Come be, with Me.

Recently, I began receiving a daily invitation.

It drops into the seat beside me each morning in the darkness along with my first cup of coffee.

Come be, with Me.

The invitation is to simply be in Their presence, to say nothing, do nothing. The only action is to receive the gifts found there. The invitation is faithfully consistent and never disappoints when I enter in.

The call to come sounds routine, familiar and how often the profound is made ordinary from overuse. Most days I struggle to grasp the full weight of the meaning behind this simple message.

For months now the words have sounded louder, tinged with urgency. More like they are saying, “No really. Come be, with Us. It is time.”

No time like the new year. 2020 you’re it. Oh, and by the way a global pandemic will help push the lessons on home.

Seriously. I’ve been about the work of practicing just being. It has felt like learning how to walk again after a stroke and I am slowly understanding two things from just being in the presence of God, Jesus and Holy Spirit:

How much I need what is offered by my just being
and
How poor I am at receiving what I find in the being.

Matthew 11:28-30
Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.

The acceptance of just being is hard for a professional doer such as myself. To Be requires a certain unDoing. Our world says you are what you do and performance and productivity have become our idols. Frankly, for me, it’s easier and more comfortable to go do something, even in the name of Jesus, than to sit fully present to the holy work of being transformed.

Some mornings I say yes to practicing this new state of being, but rush out before settling down to receive. Other days I watch as another dumb or distracting invitation lures my heart away.

This ‘being in the presence’ is a tricky process for our physical bodies used to immediate gratification and minds numbed by screens and lives overscheduled. Especially difficult if we need our entire theology rewired back to the abiding peace of being instead of the anxious hustle of doing.

But by His grace, I’m slowly getting comfortable with it feeling awkward and fumbling. God’s good work in our souls takes time. It literally takes practice to submit to the gentle ways of Jesus. To tune our ears to the voice of Holy Spirit means we have to be intentional, tuning out every other sound.

When He says “let me teach you here” it’s no joke. I’m filling up journals with the quiet whispers and images. Words spill out onto pages and into conversations and it feels like falling in love all over again. This is such good news.

The 24/7 invitation into God’s presence is the Good News in its fullness.

This constant access into His presence is exactly what Jesus came to offer. No longer secluded from us behind a veil. His sacrifice removes every barrier and invites us to live and move and have our being within the spacious boundaries of trinitarian intimacy. Because of his death, He invites us back into the garden and we receive every single thing we need to live an abundant life in His kingdom.

From Genesis to Revelation, from Christmas to Easter. The gift of His presence is what it is all about. He always wanted us to be together. It’s why He created us to begin with.

“You will find rest for your souls.” Indeed. His triune presence within our souls renews, refreshes, restores and redeems. We find everything we will ever need in its never-ending depths.

In this current season of social distancing and isolation, the irony of this beautiful invitation is not lost. Among a million other things, His presence brings healing (not sickness), peace (not anxiety) and hope (not fear).

May all the fullness of the Presence of God make this Easter the best you’ve ever experienced.

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