospital, actually . . . ” She looked toward the restricted doors. “But I didn’t get here in time.” Her voice was so soft that Hannah didn’t dare breathe for fear of missing something. “They called me back through those doors, and a chaplain and a doctor were waiting to talk to me and—” Hannah reached for her hand. “And I didn’t have anybody with me.” Meg was bitin
g her quivering lip.

  “Oh, Meg, I’m so sorry.”

  Sometimes there just weren’t any better words to say.

  The doctors kept John for observation until four o’clock that afternoon and then released him with instructions to rest. As they walked across the parking lot to Meg’s car, John responded amiably to Charissa’s mild scolding. “Hey! How ’bout some credit for managing to hold on to the ball? You shoulda seen me! It was quite a catch!” He turned to Hannah and Meg. “Thanks for helping get Riss to the hospital. She’s not used to being out of control, are you, Riss?”

  Hannah noticed that Charissa’s eyebrows were at a cool half-mast.

  “Sorry to freak you out, honey,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “I won’t do it again.”

  Charissa did not reply.

  John went on, addressing Meg and Hannah. “I’m sure this wasn’t the way you guys expected to spend your day, hanging out in the ER. So, tell you what—how ’bout if we have you over sometime, and I’ll make dinner for you?” His small brown eyes were twinkling with mischief. “’Cause it wouldn’t be a ‘thank you’ to make you eat Charissa’s cooking.”

  Charissa smiled slightly, shaking her head. “My mom also wants to thank you. She said what a relief it was to know somebody was taking care of us. I really appreciate it.”

  “Well, we all need 2 a.m. friends,” Meg said, unlocking her car. “If you guys ever need anything, please call me. It sounds like I don’t live too far away from you.” She turned to Hannah. “Is it okay with you if I drop them off at their car first? Then I’ll take you back to New Hope.”

  Hannah nodded. She was in no particular hurry to return to the cottage.

  Hannah stared out the window as Meg drove to the New Hope parking lot. The signs of the season were everywhere: roadside stands overflowing with colorful gourds and pumpkins, U-Pick apple orchards teeming with families, hand-painted signs advertising fresh cider and brush hogging.