Coming up for Air

I last posted on this blog over a month ago. Perhaps you could say that it was a sabbatical of sorts, but it didn't really feel like that. Through Advent I struggled with a deep melancholy that felt like grief over past losses. In some of my own reflections I named it as "drowning in sadness." It felt like a deep, dark pit in which in I was stuck.

That's not a judgment upon my Advent or the depth of my prayer, just the place in which I found myself for many, many weeks. I decided early on that it was a hole I was to experience, sitting in it and praying in it rather than running from it.

In many ways my prayer deepened in the experience. When I come to these times in my life, there is so little to cling to that truly holds the center. My daily prayer was one place where I continued to feel welcomed, invited, and myself.

Of course, that kind of sadness tends to be terribly uncomfortable for those around you. Those close to you want life to be goodness and light, and I confess that it would have felt much better. But it seemed as if the only honest way to move through the days was to be with the sadness authentically.

So now it's time to reappear. Several weeks ago, in the midst of the grief and melancholy I jumped into the poetry of Christian mysticism . . . from the Old Testament Song of Songs to John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila, from Meister Eckhart to the writings of Thomas Merton. The words of these Christian contemplatives, offering their hearts in longing and desire to God, have pulled me above the surface of the drowning waters. Their passion is unmistakeable, the object of their passion is God, and their unashamed love reflects a larger Love for God, persons, and the world.

I'm not guaranteed that those days will not return, and I don't need that guarantee. I'm hopeful of finding life whether in melancholy or delight.

Thanks for being patient and waiting around for me.