Reverence

I’ll admit it.

I have put God in a teeny, tiny box for quite sometime. I’ve unknowlingly squeezed him into the confines of certain buildings, and certain sectors of Christianity, even certain groups of people. I have fit him ever so neatly and nicely into certain countries, and certain life styles. I have hardly begun to think about him on a global scale, or outside the walls of the churches I’ve walked through, and the doctrines, and ideas and rules about Him that I’ve held tightly in my fist since I was a little girl.

But lately I’ve been meeting God in a different place. Where things move a little slower.

It’s a place of gentle seriousness,

Yet- serious solace.

A place of reverence.

No fluff.

Nothing trendy.

Honestly?

Kind of boring.

And a little flat.

But my relationship with my savior is ever-growing. It gets deeper the longer I walk with him. Lately, he has been tugging on my heartstrings a little harder. He’s been persistently yet gently nudging me into new spaces with new people and new ways to be closer to him. I know Jesus has brought me into these spaces to whisper a quiet truth in my heart. A truth about how big he is. He has slowly knocked down the prejudice walls I have built over the years toward people who worship him differently than me.

I’ve walked with him since I was a little. Sometimes, begrudgingly with my head down behind him while he bravely treks ahead and makes a way. Other times, it is hand in hand and ever so close. More often- desperately as I cling to his side with eyes closed and arms clenched around him- sometimes trembling with every. single. step.

I love walking with him, but lately, it has felt like a tug.

It's kind of like a loving drag towards wild discomfort.

“Are you sure?” I plead with eyes wide open.

“Trust me,” I hear him whisper.

And here is what I am learning in my wild discomfort. If I believe the Holy Spirit is only present in places with fully stacked bands and clever marketing and aesthetically pleasing graphics, and people with name tags and coffee bars and t-shirts and the perfect Sunday morning “vibe,” I am so mistaken. I am so lost and wrong and misled.

Because all those things make me feel very comfortable- it’s all I’ve known. Many of those things, in fact, make me feel warm and fuzzy, and just plain good. But those things do not determine if God is in that space. Those things do not determine the magnitude in which he can speak to my heart.

But I think I have made up a ridiculous story in my head about people who don’t spend their mornings with Jesus the way I typically do. Because Jesus lives in the quiet place I am describing. I hardly used to believe it… and as someone who claims to love him, it’s honestly painful to spill on a page like this. Lately, I’ve allowed my heart to open up wide and unapologetically for my brothers and sisters who meet him there.

I’m watching quietly instead of interjecting loudly.

I’m listening intentionally instead of speaking forcefully.

I’m studying carefully instead of blindly believing.

I’m questioning graciously instead of arguing rudely.

And here is what I am learning…

When I walk through those doors and choose to meet God Almighty, he’s right there. When I choose to worship instead of judge, he is so very close. In the stillness, in the tradition, in the predictability, in the words echoed in unison from the voices of his people. In the liturgies, the simple songs, and the prayers spoken by my brothers and sisters who love him so tenderly- who say his name so seriously.

When I walk in and take the sacred act of kneeling before him and bowing my head.

He’s right there.

Just Jesus.

And his precious words.

And his presence.

And his light.

And color-stained windows.

And old wooden pews.

And alters.

And offerings.

It’s quiet, and sacred and still. I don’t have any responsibilities. No one knows me. I walk in. I walk out. A quiet date with my savior, with no distractions. I’ve decided to meet him more often in this place of reverence and stillness. I’ve decided to quit making God small. I’m done extending energy, squeezing him into tiny crevices he does not fit into. I have given up the arrogant “will power” to be “right” over the trivial things we as Christians fight over. Things that won’t matter when we are spending eternity with the King. I’m done nit-picking. I’m done causing division and heartache to other believers.

I guess I’m just done judging other people’s personal relationship with their savior.

I’m done overcomplicating Jesus and his Good News for us.

If my grief has taught me anything- it’s to extend more grace, more love, and more understanding to God’s children. To “not sweat the small stuff” because in the eyes of God, it is all so very, very small… and this life? Well, it is so very, very short. A fragment of time. I don’t have it figured out, not even close. But lately, Jesus has been helping me sort out some heavy things in my heart and head. We’ve been having some messy moments together while I question and wonder…and through the sorting and grappling I find myself wondering about Riley…I am dying to chat with him about the mysteries of God Almighty, and the things we’ll never quite figure out on this side of heaven. I am wondering how much we are getting wrong. I am wondering how much we are getting right. My head spins with questions, all of which will be answered the day I am welcomed home and stand before my creator. I can’t help but see Riley’s eyes dancing as he greets me on the shores of heaven, his tender and kind voice whispering to me, “You’ll never believe it, Kate.”

Because my grief has instilled in me an intense curiosity and unshakable focus for heaven.

A drive to introduce people to the one who loves them

The one who created them

The one who wants so badly to know them

The one who wants so badly to spend eternity with them

So, instead of debating, judging, and dividing, I will keep showing up in his radical love, gentle truth, and kind mercy. I will keep listening, learning, and loving his people well. I will continue to meet him in this new, quiet place of reverence. I will take a breath and rest in the serenity of His sanctuary.

I think what I’ll do is continue to relentlessly follow Jesus- even if it is straight into wild discomfort.