Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

A Revelation of Divine Love Changes the Deep Structure of our Being

By

The longest distance in the world is the eighteen inches from the head to the heart.

Until our personal revelation of the love of God, we limp as Christians, impelled by duty, not desire, not love.

But we really, really change in the deep structure of our being, when we realize what Karl Barth described as the most important insight in the millions of theological words he published—God loves me.

When, as Paul prayed for the Ephesians,  we have “the power, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,  and to know this love that surpasses knowledge,” (Eph 3:17-19) it’s transformational. Paul says, mysteriously, that once we know this, we will be “filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

I find myself able more able to endure disappointment, sadness, frustration, boredom, uncertainty, the possibility of failure, and the reality of failure (!) when I lean into the certain knowledge of the love of God for me.

* * *

Both I and my younger sister (Ph.D. in Immunology from Notre Dame University, post-doc and Cancer research at Sloan Kettering, now a partner in a Wall Street investment firm specialising in bio-tech) were raised with unrealistically high expectations.  Being amazing was a minimum requirement.

After colliding with the love of God, I frequently remind myself, “Anita, you don’t have to be amazing.” A burden drops off my shoulders. I can just be myself.

* * *

The revelation of the love of God comes in the oddest moments. I sometimes look around a messy room, and realise I am failing in an ideal I set for myself, orderliness, and then instead of feeling self-condemned, I relax into the realisation that God loves me. 

And from that, energy comes to clean the darn thing up.

* * *

I couldn’t blog well if I didn’t know in my bones that God loves me. For a good blog is an honest blog, and you cannot be honest if you fear criticism.

For in blogging, you reveal yourself—and, inevitably, reveal more than you realize. You may even reveal more than you consciously know about yourself. And what you reveal can be read wrong for people don’t read with their eyes alone: they read with their baggage.

And people can read you wrong, can decide they hate or envy you, can use things you’ve written to hurt you, or manipulate you, or wrongly label you. Oh, what an unsafe enterprise honest spiritual blogging is, and who would ever embark upon it if they did not know in their bones that God loved them?

* * *

After colliding with the love of God, I felt worries waft away like autumn leaves in the wind.

I feel relatively at peace about my relative lack of achievement, and hopeful for the future. I barely worry about sickness, money or retirement planning. I quickly convert any worries about my children to prayer. I try to convert my worries about my blog and nascent career to a strategy session in prayer.

* * *

My seminal experience of the knowledge of the love of God rooting itself in my heart and spirit happened in May 2010 during a International Leader’s School of  Ministry led by John Arnott during which I learned soaking prayer. Though at a healing service the previous month, when I had requested healing from adrenal fatigue, the vicar prayed that I receive a revelation of divine love. And just as I had dreamed that night, I felt electricity, honey, surge through my brain, and in retrospect, I see I am different.

* * *

While encountering the love of God has been transformational for me, it’s harder to pinpoint how to experience it.

My best shot:

1)   Pray to. 

“Pray that you may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Eph 3: 17-19)

And perhaps ask people to pray for you to receive this revelation of the love of God.

2 Hang out with God, just resting with him. Let prayer move beyond lists and agendas to just hanging out with God, soaking in his presence.

Here’s a quote from Brennan Manning, whose experience, interestingly, was like mine.

“My personal experience of the relentless tenderness of God came not from exegetes, theologians and spiritual writers, but from sitting still in the presence of the living Word and beseeching him to help me understand with my head and heart his written Word. Sheer scholarship alone cannot reveal to us the Gospel of grace.” (The Ragamuffin Gospel)

Have you had a revelation of the love of God? What is the best way to experience the love of God, not intellectually, but emotionally, in the depths of your being?

Image Credit 

In which I Remember that God Loves Me

By

Nowadays, when I look around my house and see mess, or when my eyes fall on expensive books I have bought but haven’t read, or I remember a project I started enthusiastically but haven’t completed, I tell myself the same thing: “God loves me.”

When my blog is not growing; or I have been snubbed; when I realize I came across too strong, like an exuberant puppy; when I have just indulged in momentary pleasure which will be pain on the scales, I remember it, and say, “God loves me.”

I started telling myself that to comfort myself. “Oh Anita, it does not look like you will achieve your writing goals today; God loves you. You haven’t lost weight this week; God loves you.” And I believed it intellectually.

But now, I truly believe it. The knowledge wells up within me. It is the beat my pulse returns to—God loves me.

God loves me, God loves me: it has become the cry of my heart, as if reminding myself of a floor beneath which I cannot fall.  All shall be well because God loves me.

It is no longer something I consciously remind myself of. It is something my heart reminds me of: “Anita, God loves you.”

Oh girl with the messy house, God loves you. Oh girl so overwhelmed with her to do list that she’s stopped looking at it: God loves you. Oh sedentary girl who succumbed to sweet temptation, God loves you. Girl struggling with envy: God loves you. Girl who got distracted instead of writing: God loves you.

Groggy morning or too late night; disciplined day or fractured one; day when I made a fool of myself, or was ever so wise; good day, bad day, it a “God loves me” day.

