The last time we gathered here in beautiful, sunny bloggerland, O faithful reader, I ended the post with an ancient poem by a dude named "Ikkyu." He lived from 1394-1481. I'm not sure if that bears any relevance. It probably doesn't. Other than perhaps as illustrative of truth that transcends situated time and space. Well wouldn't you know it, he inspired me again this week:
Break open
A cherry tree
And there are no flowers,
But the spring breeze
Brings forth a myriad of blossoms!
Call me "Crazy," but for some reason that little Zen poem got me thinking about the Holy Spirit of God. We western post-enlightenment types have repeatedly pushed God into an intellectual pantry where the goal of contact with God gets reduced to little more than us sitting around talking about God like a particular ingredient we pull off the shelf whenever the recipe calls for it. Otherwise, we are functionally content to keep God tucked away until it's convenient for us.
Now I realize that's a run-on over-generalization. Many fine people have had encounters with God through the years, especially in ways that go beyond what we can imagine or understand. I have had a few in my life that changed me in ways where I do not think I could ever be the same, even if I tried. But for the southern American traditions many of us are perpetually stuck in, we expend a great deal of time trying to find the flowers inside the tree, rather than on the blowing wind.
Like I said: "Call me 'Crazy.'"
Did you know that the Spirit of God in Scripture is most often referred to with a Hebrew word and a Greek word that both basically mean "wind"? Maybe that's why the second half of Isaiah makes the promise that God's presence can be experienced with wings like an eagle. The spring breeze. Not perched on the tree. Not inside the tree. Thank God the Bible doesn't compare us to termites.
On wings like an eagle.
What if we held church leadership meetings at bird sanctuaries instead of conference rooms with oversized tables? We would probably spend more time and money on first things: Feed the babies who don't have enough to eat. Shoe the children, and put shoes on their feet. House the people, living in the street. O Lord, there's a solution.
Like I said: "Call me 'Crazy.'" I don't care. Call me, "The Space Cowboy." Call me, "Maurice." Or just call me, "That preacher who gave up his dissecting trees addiction."
