There are mysterious moments when by some power beyond ourselves the ordinary becomes extraordinary, the profane becomes sacred, the common becomes a sacrament through which we glimpse the glimmer and radiance of everything as it and we shine in glory. It may be when holding an infant or watching an act of kindness or walking through a forest or standing at a street corner in the rain  with strangers or anywhere we may be, since this glory is not tame or limited by our mood, beliefs, or attitude. This shining glory is always there, we simply do not see it because we have lost our eyes of wonder. What restores our sight is miraculous and generous, but not remote or infrequent. We simply do not seek it with any earnestness or attention. Despite our lacking the eyes to see or the heart to pursue, we are brought to the threshold of the doorway and given a glimpse into the Grand Canyon of splendor. This glimpse is a seed planted in a crevice, a crack in the hard pavement of our consciousness. It begins to grow and scatter more seeds that wedge themselves into the crack and widen the fertile space where joy and love take root and the moments begin to eclipse our awareness and attention until heaven resides in us as much as we reside in it. And then the greatest honor we may receive is thrust upon us: we become doorkeepers of this glory for others who are still blind to it.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

Most of us know what its like to stand between two mirrors.  When I was a child I had a suspicion that a mirror facing a mirror might be a portal to a magical world.  I never found that it is, but it is a sort of echo of images as our reflection curves out of sight, sight, sight…
When I was a kid I used to have moments when I’d ponder the notion of being conscious and why I knew I was conscious, why I knew anything and was aware of knowing, why I knew I was, just was.  Being conscious of consciousness is kind of like standing between two mirrors, eventually the idea echoes out of sight.
In college I recall the Philosophy class in which I read about Rene’ Descartes and his “I think, therefore I am” claim—that thinking (or consciousness about thinking) is the basis of knowing that one exists.
There are undoubtedly many facets of consciousness like having a conscience—the ability to know right from wrong and that one has a choice between the two—or feeling guilty when one chooses the wrong or having an understanding of ethics, which arises from the question “how would I feel if I were in this person’s shoes and I was treated that way?”  Remember that this is the premise of the story of Pinocchio, that if he was to be a real boy then he needed a conscience.
Ultimately, I think consciousness is the gift that helps me know that I can and do make a difference and the difference I make can be good or not so good and that I can choose; that I am aware that I can, with what little I may have, influence my little sphere in a positive way; that I can take whatever comes my way and not simply react with instinct, but respond with insight.
I like all of the seasons of the Church year, but something about the season of Epiphany, that follows Christmastide, really captures my attention.  It is the Eureka! season.  Eureka is from a Greek word that means, of course, “I found it!”  My consciousness, however, whispers to me that when it comes to the big Epiphanies of life, it’s really not me finding anything, but me being found.  That’s a humbling epiphany.  And if there's a magic portal, then that's it.
And if the universe has taught me anything, then it can be summed up as: Pay attention!

© 2016 Stephen Carl

To be yourself, genuine and without airs, no need to perform or pretend to be what one isn't--especially the pretending that even you don't realize is pretend, until the ache in your heart becomes too great to bear--to be the real you stripped of all pretense and masks, is far beyond comfortable, far beyond a relief, far beyond serene. It is salvation, deliverance, an atmosphere of pure air to breathe rather than the stuffy air that suffocates one who anxiously desires approval but never really receives it because it isn't you who is approved, it's the role you're playing, the character in the unreal skit of your pseudo-life.
Heck, we learn at a very early age that we must mask ourselves, hide our identity. And we learn to do it so well that we often don't realize that we are unreal. There are signs of it, like the hollow echo in the relationships we establish, or the despair that is like a faint stain we can't remove from our thoughts, or the appetite for something richer and deeper that makes us feel alive. It makes perfect sense to perform for acceptance since if you experience rejection, then it isn't the real you that has been turned away. Whereas if you are to be vulnerable and expose who you are and others turn away, then where do you go from there? Of course, all the while the fake you is out there, the real you is hiding in the dark.
That's why truly being loved for yourself--blessings and blemishes--is a foretaste of heaven. And such vulnerable authenticity in you is a doorway through which others glimpse their freedom too.

