2023-05-30 A Meditation on Healing Up
“11 All these are empowered by one and the same Spirit, who apportions to each one individually as he wills” (1 Co 12:11 ESV)
The individual’s ground zero beckons to the converted estate: come down here. Come down here and turn a new leaf. Come down here and dare to live into the healing. Modulating, gyrating, around the former estate, we refuse to allow new birth to be a return to what is unhealed and frustrated, a depressive former self.
Yet all exuberance is ignored, whilst original sin and old spirits clamor for reintroduction: to meet the house now swept, and domesticate, make it domicile, move in. Today, we pray out of a soul smarting, taking its licks, needful of a sensitive healing, even as outwardly we are uniformed and bold, strong and fellow travelers alongside peers in the fight. Some have the proper heritage, the inheritance, to be that caste called Entitled, whilst others seem to be denied entry.
Others seem only to make the pleasing outlay when personally vexed, troubled, smarting, and wounded. Only then, it can seem, are we listened to anew. Only then properly heard. Only then granted some space and some respect. Yet such is our new Call: to find a praxis pietatis, a pious walk, a service unto that Cross, to cash in our deeper pain for a higher Exaltation in Resurrected light. Therefore we do hear and do pray alongside, the ones pinched and troubled in soul, pained and smarting, taking their licks. We do know every ennui or pain can be turned to Light, by that praxis called Prayer, called Meditation, called No Fuss entree unto spiritual dealings.
That is, we were touched. In good ways, but also in ways that lingered painfully. We were mildly robbed of a certain spiritual astuteness; we knew not with what innocence, blessed innocence, we were fed to the lions. Ignorant of the designs of Satan; ignorant of the gaming, competitive, worldly spirit; simply trusting and childlike, unto death march of a sort.
Therefore, and in fullness of heart, in fullness of involvement, integration, belonging, and servant mind, we live into the day of healing, knowing no pain nor frustration can take from us the immediate clarity and return unto Holy estate. We are soldiers without time nor schedule for nursing wounds, only that said wounds when they come are mildly regretted—not for our pain, but for us being temporarily excused from the fight to heal up. We wish always to be stern and on mission. We wish always to be comprehensive, with astute limbs and strategies, with clear mind and generous soul. So in such clamor of health, is heard a soft and hurt “Hey!” Hey, how come the pain? How come the betrayal, the denial, the false compliments? How come the accusation? How come the rewind?
And today we live no deniers of times of hospital care, but rather bold to heal up and bold to give back insofar as we can, to parents who sheltered, to friends who took up cause together, to neighbors who had a bit more in common with us than we thought, to sons and daughters, motivated and flourishing in their generation’s gigs, yet putting up with their older generation.