Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. I John 4:8

God is the embodiment of love. God is not just loving but the essence of love. We can know a lot about God, we may spend a lot of time learning about God, but this will not result in us being more loving.

To know God is to have a relationship where we are receptive to what God wants to give us. God wants to give us love, which if we receive it we are changed, and love will flow out to others. St. Bernard of Clairvaux once said, “ What we love we grow to resemble.” Our goal is to be striving to be the embodiment of love also.

It breaks my heart to see so many people who publicly claim to be followers of God who clearly are not living the out flowing of love that marks a believer. Our current crises of a pandemic and political unrest is an opportunity that many of us are missing show the love of God in a frightened and violent world.

Of course, this heartbreak can begin with myself. If I focus on my fear or my pain at the unnecessary suffering all around me, I can easily look away from the Love that embraces me every moment. Daily I must remember my focus and my identity as a Lover of God and others. It’s easier to be angry and blame someone for the suffering than to feel it. It often feels like it hurts too much to love.

With fires scorching the earth, storms tearing homes and cities apart, disease sickening and killing millions of earth’s citizens and incessant violence, it’s easy to turn off love to preserve ourselves from the pain that love sometimes requires us to suffer. But in doing so, it’s easy to harden our hearts to love as well as pain. When empathy dies, so does civility.

Part of the mystery of suffering is that if we share it with God, together we can tolerate it and even grow in understanding and wisdom. Love bears all things. It is the mark of the true believer, and is the visible evidence of being rooted and established in the love of God.

Keep me safe, my God, for in you I take refuge. I said to the Lord, you are my Lord. Apart from you I have no good thing. As for the saints who are in the Land, they are the glorious ones in whom is all my delight. Psalm 16:1-3 NIV and RSV

I wonder why the writer of this Psalm asked for God to keep him safe then immediately proclaimed how delighted he was in other people of God. For years this annoyed me and I grumbled in my mind to the author, “You obviously don’t know the saints I know.” Why did this author wreck an otherwise amazing chapter with this line?

Over the years I have gradually come to see that my spiritual life can only develop so far if I limit it to God and I. My spirituality got honed on the sharp edges of others, as I learned and am still learning patience, self-control, gentleness, perseverance, and unselfish love. And I am happy to say that I have and continue to provide that same service for others.

But I also learned about love, joy and peace from other believers. I also feel a sense of safety and support from the saints who are in the land even though I do not see them as the moment. I know whatever things come our way, we are in this together.

But delight is a feeling beyond growth, safety and love. It comes from a Latin word that means to charm. The gh was added in the 16th century by the association with light. I find that delight comes when we really see the otherness of people. We can be delighted we when we see them from the light of the eyes of God. We can be in awe of the variety of human personalities on this planet as we all search for the Transcendent.

Father if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will. But yours be done.

Jesus, Luke 22:42 NIV

During Holy Week I often think of Christ’s angst filled prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was checking to see if there was any way he could escape the suffering he was about to endure. He also deferred to what God had in mind at the same time.

I’m good at praying the first half of the prayer, usually saying something like, “don’t let bad things happen,” or the fancy version, “Keep me safe O God, for in you I take refuge,” (Psalm 16:1) The second half is more of a silent surrender, which is shorthand for, “You are God, perfect in love, knowledge and wisdom. What You are doing seems bad and mean, but my intellect is limited so Your will be done, I accept that which I cannot control because I know you are the embodiment of love.” Then I reiterate that I don’t want to suffer, just in case I haven’t emphasized that enough.

Right now the suffering is not a personal cup, but a World Cup. Besides sickness and death, much of the suffering is confusion and uncertainty about what is coming next. The image that has come to my mind as I think of this is the children of Israel leaving Egypt and wandering in the wilderness for 40 years. They, like us didn’t know where the danger was coming from next. Both then and now seem to be an opportunity to really develop faith.

