Names

“Out of all the words I have heard in my time, ‘God’ is in my view the one most grievously abused by humans; the one most deserving of a careful unsaying.” (David James Duncan, God Laughs and Plays)

I met Eva Soltes in Joshua Tree, California. “How do you define ‘God’?” she asked—echoing a question I hear often and surfacing one of the most difficult challenges of my journey.

“I don’t usually talk about ‘God,’” said Eva. “I can relate to ‘Creativity,’ to ‘Creation,’ to ‘Life,’ to ‘Life force,’ and to ‘Nature.’ It’s all the things we’re born into and surround us in the world.”

Eva brings to light the intrinsically futile attempt to capture a reality that transcends words. “The word God,” writes Eckart Tolle in The Power of Now, “has become a closed concept. The moment the word is uttered, a mental image is created, no longer, perhaps, of an old man with a white beard, but still a mental representation of someone or something outside you, and yes, almost inevitably a male someone or something… Neither God nor Being or any other word can define or explain the ineffable reality behind the word… So the only important question is whether the word is a help or a hindrance in enabling you to experience that toward which it points.”

Language is limited; God is not. That’s hard for us to reconcile—perhaps because we’re not entirely comfortable with mystery. So we continue struggling for ways to adequately convey our experience of the Divine.

Duncan calls God the “fathomless but beautiful Mystery Who creates the universe in you and me, and sustains it and us every instant, and always shall.” Martin Buber comes at it from a slightly different angle. “When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly,” he writes, “God is the electricity that surges between them.”

If forced to answer Eva’s question today, I’d describe God as an essence beyond knowing that is the source of all being, manifest in countless ways and forms. But here’s the rub. The path to God—by whatever name you use—isn’t intellectual. It’s experiential. We don’t come to understanding through our minds, but rather through our hearts and senses. So a better question might be, “What does God feel like?” Some words used to characterize the feeling of God by people with whom I’ve spoken: peace, tranquility, oneness, connection, comfort, joy, love, and resonance.

“In the end,” writes Krista Tippett in Speaking of Faith, “the reality of God is most powerfully expressed not in ideas and proclamations but in presence.”

If one were to accept that conclusion, the key to finding God would be to simply remain present and open. Unfortunately, in a world so full of distraction, that takes some doing!

(Sedona, AZ)

Reverence

Last week I had the privilege of studying with four fascinating teachers, each of whom followed a spiritual course with which I had little prior knowledge: Druidic, Native African, Native American, and Sufi. While I enjoyed learning about certain customs and practices associated with the respective traditions, I was literally mesmerized by the way the teachers carried themselves.

While each was firmly rooted in his or her chosen path, they shared an intense respect for and connection with the natural world. As the Sufi put it (and the others inferred), “Wherever you look, there is God.” The way they walked made that conviction clear. Each moved gently, gracefully, and with profound reverence. Even though their feet never left the ground, they appeared to hover slightly above.

Witnessing such deep reverence brought to mind a visceral reaction I had while watching a man bow before an altar several months earlier—a gesture I’ve seen in many churches. I wonder why we don’t approach each other with similar awe?

“Life is miraculous,” writes Anthony De Mello, “and anyone who stops taking it for granted will see it at once.”

My four teachers take nothing for granted. Consequently, they experience miracles daily. Their gentle gaits honor the presence of God in all creation. Even if I fail to remember anything they said, I’ll never forget the way they walked. I hope someday to move likewise.

(Kingman, Arizona)

Intersections

“Another name for God is surprise.”  (Brother David Steindl-Rast)

The dictionary defines “intersection” as a “crossroad,” an “overlapping,” a “common point” or “set of common elements.”

I anticipate many intersections on this journey—both figuratively and literally.

Each morning, I enjoy reading from several books. Today I was struck by the intersections.

I came across David Steindl-Rast’s observation in Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening. Nepo goes on to characterize God as “the chance to know Oneness.” The term “oneness”—or variations such as “connection with all things”—is a way several of the people with whom I’ve already spoken have described the effect of their personal encounters with God.

Eckhart Tolle, in The Power of Now, suggests that God (“the Unmanifested”) can be found in silence and space. “The Unmanifested,” he writes, “is present in this world as silence. That is why it has been said that nothing in this world is so like God as silence. All you have to do is pay attention to it.” He continues: “…it also pervades the entire physical universe as space—from within and without. This is just as easy to miss as silence. Everybody pays attention to the things in space, but who pays attention to space itself?”

According to Rainer Maria Rilke, God is to be discovered in quiet and shadow. “Of all who move through the quiet houses,” he writes in his Book of Hours, a collection of love poems to God,

“you are the quietest. We become so accustomed to you, we no longer look up when your shadow falls over the book we are reading and makes it glow. For all things sing you: at times we just hear them more clearly.”

What to make of it all? Richard Rohr offers this, in Falling Upward:

“In the beginning you tend to think that God really cares about your exact posture, the exact day of the week for public prayer, the authorship and wordings of your prayers, and other such things. Once your life has become a constant communion, you know that all the techniques, formulas, sacraments, and practices were just a dress rehearsal for the real thing—life itself—which can actually become a constant intentional prayer. Your conscious and loving existence gives glory to God.”

The lessons for me at this morning’s intersection: Pay attention. Listen closely. Savor the quiet, the stillness. Be surprised…

(Lone Pine, CA)

Embarking

After six months of planning and six weeks of intensive preparation, I finally set out on Sunday, April 20. The week’s “seventh day”—Biblically appointed a “day of rest.” And not just any seventh day either, but Easter Sunday—the pinnacle of the Christian year.

The day was remarkably restful—though not without mishap. The closet rod crashed down twice, both times spilling all my clothes, and a rock cracked the windshield less than a hundred miles from home. But just putting the groundwork behind was a relief. The sunny drive through central Oregon was magnificent. I received a warm welcome in Bend from my friend, Jenny (who provided both flat parking and electricity). But the day’s most affirming and encouraging gift was the send-off itself (see photo at the bottom of my home page). Susanne flew from Minnesota to join me for the first thousand miles. And our dear friends, Jackie and Tinker Hatfield (along with their family) prepared a wonderful brunch—inviting my children and grandchildren as well. Their generosity embodied the hospitality extended by so many people in recent months—friends who have offered encouragement and support, and who travel with me now in spirit.

The quest now begins in earnest. At its outset, I realize that my outward adventure is merely a pretext for a more critical inward journey necessary to embracing the divine presence within and about.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes,” observes Marcel Proust, “but in having new eyes.”

“If there were a spiritual journey,” John O’Donohue adds, “it would be only a quarter inch long, though many miles deep… You do not have to go away outside yourself to come into real conversation with your soul and with the mysteries of the spiritual world. The eternal is at home—within you… There is nothing as near as the eternal.”

Rather than a human being on a spiritual journey, I perceive myself as a spiritual being on a human journey. I believe we all share, at our core, a primal curiosity to understand where we came from, and a primal longing for both connection and transcendence. How deep that journey takes me remains to be seen.

At the end of a long Easter day, both Jenny (a Presbyterian minister) and I were a bit weary. But I couldn’t help asking her husband where I might find God. He smiled. “Everywhere, I hope!”

I hope so, too.

Jenny Warner, outside her church in Bend, Oregon.