A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Nathan spoke again. “No one saw the hardness of my own heart,” he said softly. “Or my determination to stay busy so that I wouldn’t have to do the really important work of being a godly husband and father. No one saw that Laura and Jake only got my leftovers—emotionally, physically, spiritually. People looked at me and said, ‘What a selfless servant of God!’ And I was happy to have my ego stroked and my pride fed. I was consumed by a desire to project the right image, to control what people thought of me. I was full of self-righteousness, while secretly nursing bitterness that Laura didn’t appreciate and honor me the way everyone else did.”

  Was he this open and honest with everyone, or was his vulnerability with Hannah a special gift, rooted in old friendship? She wished she knew. But then again, why was it important? She had no particular claim on him.

  No claim at all.

  She stopped staring at the window and made herself look at him.

  “As terrible as it was when Laura walked away,” Nate said slowly, holding her gaze in the steadiness of his, “it ended up being God’s way of breaking me and revealing my own sin. I needed to be broken. It was God’s mercy that brought me to an end of myself. The great mercy of God . . . ” His voice trailed off.

  Hannah said, “I don’t hear any bitterness in you, Nate.”

  His shoulders moved up and down in a half shrug. “I was bitter and angry for a long time,” he said. “Years, really, though I was too proud and pious to admit it. I was angry at Laura. Angry at myself. Angry at God. Katherine patiently walked that dark path with me, giving me the freedom to be honest about my anger and resentment so God could begin the process of draining out the poison in my spirit. Katherine pointed me to the cross and to my desperate need for forgiveness. She helped me see that my anger was taking up sacred space that belonged to God.”

  Hannah felt herself stiffen again. Anger, resentment, and sacred space. Nathan had no way of knowing how deeply Hannah connected with his words—no way of knowing that Hannah was now walking a similar journey with his mentor. She shifted in the chair.

  “I just didn’t want the toxic stuff taking up space anymore,” he continued quietly. “So I let go. I took responsibility for my sin and asked for forgiveness. I forgave Laura, forgave myself. And with God’s help, I’ve found a way to be an attentive father to Jake. Thank God Jake doesn’t remember those early years of my absence. Or my anger.”

  “Jake is a wonderful young man,” Hannah said.

  “Thank you.”

  Hannah stared at her hands, listening to the muted tick of a clock somewhere in Nathan’s office. It had been years since they had communicated to one another through shared silence, and she was out of practice. As long minutes passed, the quiet became threatening and ominous. She didn’t want him to become the inquisitor. She didn’t want him getting too close.

  Did she?

  She resumed her interview.

  “What about the second question?” she asked. “Where are you going?”

  Even though she told herself the answer had nothing to do with her, she was still ridiculously breathless. She bent over to pick up an invisible piece of carpet fuzz, just in case her expression was betraying her.

  Nathan did not reply right away, and she became anxious. Maybe she had asked too much. Maybe the answer was too personal. Especially if it involved a relationship, or longings for one.

  Stop, stop, stop, she silently commanded herself.

  Why was her imagination sprinting in that direction? There were so many other ways for him to answer the question. Like whether or not he saw himself heading back into pastoral ministry. Or whether he thought he’d be staying at the college. Professional answers, not personal ones. She wished she could withdraw the question.

  When she looked up again, she saw that he was studying her in the same manner with which she’d seen him study texts: with curious intensity.

  “That was another gift from God through Katherine,” he finally replied. “I began to see that there’s really only one way for me to answer the ‘Where are you going?’ question, and everything else depends on my truly knowing and living it. My way forward is always about going deeper into God’s love for me. That’s where I’m going. Deeper into God’s heart, deeper into union and communion with him. I’m walking the road to claiming my identity as the beloved of God. Nothing more, nothing less. And that hasn’t been an easy or straightforward journey. But I’m getting there. Thank God I’m getting there.” He paused. “You and Katherine have probably talked about the false self, right?”

  Hannah nodded.

  Nathan said, “For so many years I based my identity on how much I achieved and on what other people thought of me. I wasn’t at rest in my relationship with God. I was always haunted by the thought that I should be doing more, that I wasn’t a faithful enough servant. Then when God stripped everything away and pruned me down to a stump, I began to see all the false things I had trusted in.” He lowered his voice ever so slightly. “I finally began to understand that I have the same invitation John the disciple had: to call myself ‘the one Jesus loves.’ To really believe it in a way I never had before and to live life from that center.”

  Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. Hannah leaned back, tightening her grip on the armrest of the chair.

  “You said the other day, Shep, that you saw a stillness in me that I didn’t have years ago. That’s where the stillness is coming from. I’m not trying to earn God’s love and favor anymore. I’m just resting in Christ. And it’s good. There’s such freedom there.”

  Hannah’s thoughts were still racing. “I never would have thought to answer the question that way,” she said with a thin voice. “I was thinking about it in terms of guidance, direction, future plans—that sort of thing.”