It’s become the drumbeat of my heart, a reminder, comfort and also sheerest fact: “God loves me.”

 

Thank you to Kelli Woodford for her hospitality!

 

Will We Let Anything Separate God from Our Love?

By

In Romans, Paul says that nothing neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 No matter what we do, no matter what happens to us, he continues loving us. The love of God always shines on us. The pleasure of prayer remains open to us, and the power of prayer to change us (if not our circumstances).

Can we say the same? That nothing He does will stop us loving him?

That no matter what he sends us, no matter what happens, we will still love him, unconditionally?

Lord, I want to be so in you, so engrafted in you, so hidden in you, that not loving you is inconceivable, for, you and I, we’re one. I am in you, inside your heart, part of you, and you are in me, in my heart, part of me.

Poor Me and Amazing Me: Which Narrative is Yours?

By

Sometimes, going through my Facebook newsfeed, I see two narratives: Poor Me and Amazing Me.

Poor Me status updates are largely negative: ill-health, the misadventures of children, looming deadlines, crushing work loads, exhaustion, the intransigence of schools, employers, medical services; the inadequacy of tax-payer money funnelled towards their needs,  the anguish of the entitled!

And then, there are Amazing Me status updates. Amazing Me won a prize; travelled to Antarctica; conjured up this gourmet creation; pulled off this domestic Goddess feat; moved mountains today, oh Amazing Me!

* * *

We started playing these roles in our childhoods. In my childhood, Poor Me would have met with no sympathy. I would have been scolded for whatever led to my Poor Me plight. Why did you allow yourself to gain weight? Get sick? Get writers’ block? Fail? Go, do something about it. Run a mile. Eat vegetables. Write a page.

And I too get impatient with Poor Me, and come up with solutions. (Though I am silent, and my tears flow freely when there are no solutions: an incurable illness like motor neurone disease; an inoperable tumour, or the sudden death of a loved one.)

Amazing Me was the script I was expected to follow in childhood. Amazing me, always winning prizes; Amazing Me, dazzling my teachers; Amazing Me, achieving, achieving, achieving.

* * *

Poor Me and Amazing Me have this in common. They are both symptoms of emptiness. They both want something from other people. Poor Me wants attention—and sympathy. Amazing Me wants attention–and praise. Both their cups are half-empty, the one who proclaims the emptiness of her cup, and the one who declares her cup runneth over, but still wants affirmation from other people.

* * *

In middle age, I am less interested in old scripts. I am not interested in Poor Me. When people Poor You me, I hate it. I want to shake off their sympathy, which feels like a clog on my feet (though in the case of tragedy I can do nothing about, yeah, I will accept sympathy, and cry on your shoulder–if I can).

And when I tend to Amazing Me, on the days I am smart, I remind myself of the eternal fountain always flowing, flowing to fill my empty places.

And I tell myself, “Anita, you are indeed Amazing Me because you are a child of God. You are Amazing Me because you can climb into his lap and lean on his shoulder. You are Amazing Me because he sings over you; you are Amazing Me because he protects you; you are Amazing Me because no matter what goes wrong, he comforts you.

You are Amazing Me because when you blow it, he puts his arms around you, and blows his spirit into you, fills you with the water of the Holy Spirit to overflowing. You are Amazing Me because he patches you together again, and you are as good as new.  You are Amazing Me because he will take you to places you never dreamed you’ll go.  You are Amazing Me because he loves you.

Thank you, Kelly, for hosting the first version of this! 

 

In which I Confront the Accuser of the Brethren, Or Divine Prozac for “Bad” Mummies

By

2012 06 03 16.04.25 3 musketeers detail   If the accuser of the brethren Has a favourite weapon, it is this: “Bad mummy.”   Yeah, he’s always coming up against me “You should have nursed longer, Eaten better when you were pregnant, Given them less sugar when they were little, Read more to them, and for longer, Kept their rooms tidier, Been involved with homework, Taught good study habits. Done more, more, more.”   But I will listen to another voice, Softer, kinder, gentler, Almost drowned out By this raucous accusation. A voice which says, “Do not let your heart be anxious, Neither let it be afraid. Trust in the Father Trust also in me.” “Cast your cares and your children upon me for I care for you.” I am the redeemer. Place it all in my hands. Watch me create diamonds from dust, Beauty from ashes, A garment of praise From your spirit of heaviness, The oil of joy from your sadness.”

In which I am Surprised by the Revelation of Divine Love

By

 When I look around my room,

And my eye lights on mess,

 

And my actual word count

And writing goals

Bear no resemblance,

And my day is slipping away

And I am barely writing

 

You know what I think most often?

 

He loves me anyway.

* * *

 It’s been a long love story,

Unrequited

On my part–for far too long.

 

But about fifteen years ago,

I began to remind myself,

God loves me.

 

And I knew it was true

In my head, intellectually.

 

But then the knowledge

Dripped like slow honey

From head to heart,

From head to spirit,

 

Until it became

The lens through which I see the world,

The music in my heart’s background,

The rhythm to which my pulses return:

He loves me, anyway,

He loves me, anyway.

 

The revelation of divine love.