Like The wandering Israelites, we can trust that God is with us through this suffering and uncertainty, or we can be stubborn and trust our confused and uncertain selves and suffer a great deal more, both mentally and physically. In both Gethsemane and in the wilderness, after praying that the cup passes, an acceptance of suffering and surrender to God can lead to peace and comfort in the midst of pain.

The Ancient Celts believed in the interconnectedness of all things. This idea is depicted in the art as their knot work moves over and under, around and through, with no beginning and no end. When Ireland was Christianized, this belief translated into Christ being in all things and through all things. But the idea of our connection to each other and to nature never completely disappeared.

This deep connection and how we affect each other has never been more clear than with the pandemic of COVID-19. Wherever this wicked germ was born, whether in the body of a bat in some remote cave, or some other secret place, due to our connection with each other and nature, it has profoundly changed lives all over the world.

As I watched the world move from interest to fear I asked God, “What do You want to be for us that we haven’t yet let You be? What do You want to be for me that I haven’t yet allowed You to be?” How is a God that is desperately needed different from a God that is academically debated as an abstract concept?

As the usual business of the world winds down and people are confined to their homes, it seems the world will be forced to “be still” and think about things larger than self, like God. I wonder what will happen to our relationship with our Creator when we slow down and think about our place in human history, our lives and what is larger and more powerful than us.

We are also forced to reflect on the value of relationships with each other, as we find this is not an individual challenge, but we are all in this together. Whether or not we work together will make all the difference for us as a world right now, whether we will heal and be more respectful of the connection we all have with each other, or whether we leave the world in mass devastation.

But while we are asked to be in isolation, it is bad for our mental health. Isolation can breed depression,anxiety and distorted thoughts. So like the virus, which requires us to separate to battle it, it challenges us to use our imagination to stay connected in other ways. Whether it’s singing on the balconies with neighbors like some in Italy have done, having six feet picnics outdoors, using technology or staying connected in other safe and creative ways, it’s time to use our imaginations. We must stay connected to God and each other, and we could find richness and deeper relationships during this pause of normal activity. Through this we can remember we are all interconnected, and truly follow the commandment to Love God and Love our Neighbor like ourselves.

Lent is the time of year when people think of giving up something for 40 days that they are too fond of, for one of a variety of purposes. The motivations seem to vary from being trendy, to practicing self-discipline and testing endurance, to deepening a relationship with God.

I have always been reluctant to sign up for anything where deprivation is a major component. Even self-discipline, deprivation’s cousin, must have clear benefits before I agree to it. So giving up something for Lent was not something I did for most of my life. Even the ego boost I got from the accomplishment didn’t outweigh the lack. I also knew self-satisfaction was the wrong motivation for giving up my pet habits, which by the way, keeps the sugar industry robust.

That all changed when I heard an Episcopal priest nod approvingly at my growling stomach one hungry Sunday morning and (I think) he said, “That’s good. I make an empty space in my stomach before church so God can fill it up.” Suddenly the 40 day fast wasn’t deprivation, but a deliberate space we usually fill up with other things but we hold open for God. The point is removing that which distract us away from God.

For anyone who has experienced deprivation as part of neglect, trauma or bad luck, Lent fasting is probably especially difficult. I also notice early trauma can create a difficult relationship with food in general. So I thought about how this idea of Lent could help the frustrated dieters that come to therapy. Deprivation clearly is not a good strategy if one has a history of deprivation, given that some research indicates that 97% of all diets one either doesn’t lose weight or gains weight, except for short term losses. What if we invite God into our emptiness and hunger, knowing it is really a relationship with the Divine we want as it satiates, comforts, and even imparts joy?

What if we admitted to God that this is what we really want, but food or alcohol is a quick but imprecise and vague imitation of the feelings that eventually emerge out of a relationship with God? If we need a concrete symbol, we could even set a place at the table for God, reminding ourselves of God’s involvement in this part of our lives.

Lenten fasting was originally a commemoration of the 40 days Jesus spent with God in the desert, and he was able to resist temptation by staying in constant touch with God. In the same way, even in our desert if we invite God into our thoughts and struggles, Lent becomes truly a holy time.