  “I know,” he said, nodding. “That’s where I first went with it too. But all that is secondary, isn’t it? I’ve learned one important thing: if I’m not resting in the core of my being that God loves me and intends good for my life, then I won’t be able to discern his will.”

  How had he managed to overtake her in spiritual insight and maturity? She had once been the one mentoring him. Now their roles were reversed.

  She didn’t like it.

  Or maybe she did.

  She didn’t know.

  Everything seemed upside down.

  Or right-side-up.

  She wasn’t sure.

  She was dizzy and disoriented.

  “You remember that spiritual theology class we had with Dr. Hendricks?” Nathan asked.

  Funny. She had thought about that class a few weeks ago.

  Aloud, she said, “I remember you were particularly uncomfortable with the medieval mystics’ understanding of God as Lover.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right. It was really unsettling to me. But I get it now. I understand what they were talking about. They had a deep awareness of God’s passion for us and his longing for intimacy with us. And they wrote from the joy of discovering that kind of communion with the Lord.”

  His whole countenance was shining.

  She looked away.

  “It’s still hard for me to speak about God being my Lover,” he said. “I don’t know—maybe it’s my sense of masculinity resisting that image. But I understand the invitation God is giving me to live in his love—to really rest in it.” He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t have any idea how important that was until a few years ago, but it’s everything. Trusting God’s heart is everything. Like it says in the Song of Solomon, his ‘intention toward me was love.’ If I can always trust that God’s intention toward me is love, then even when I don’t understand the work of his hands, I can still trust his heart.”

  His intention toward me was love. His intention toward me was love.

  See?

  This was exactly why Hannah couldn’t afford to rekindle a friendship with him.

  Here he was, talking about God’s heart, and all she could think about was Nathan’s declara
tion of love years ago. He had intended love, and she had walked away.

  She would have to walk away again before her heart journeyed somewhere she could not follow. Friendship with Nathan simply wasn’t safe. She didn’t have the strength to separate spiritual intimacy from emotional intimacy. And she couldn’t risk being distracted from whatever healing work God wanted to do in her life.

  She hardly heard him speaking from the faraway place in front of her. “Hannah, would it be okay if I prayed for you?”

  “Sure,” her voice replied.

  At least, she thought it was her voice. It had come from her mouth without her mind’s consent.

  Sacred Journey, New Hope Retreat Center

  Session Four: Praying with Imagination

  Katherine Rhodes, Facilitator

  _______________________________________________

  For centuries Christians have used the imagination as a way of encountering God in prayer. Our minds are filled with stories, images, and memories which the Holy Spirit can use to bring us into deeper intimacy with Jesus. Praying Scripture with imagination allows the Spirit to guide us into places of insight about ourselves and God.

  Begin by quieting yourself in God’s presence. Invite the Holy Spirit to guide and direct your attention and imagination as you encounter Jesus in a scene from the gospels. Then slowly read the text several times to become familiar with the landscape and plot.

  They came to Jericho. As [Jesus] and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. (Mark 10:46-52)

  Begin to imagine the scene. What do you see? Hear? Smell? Feel? What do the outskirts of Jericho look like? Where is Bartimaeus? How big is the crowd? Who is there? What do they look like? What’s the mood of the scene? Invite and trust the Spirit to guide you as you watch the movie play in your mind.

  Once you have imagined the scene, picture yourself inside the story. Let go of any desire for historical accuracy, and actively enter into the text. Watch what the characters do. Listen to what they say. Where does the Spirit invite you to participate? Which character are you? What do you say? What does Jesus say to you? What do you want? Engage in conversation with the characters in the text. Don’t worry about making things up. Trust the Spirit to speak and reveal God’s truth to you as you pray.

  Then prayerfully reflect on what you experienced in the text. What does God want you to know? How does this experience of prayer draw you close to Jesus?

  Praying with Imagination

  Meg was worried. Where was Hannah?

  At first Meg thought perhaps she had gone to the restroom. But she was away an awfully long time. Maybe she was sick somewhere. While Katherine led the group in a discussion about the wilderness questions, Meg slipped out the exit door.

  Nobody in the bathroom. No one in the chapel. The hallways were empty. For a moment Meg considered going out to the parking lot to check for Hannah’s car, but she didn’t want to miss what Katherine was saying.

  Poor Hannah.

  She’d had such a shock at Charissa’s apartment over Nathan Allen. And then when Katherine invited them to go back into the past to confront unresolved grief, it must have been too much for her. Meg knew what that felt like.

  Help her, Lord. Please help my friend.

  “We’re going to look at one more crossroads text today,” Katherine said. “I’m passing around another handout with a text from Mark’s gospel and a description of praying with imagination.”

  Meg listened with nervous apprehension as Katherine walked the group through the process of imaginative contemplation. Though Katherine had encouraged Meg once before to see her imagination as a gift from God, Meg still wasn’t sure she could trust herself to wander creatively inside a Scripture passsage. What if she did it wrong?

