Fingerprints in the Mystery

Gazing out the window of my room at the retreat center, I noticed a woman sitting on a bench directly across from the first of twelve Stations of the Cross. In this season of early spring, sporadic bursts of warm weather had coaxed the trees back into life throughout the dense forest. Staring through the emerging buds, it was hard not to notice her blue jeans, light blue jacket, and white tennis shoes.

She was writing in her journal. Putting pen to paper, I could see her scribbling diligently, as if taking dictation from a voice speaking quietly into her soul. After a few moments, she put down her pen, closed her journal and stood up facing the cross. She bowed her head with a holy reverence, as if giving thanks to the one who ultimately gave His life on a cross very similar to the one before her. One last goodbye, and she proceeded on to the next station. I marveled at this sight in so many ways. Here was a woman I did not know enjoying an intimate moment with the One who calls her His beloved.

While she was standing at the cross, the group I was with shared our encounters with God the Father, Jesus our Redeemer, and the Holy Spirit over the past ten weeks. Fellow pilgrims on a sacred journey, we all met God in new and fresh ways through Scripture reading, prayer, reflection, and contemplation. As different as we all are, each of us experienced God speak into the context of our own individual lives.

My own personal journey took me deep into God’s heart. As I began to interact with scripture as a participant rather than an observer, the people and places suddenly became alive and real.

I was there in the Garden of Eden when God created Adam and Eve. It was beautiful; lush and green with everything they needed. After they took the infamous bite of the forbidden fruit, I was there when they realized what they did. As they hid from God in the cool of the day, I was there when he was looking for them, weeping as a mother would weep over a lost child. “Where are you?” He asked.

I was with Mary in the quiet of the night as she gave birth to Jesus. When she treasured up all the things that were said about him, I treasured them too. I felt her desperation as she and Joseph frantically searched for their twelve-year-old son after leaving Jerusalem without him. Astonished, they found him in the temple, speaking with wisdom far beyond his years. Along with Mary and Joseph, I too, was amazed.

I heard the crowd shouting when Bartimaeus called out to Jesus. They tried to silence him, but Jesus called to him to come. “What do you want me to do for you?” “Recover my sight,” Bartimaeus replied. And Jesus did. I was there when Bartimaeus opened his eyes and saw his friends for the very first time.

When the disciples left Jesus alone in the Garden of Gethsemane, I was there. When they ran away, I stayed. I accompanied Jesus through the worst week of his life, horrified at the torture, the mocking and the violence. My heart sank along with the others when he took his final breath. I was as confused as the rest of his followers.

I was there when Mary Magdalene went to the empty tomb and found Jesus alive. I could barely contain my joy and excitement as she ran to tell the other disciples. When Jesus made his final ascension, I joined the disciples as they gazed up toward the heavens, looking for him. When the power of the Holy Spirit came upon them, I was there, equally amazed at the wonder and mystery of it all.

Throughout this journey, I felt many emotions. Without a doubt, what I felt the most was love: a deep love for God and the gifts and graces He gives us every day. I wonder if the woman at the Stations of the Cross felt this love too? Is this what she was writing about in her journal?

As I move forward into the life God has given me, may I be empowered by this overwhelming love, walking with God toward the world He so loves.