For me, that's the Gospel. Yes, the Gospel is more than that too, but think about all the encounters Jesus had with the folk who were not approved. These stories described in the four Gospel accounts tell how prostitutes, tax collectors, the diseased and disabled, adulterers, Samaritans, and sinners (that's all inclusive) all were offered and some experienced a liberation from the burden of their disapproval. They were freed through the generosity of being loved as they were, not as they were expected to be. Their social context didn't necessarily change, but their hearts experienced a transformation. In many cases there understandably was an overwhelming gratitude. Think about Zacheus, or the leper, or the man born blind, or the prostitute, or Mary Magdalene, or the Samaritan woman at the well, and all the others whose hearts he freed from the tiny cages. The irony of this is how often the church requires people to be untrue to who God created them to be, in order to fit some ideal fabricated out of self-righteousness.
We can tie our hearts and bodies into Gordian knots trying to be who we think will be approved. It's a lousy way to live, trying to receive the awards of approval. It's a violent way to live--for ourselves and anyone we require to participate in the game, if they want our approval. On occasion we get glimpses of who we are when we feel joy and contentment, but these too quickly disappear. They are hints, nudges, whispers, whiffs of the aroma of peace and love.
At some point, by some mysterious power, some people loosen their grip and let go of the charade, drop the act, and in the process are released by an incredible love that goes far beyond the field of competitive approval. This deep love is a gift that gives us ourselves again.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

At the back edge of the yard where I grew up there was a creek.  It was a magical thing for me. Now, as I think of it, I cannot imagine not having such a ribbon of glory as a child.  It was there that I discovered snails and crawdads and minnows and turtles and snakes.  The greatest gift from that creek, however, was wonder.  It has been a treasure I have carried with me for the past several decades.
One of the activities I recall in this creek was the industrious effort of constructing dams.  These were always made with natural and readily available resources: rocks, mud, silt, moss.  The design of these dams improved through the years as experience, combined with increased cognitive powers were gained.  The motive behind dam building was whimsical. Sometimes it arose out of the excess energy of childhood that needed something to do along with the brain's innate need for the reward of completing a task, of having accomplished some goal--no matter how pointless.  At other times the dam building was for the purpose of creating a deeper reservoir in which to wade, splash, and play; perhaps also to trap larger fish or other assorted creek abiding critters.
The dams never lasted long.  With the first rainfall the creek would swell and the power and force of tiny raindrops collected into hundreds of thousands of gallons of water would wash away the work.  The loss of each dam was part of the wonder as I came to recognize the strength of accumulation.
Sometimes there is a dam in my heart and mind as I consider the terrible things happening in our world.  It is a tiny dam that arises from fear and reaction to threat.  It holds back the waters of hope, forgiveness, and generosity in a punitive effort.  As I pray for peace to rain down, for the weather system to shift and flood the world with reconciliation, my tiny dam is overwhelmed and washed away.  It is a foolish little dam that is as capricious as the rock and mud and moss dams I built as a child.
You and I are rain-makers and each act of kindness, each insult returned with forgiveness, each threat overcome with compassion is a drop of rain falling from heaven, the accumulation of which is far more powerful than the tiny dams behind which fear becomes a reservoir of violence and hatred.  It is no less a wonder to behold the accumulated force of generosity and compassion than to be a child on the banks of a creek after a storm watching the water wash away that which cannot last.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