  “I felt very anxious the first time I was invited to pray with my imagination,” Katherine told the group. “I had such a deep respect and reverence for God’s Word that I was reluctant to put any imaginary words into the text—especially into Jesus’ mouth. After years of analyzing and studying biblical texts, I wasn’t sure I could trust God to guide me if I started coloring outside the lines. But I began to see that the lines I’d drawn were my lines, not God’s.”

  Katherine smiled and continued, “Imagination is a gift from God, and Jesus is still inviting us to encounter him face to face in the Word. After all, Jesus is the Living Word, breathing and moving and inspiring and revealing. So trust the Spirit to be with you as you freely and creatively wander with God. Let go of boundaries and constraints. Lay down your fears of doing it wrong. This isn’t about ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ This is about encountering God in the depths of our emotions, in the depths of our spirits. It’s like peering into a deep well. You see the water, but you also glimpse images of yourself on the surface of the water. You see reflections of your hopes, fears, desires, and longings mirrored back to you. Trust God to meet you there in the depths. Trust the Spirit to reveal truth about who you are and who God is.”

  As the room fell silent, Meg quieted herself for prayer. Holy Spirit, please guide me. Help me trust you while I wander in unfamiliar places. Guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus. Please.

  Slowly, Meg read the scene several times, getting a sense of the plot and movement of the text. Then she began to imagine the setting. She tasted the dust kicked up by herds of people and livestock traveling the dirt road in the noonday heat. She smelled the earthy stench of manure and sweat. She heard braying and bleating and the blending of voices in indiscernible conversations. She watched the pushing and the shoving of the crowd. So much pushing and shoving.

  And suddenly, she was being pushed and shoved too.

  She was trying to follow Jesus, trying to stay close to him so she wouldn’t lose sight of him along the way. She could barely see the back of his dark head nodding up and down. Someone was talking to him, but she couldn’t see who it was or hear what they were saying. Noise. There was so much noise.

  And then Meg heard one voice shouting above all the others: a wail of desperate persistence, rising again and again. “Have mercy! Have mercy! Jesus, have mercy! Son of David, have mercy!” The agony in the man’s voice pierced Meg and made her want to cry out with him.

  Meg waited for Jesus to stop. But he kept walking. Couldn’t he hear the man? Everyone could hear the man. He was getting louder and louder, screaming and shouting. Why wasn’t Jesus stopping?

  “Quiet!” someone yelled. “Just shut up!”

  “Who is it?” Meg asked one of the people pressing against her. If she didn’t keep walking, she was going to lose Jesus in the crowd.

  “Ignore him,” the man answered. “It’s just Bartimaeus, the blind beggar. Pushy and obnoxious. There are dozens of them around here.”

  “Dozens?” Meg repeated.

  Bartimaeus was still shouting.

  “Give it up!” someone yelled again. “He’s already gone!”

  No no no! Jesus couldn’t pass by. “Please stop, Jesus,” Meg whispered, willing him to turn around.

  But he kept moving.

  “Jesus, stop!” she called. “Please.”

  But he couldn’t hear her, not with the noise of the crowd.

  Meg stopped walking, steadied herself, and shouted more loudly than she’d ever shouted: “Jesus, STOP!”

  The people in fro
nt of her skidded to a halt, and she watched Jesus turn around and look at her with deep tenderness. The crowd parted for him as he made his way back to where she was standing.

  “What do you want me to do for you, Meg?” he asked, taking her hand.

  “Please, Jesus,” she said, trembling. “Please let Bartimaeus see you, like I’ve seen you.”

  He touched her face, smiled, and told the crowd to bring Bartimaeus to him.

  Meg opened her eyes and sat in the prayerful stillness of the room for a long time, wondering what to make of her imagination.

  What do you want me to do for you?

  It was the same sort of question Jesus had asked her at the beginning of her journey, wasn’t it? What are you looking for? Now here she was, following Jesus along the way. She had found what she was looking for: she was with Jesus. And she wanted Bartimaeus to have the same joy she had discovered, the joy of simply being with him. Yes, to have blind eyes opened and to see who Jesus truly was. Meg longed for others to see and know; she longed for others to join in the journey with Jesus. Such intense longing.

  Deep emotion welled up within her as she began to pray for the blind and the lost, crying out for God’s mercy to be revealed to them. Please, Jesus, please.

  Meg’s heart was racing while she listened to the large group discuss their meditations on the text. She couldn’t shake the sense that she was meant to speak up. But she was afraid. Maybe she could share her insights privately with Katherine.

  No matter how she fought it, however, the impulse to speak became stronger, finally overpowering her fear. She raised a trembling hand, feeling heat rise to her neck and face.

  Katherine was smiling encouragingly as she called Meg’s name.