I am conscious that many of my observations lean toward spirituality, toward the experience of God's love and the liberation of the heart. In a world of terrorist attacks, economic bubbles popping, hostile political rhetoric, divisive issues and a greater and greater disparity between the wealthy and the rest of the world, spirituality may seem impotent at best and denial and escapism at worst. Such an emphasis might not appeal to those who prefer the concrete expression of faith in social and political forms.  After all, even I can see that it comes across as ethereal and impractical in the world where actions are required, where outcomes are measured, where costs are balanced with profits, where evaluations are made.  Does spirituality make a qualitative and quantitative difference?

It is my experience and observation that it is the deep love of God that frees us from selfishness, even self-preservation that limits what we do for others.  It is in God's love that claims me as an heir of righteousness that I am released from the prison of fear and insecurity.
On occasion, I  enjoy reading the writings of Mystics who to many may appear disconnected from the world, oblivious to the hurt, the pain, the violence and hostilities, the injustice or cruelties of economic systems, the bullies of playgrounds and politics.  There is an apparent innocence that is evident in Mystics which hides the wise and astute mind and heart, aware of the ways of the wolf. 
Let's be clear, however: innocence is not naïveté.  It is possible to be innocent but wise to the world, wise to the desolate landscape of the human heart bereft of love that writhes in hell and spews the venom of self-hatred.

The other-worldly detachment may be true of some who appear to be mystic, but those who sink deep into the presence of God are anything but disconnected.  They are free from the entanglements that are the substance of excuses, free from the concern for possessions, even kindred that cause hesitation when required to turn and walk away, but detached from the world they are not.
And though they are able to be free of such concerns they are also most exposed to the sharp knife that cuts and slashes hearts and homes and hopes. These souls are incapable of abiding in the fullness of God and remaining ignorant of the wounded and weary.  It is incongruent to be in God's love and not be vulnerable, not be compassionate, not be sacrificial.  To step through the doorway into the holy and sacred presence of God's will is to be stripped of one's self-defense.  No one who seeks separation from the brokenness of the world has discovered the blessed liberty of God's love in its fullness, for it is just such love that enters the brokenness willfully.

I have always wondered what happened to Lazarus after he was raised from the dead.  I cannot imagine him returning to business as usual.  He went far beyond a near-death experience.  He was decomposing!  He had been gone for several days and had not been preserved in any way.  Martha even alluded to the stench when Jesus said to have the stone of the tomb removed. 
The whole story is rich, but some details are left out, like how long it took for Lazarus to come to his senses, to get his bearings, to grasp what had happened. And once he knew, once he understood, did it hit the bullseye of his heart like an arrow that he had a purpose, a mission?  After all, Lazarus of all people shouldn't be afraid of dying.  He should be able to let go of all those concerns that often cause us to hang back, to pause when our conscience is pricked, to justify staying behind when the call is made for those so crazy in love with God that they are also crazy in love with the world, just like God is.  
But Lazarus had crossed that line and now he was back.  Surely he knew what Mystics know, that life in God is far better than clinging to survival, to existence, to a life that hides in fear, to the hesitant and reserved and practical that hedges just in case all this faith stuff is just a bunch of smoke and mirrors.

Mystics are not afraid of dying because in a way, they already have.  They've died to the false life, the pseudo-self, the self that clings to security and the life that shudders in shadows.  It is just such a life, that has passed through death, to which we are called and it ought to be that which we seek by pursuing the deep love of God as we humbly serve those who are hungry for hope.  Indeed, the love of God takes us by the hand and walks us to a grave prepared for our fears and self-preservation.  

It makes sense that Jesus told his disciples that when they cared for one of the least, that they cared for him--he saw behind the curtain what was happening. He saw what God was up to, that God was transforming the hearts of people and opening their eyes so that when they looked into the deep mystery of God's love they saw God looking back at them through the eyes of the beggar, the lonely, the orphaned, the oppressed, the marginalized, the bullied, the wounded, the frightened, the forgotten and all the rest who are stripped of the dignity for which God created us.  And then, the mystic knows that spirituality is a bowl of soup for the hungry, a bed for the homeless, a friend to the lonely, a hand to hold for the wounded, a book read to a child, a vote for the impoverished, a name for the forgotten and a presence for the dying.