My hands are shaking. I'm thinking about telling you why.
I had a long conversation yesterday with two dear Christian friends about the movement of God's Spirit. For me, I can cite two events in my own life when I felt God. And to this day, I believe it was the presence of God.
The first was what some refer to as a "calling." In my rational tradition, people tend to belittle, and even make fun of such language. They roll their eyes at it like they do the words "pastor" and "sacrament." Nothing I can do about that. But it was as real to me as my belly button.
It was in November of 1989. I was 17. After spending the day in Abilene considering where I might go to college and whether I would pursue professional acting, law, or ministry, I laid in the backseat of a van and looked out the window. It was dark. Late. The stars looked like someone poked little white holes in a black blanket. A perfectly clear night.
I prayed. As the sky stood still somewhere on Interstate 20 between Ranger and East Nowhere, I prayed. Prayed and listened. It was quiet. Who was I supposed to become? I didn't hear voices. No burning bush. Not even a single shooting star. But I felt the strong sense that God was telling me one thing: "I put you there to preach."
And that was it. Nothing ecstatic. Nothing loud or outlandish. In fact, it was more like a whisper.
The second time was just like it.
I stood by myself on the northwestern shoreline of the Sea of Galilee. I prayed and imagined Jesus with his cadre of early followers telling them things that turned their preconceived notions upsidedown, insideout, and sideways. I knelt on the rocks by the water. I had an urge--to this day I'm still not sure why--to put my hands in the water and wash my face. The waters were cold. They felt like baptismal waters.
And that was it. Nothing ecstatic. Nothing loud or outlandish. In fact, it was more like a caress.
But there is another movement of God's Spirit that I feel almost every week. It's not the same as my calling, or my self-baptism at the lake. No, it's not like that. But it's the reason my hands are still shaking. (No, it's not from too much coffee, you silly.)
This morning, I came into the office early. I have been thinking about my sermon coming up on Sunday, especially since it will begin a new seven-week series. When my eyes popped open this morning at 4:22, it's all I could think about. The sermon fairies are no respecters of my desire for shut-eye.
Between the sneezes and coughs that still linger from this dang cold that doesn't seem to want to leave, I felt God's presence.
There's an old preacher joke about a dude who gets up in his pulpit every Sunday. He tells his congregation that he prepares the first fifteen minutes of his sermon, but let's the Holy Spirit take over for the last fifteen minutes. As he is shaking people out the door at the end of the service, a kind but direct little old lady says to him, "It might be irreverent for me to say this, Reverend, but you're a lot better preacher than the Holy Spirit."
So here I am in my preacher's study writing about what happened earlier this morning as I finished preparing my sermon for Sunday morning. That's why my hands are shaking.
I believe that God is just as present during the sermon writing process in my office chair as God is in the pulpit on Sunday morning. And oh how I love Sunday mornings! An old friend long ago said I seem happiest in the pulpit. Fair enough. I feel the presence of God during that moment of proclamation. In fact, the only other time that I feel the space between heaven and earth grow thin is that moment during the week when I'm finished writing the sermon.
That was this morning.
My hands are starting to calm down a little bit. But I still feel the high that comes right after I take a deep breath and know that God still has something to say to the people of God.
Someone asked Jackson Pollock how he knew when one of his paintings was finished. He said that he just knew.
And if you ask me how I can be so sure of the Spirit of God, I will probably reply the same way.