Oh gift of gifts!

 

Restore it, refill it, oh Lord.

In which I ponder False Starts & Dead Ends, & God says, “Come, Dance.”

By

 
 I set aside a few hours one day a week to declutter.My maternal grandparents left a house full of a lifetime’s stuff which neither they, nor their three unmarried children who lived at home, had ever dealt with.And the accumulation made their house seem small and cramped and dark.

Oh, how much space it took up. Whole corridors and large sections of rooms!!

And my father died, prematurely, after a few dreadful months of sorting it out, tossing it, selling or trying to find homes for it. He didn’t even get to enjoy or use the stuff!!

* * *

Yesterday, I heard my friend, David, the son of John Bendor-Samuel, the founder of Wycliffe Bible Translators, UK, say in his Sunday sermon that his brilliant father was a hoarder and left two rooms full of papers, magazines, sermon notes, lecture notes, and journals, which David is stolidly dealing with.

I can’t stand the thought of leaving mess and papers for someone else to sort out. It’s just plain wrong. And so, I declutter once a week.

* * *

It’s a bit of a sad exercise, really. I see projects started with enthusiasm, which proved abortive. Courses I took which were a red herringish waste of time. Diaries filled with “Lunch with X and coffee with Y,” and you know what, twenty years later, I don’t remember  who on earth these people were. I look at To Do lists: “Reply to A, email B, thank C.” Who are these people? They are all out of my life.

I look at projects taken up and abandoned. I love French, but early into my French classes, I bought the complete Remembrance of Things Past in French. Oh-uh!!

How many hobbies and interests I plunged into by buying a pile of books on the subject!!

How much I tried to do with my own strength instead of relying on God!

How long it took me to focus on my writing!

* * *

And, the odd thing is, when I look at these things I poured my intensity into which were unfruitful, which failed, or disappointed me; things I wanted so badly which I did not get, or which I got, but which did not satisfy me; false starts, dead ends, I have the same overwhelming sensation.

And it is not sadness.

It is someone saying, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I sense God’s overflowing love.

What?

Well, when does a good parent love their child most? Feel most protective? When they have aced their exams, or when they have truly blown it, and are down in the dumps? When they experience rejection, failure and sadness, or when all is sunny?

And he who is melding the shards of my life—wasted time, wasted energy, wasted intensity–into a beautiful stained glass window sees me turn over these scraps of wasted things  sadly, and says, “I will let nothing be wasted.”

And he says, “Yeah, I know. I know: you did all that in your silliness without enquiring of me. I love you anyway. I love you.”

And he says, “All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”

And he says, “Come, beloved. Want to dance?”

When Was it Ever About My Deserving? Or Why The Gospel is Good News

By

 

I had a fail on holiday.  For perhaps the longest period since I became a Christian, I neglected sitting down with my Bible, or having a dedicated period of prayer. I got annoyed with one, then two, then perhaps even three members of my family. The only reason I didn’t get annoyed with any more is that we left the pets at home!

 

And we were on holiday in a campervan (RV for American readers) which meant that I would feel odd reading my Bible or praying in semi-public if I hadn’t repented and made nice. And so….oops, I didn’t read my Bible! I didn’t set aside a time for prayer. I re-read Wuthering Heights instead!

* * *

And so I was less internally happy, less able to see the world charged with the grandeur of God, singing and bathed in his glory. Normally, on a nature holiday, I sense and worship God deeply while surrounded by beauty.

Yes, I was out of sorts, not really enjoying myself, not totally happy. I had got out of alignment with God, my friend, the ocean in whom I normally try to live.

* * *

And now, I am finding it hard to abide again in the centre of God, as a molecule in the vine. I am blogging on a Biblical passage, and realize I am approaching it with my left-brain, rather than my right; with my mind rather than my heart, spirit and soul.

That’s not a problem for God: he made both sides of the brain, and our minds, as well as our bodies, souls, and spirits. But he might like us to approach his Holy of Holies with our whole selves. (And approaching the Bible that way touches people’s spirits and hearts, as well as their minds.)

* * *

And I say, “Oh Lord, can you bless me?” And then I chide myself, “You’ve not dwelt in the heart of worship for a couple of weeks, Anita. You could have repented and surrendered and returned to live in Christ so much sooner!” And I think “I don’t really deserve God’s help and blessing….”

And then I realize, “When was it ever about my deserving?”

                                               * * *

And I think again about the most incredible thing I know. That when I realize I have blown it, and return, you are full of compassion, you run to me, throw your arms around me, and kiss me.

You barely listen to my litany of failure. Instead you clothe me in your best robes. You put a ring on my finger, and sandals on my feet. You set out a feast and celebrate, serving the best steak. There is music and dancing.

All because I have returned?  

This is incredible, Lord. I don’t deserve it.

And you say, “When was it ever about your deserving?”

And I repent again. Totally.

I will live in the heart of worship, live in you, a molecule of sap in your vine, a happy red blood cell in the beautiful Body of Christ.

And if I fall, I will not delay in fleeing to the sanctuary, to the joyous heart of worship, to the embrace of the Father.