I call myself Christian, but what is the difference between me and an atheist, or an agnostic, or someone of another belief system? Am I saying that what defines me is my Christianity, my beliefs, or is my identity shaped by grace--the inexplicable, unfathomable, incomprehensible, overwhelming, life-changing and unearnable gift that isn't contained in any belief system? This grace is articulated by the Christian belief system, but other belief systems, acknowledge it as well, often as a shadowy mystery that cannot be contained in an explanation. It is pointed to by the billions of lives who say they aren't religious, but who hunger for God's love.
My point is that when those who are Christian describe themselves as "believers" and others as "unbelievers" they are pointing to a belief system as the defining difference.  It is often said as if there is some insider privilege.
Frankly, to separate people on the basis of believers and unbelievers strikes me as ridiculous, as if the belief system is what matters. And if the belief system is what matters then we are operating by religious works rather than grace. That is the opposite of the humility that grace endows. If we are to divide people between believers and unbelievers I prefer to speak of "those who know God loves them despite all that is unlovable" and "those who do not yet know God loves them unconditionally." This difference is entirely about something that has been revealed to us. It isn't about something that puts us in a better position with God since God loves "the world." My religious knowledge (belief system) is valuable to me, but it only points to the gift, it isn't the gift.
And in seeing the difference as between "knowing" and "not knowing" God's love, my living is focused on being loved in such a way that my life points to the unconditional love God has for others, not in converting them to a belief system.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

I have come to view spiritual growth as catching up consciously with what God does for us in an instant. Those who have days and months and years to embrace and appropriate and acclimate themselves to the gift we are given by God are simply catching up to a reality that we are unable to see or recognize as we are still steeped in the swill of the world.
Spiritual growth is the process of shedding all the baggage we think we need, but in truth we don't. God equips us fully in an instant and the journey of the spiritual life is about discovering all that our hearts need and seek is already given to us.
Long ago I remember the revelation that as followers of Christ we have both arrived and are on our way into God's kingdom, that it is simultaneously true that we are there spiritually and we are on our way there spiritually. The notion of spiritual growth being a process of discovering what we have already received is simply a different view of this truth.
The erroneous notion about spiritual growth is that wherever we may be at any given time is all that we are, much like the temporal and spatial realities we experience as we are on a trip from one location to another. The difference, however, is that what cannot be experienced in time and space is the reality spiritually, because the physics of time and space are not limitations.
Another erroneous notion regarding our experience of spiritual growth is that wherever we may be at any particular moment is the furthest there is, that each stage of spiritual growth becomes the destination, when it should only be a way point.
The trouble this creates is stagnation and legalism--even for those who have grown beyond legalism, for they see the grays in black and white as they judge those who see in black and white.
The truth of spiritual growth is embraced most fully by the understanding that we have all we need, but we haven't a clue how rich it is. Each step we take reveals in greater glory the gift we already have received.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

There is something peculiar and ironic about becoming and being a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ, one who acknowledges God's love for all of us. On the one hand, one's experience is often of warm fellowship, communion, and deep comfort that you are claimed and belong and are secure in God's mercy and deliverance. On the other hand, however, what happens if one persists in being a disciple, is that eventually one is metaphorically set out in the middle of a desert with a tiny canteen and a granola bar and a scrap of paper with the words "trust me" written on it in God's hand writing. After a time of wandering in different directions, the canteen is dry, the granola bar long gone, and the words on the scrap of paper fade or you lose the scrap altogether. The next part of the story isn't particularly pretty. There are a lot of puddles of scummy water you use to fill your canteen and all you find to eat is discarded chicken bones with most of the meat already gnawed off, first by people, then by whatever rodents might be fortunate to find them. Of course, the desert isn't really a desert, but a nice home in the suburbs, and the scummy puddles and gnawed chicken bones may actually be icy alcoholic beverages served poolside or ultra-purified artesian spring water, and six course meals by candlelight. That's because the challenge of trusting God absolutely can be a terribly difficult one to discern and recognize.  We are much more likely to come to trust when we have no alternatives or options. Though this option is effective and often necessary, it is not easy to be stripped of all alternative safety nets--especially because we have so many that we can't even inventory. The truth is, when we have whatever we may feel we need to feel secure (job, income, friends, family, money, insurance, health, the fellowship of the faith community, and a host of other good things), then articulating trust is as easy as ignoring the fact that we aren't really trusting.

Of course, one of the subtle lessons is that God's love and grace are not dependent on my ability to trust. What I have discovered, however, is that the more I trust (code for releasing my false securities), the richer my experience of God's grace becomes and the less insecure I feel.

© 2016 Stephen Carl