The Face of the Holy Spirit Around Us.

Today is Ash Wednesday. Perhaps you've begun to notice passerby's with what seems to be black markings above their brow. I would imagine in this modern day, most would quickly recognize the pattern and the source. In New York, there was a slight delay funny enough. The morning was like any other. People hustling by, filling the coffee shops and trains. As the morning turned into afternoon, I found more and more proudly displaying their signs of faith. The courage of the first to receive ashes, instilling confidence within the flock.  The hours passed and the number grew exponentially.  Religion for many, I suppose, can carry a shameful stigma and awkward fear of being misinterpreted.  At least in this Metropolitan city.  How often is religion used to divide and define us? Stereotypes of extremists used to represent the whole, inevitably misconstruing the message.  As a result, sadly our world grows more and more politically correct, taking "God" out of our vernacular.  I've grown to be in favor of possibly offending, than take the risk of 'hiding' my beliefs.

Although even for someone like myself, so rooted in own sense of religion, I've struggled with finding my faith between the grid of concrete these past two years.  Perhaps it is the energy of city, the relentless pace that challenges ones serenity.  Quiet moments rarely come, if at all.  There's a constant flow of foot traffic, honking of cabs enforcing their right of way, cell phone interruptions and the general determination to survive another day in this pressure cooker.  It is in those brief times, when I remember to look up, that I take in the clouds, the heavens, God.  Peeking through the slivers of blue sky amongst the concrete giants, I feel the hand reaching.  There is forever a tendency toward disconnect, that is so easy to fall prey to here. The summer brings leisurely days in Central Park, which finely tunes that chord between here and above.  However the winter, I'm afraid, reminds me just how easily it can be severed if you aren't paying attention.

It was reaffirming to watch the comings and goings of my neighborhood church.  Amongst a sea of people, you forget just how many share in your faith.  In a time of hardships and economic despair, it is comforting to see so many believers lifting their eyes.  Most days, I would never know, until speaking with them about God.  And how often does that happen?  In a city of millions there is an unfortunate byproduct of feeling oddly alone.  As I sat in church, praying for those in my life, I felt the power of people uniting.  I felt the calling of their hearts, whether old or new believers.  I felt their needs, as much as my own.

No matter how grounded each of us may be, to our beliefs of that which exists above, I think it's a beautiful thing that so many boldly proclaim their love of God today.  I am a Christian through and through.  While I am taught that only through Jesus are we saved, I truly believe in my heart that God speaks to each of us in our own language.  He loves us completely and will lead us, if we are open to follow.  I believe with all my heart in Jesus, his teachings, his suffering and from that, our forgiveness of sins.  It is the path I was led to, many many years ago.  I also believe that only in death, perhaps, will we ever know the answers to all the questions we may have in this world.

In this life we are given our challenges, our joys, our humility, our intellect, our yearning for knowledge, our curiosity and our inner spirit that will forever open our eyes if we allow it.

Can Christians Remember to Love like Jesus?

After walking home from completing some errands I decided to pop into the church next door to my home. There is something about sitting in the quiet of a still church and praying that reminds me to stay connected to my faith. This morning something a little more unusual happened.

I had settled myself towards the back pew and began praying when I started to hear the sounds of rather loud chatter. At first it was indistinguishable but my thoughts immediately went to judgment.  In my own inner monologue, I said to myself, "I can't believe people are talking so loudly in church...It's like a library", there's certain etiquette one maintains and an expectation of behavior in a place of worship. Eventually the talking got louder as the two gentleman began to approach behind me. It was at this point that I was able to put the hints of conversation together. I realized that the small group I had passed on my way in, were actually patients visiting from a rehab facility. Perhaps this was a requirement of their treatment or a transition out of the facility. I wasn't quite sure, but I began to listen all the while feeling shameful in some ways. Not only was I've eavesdropping, which is rude, but I also began having guilt about being so judgmental at first. These men struggled daily with their inner demons. Drugs and alcohol had become their salvation and now they were being brought into the fold of real saving grace. It was apparent that they struggled with this course of treatment, perhaps were even slightly resistant. They spoke of a female counselor whom they loved, as much as they may have loathed. She seemed to be successful in opening them up. Poetically enough they remained open as they continued to talk amongst their peers rather noticeably, within the walls of this otherwise peaceful cathedral.

Their conversation, though brief, inspired a realization that Jesus' love knows no bounds. Unlike humans who, at times, bombard, command and then persecute, God found a simple gentle way of showing his love. This group of men, had indeed been brought there not by choice, but the experience ignited their spirits. They began talking about faith, about the Christians that they knew that had strong faiths. They talked about their shortcomings with drugs and alcohol and the needs to improve their lives.  While they may not have had the prescribed etiquette of church behavior, they had received the message ever so subtlety. I watched as others from the group walked around the various stations of the cross and other holy artifacts. One never knows the inward voices on the human heart, except for God, but they seemed to be awed by the beauty and peacefulness.  What I witnessed before me, was God's unconditional love being bestowed on these gentleman that I was so quick to judge when first hearing their voices. While some of us may choose to pray in silent meditation, it is possible that just by fellowship with others in a place of worship, prayers were being made in between the words. It was a good lesson to remind me that God has a place in his heart for all of us and so shall we offer the same.

As I sat, thankful of the reminder of what faith really entails, I had another opportunity offered as I left. The men now all gathered near the front door with their guide, seemed to be unsure of how to feel about themselves in such a place as this. They seemed to have that uncomfortable body language, not knowing whether to stand or run. I think we are always our own worst enemy and judge, no matter what our demons may be. As I walked past them, I smiled knowing and believing that we all belonged there. One of them in particular responded with his own gentle smile. We connected not by backgrounds, but by acceptance. It was the most human I have felt in quite some time. It's amazing how life gives you these moments to be a better person, if you pay attention. I think being Christian is about understanding your faith and striving to be the example and not the demand.