A Closer Walk
A "FIRESTARTER"
Spiritual Essay by Rev. Dr. Benjamin Berinti, C.Pp.S.
As the path of our Lenten journey
begins to narrow, as the steps become more ominous in the days and weeks ahead,
we are invited by the Lord to make a “closer walk.” When Lent first
broke on the scene, most likely we were filled with enthusiasm, commitment, and
vigor. The starkness of the church décor and the striking purple draping looked
refreshing and mysteriously soothing. The 40 days adventurously stretched out
before us like the bricks on Dorothy’s “Yellow
Brick Road” in the Wizard of Oz. Fortified with our package of spiritual
practices, our commitments to more regular prayer routines, our lighter than
usual appetites for sodas and sweets, and the safety of distance from the
ultimate end of Lent, Jerusalem “our destiny,” we set out skipping to the tune
of our own Lenten songs that would lead us “over the rainbow,” arm in arm with
members of our community who would travel a similar path.
But where are we now? Now that the
path is becoming more harrowing, now that the road is looking more like the “Way
of the Cross” rather than the way to the “Emerald City,” now that the journey is
marked with pain and suffering, are we still willing to make that “closer walk”
with the Lord? Are we starting to scatter in the same way the disciples did?
Are we any more committed to staying at his side than those who walked and
talked with him on a daily basis? What is this “closer walk” to which we
are invited? Is it “too close for comfort”?
With the approaching days of the
Passion and Death of the Lord, the Scriptures take a decided turn toward the
rigorous landscape through which Jesus had to pass on his way to Jerusalem. The
sun and heat, the dirt and dust, the sleepless nights and emotionally exhausting
days would tell only half the story of the stress Jesus experienced, for the
other half that made the way dangerous and lonely was the gradual turning away
of followers unwilling to make the “closer walk.” As talk turned away from the
glories of the Kingdom and God setting things in proper order, and now began to
focus upon the unexpected truth that “the Son of Man must suffer and die,” the
“followers” began to seek their own paths, ones which diverted them from the
road to Jerusalem. This kind of talk was too much for them; this kind of talk
was too prophetic; this kind of talk scared them! The disciples wanted to skip
the “three days” and leap right for the glorious climax, the “raising up by
God.” The “closer walk” which Jesus was now requiring of them was indeed too
close for comfort; “comfort” would need to be found elsewhere—and elsewhere did
they seek it.
At the San Pedro
Retreat Center, there is a wooden “pier” that cuts a swath through the woods,
ultimately ending on the craggy, secluded edge of a lake. The path is named “A
Closer Walk.” I have traversed this pathway many times since my arrival in
Orlando; despite its gently winding twists and turns, it is a place where God
has taken the opportunity to “set me straight,” as I am sure he has done for
many others who have ventured along these planks. A sign warns, upon entrance,
“Slippery When Wet,” but I have found that when one encounters God along the
way, whether in the depth of mediation and prayer, or immersed in the words of
Holy Scripture, or watching a spider spin its web amidst the tender branches of
a neophyte palm, things can get pretty “slippery” even when its been weeks
without a drop of rain!
Because of the peace and serenity
that seem to rise up like vapor from the grounds of San Pedro, I simply took for
granted that the name given to this particular pathway was a simple
designation of one’s journey with the Lord while spending a day or week in
prayer at the retreat center. I even thought that perhaps, given the
Franciscan’s love for music, the forest path was named after the classic song, "A
Closer Walk With Thee.” Nestled in the beauty and wonder of God’s creation
at San Pedro, the invitation to make a “closer walk” seems easy and
understandable—hardly “threatening.”
On a recent jaunt down “A Closer
Walk,” with the days of the Lord’s Passion weighing heavily on my mind and
heart, suddenly I became more aware of the meaning of the name given to
this pathway. As I gazed along the edges of the “pier,” making my way slowly
toward the lake, I saw something about the “beauty” of this stretch of God’s
earth that I previously hadn’t allowed to wrest my attention. With each step,
with each methodical shuffling of one foot after the other, I took in, for
the first time, the immensity of the BROKENNESS that littered this sylvan
sanctuary. For the first time, I was overwhelmed by the fact that the
beauty of this pathway is not merely conveyed by the “life” springing up
along the edges, the lush tropical foliage, the squirrels and birds who make
their home there, but also by the “death” so intricately intermingled. The
depth of the beauty was only fully recognizable when I was willing to absorb the
brokenness and decay along with the vitality and vigor of the landscape. Now I
began to understand more clearly why the path is known as “A Closer Walk.”
To walk more closely with God
means to navigate along pathways strewn with life and death, “weeds and wheat,”
rocks and sand, decay and debris—our own and that of others. So often,
we look for only completeness and wholeness when we seek the Lord, but the Lord
hears the cry of the poor and brokenhearted, and the Lord makes a home with the
incomplete and unwhole, with the less than beautiful in the eyes of the world.
To walk intimately with the Lord, to make a closer walk with God is to follow a
path that reveals all the chips and cracks, all the corrosion and corruption
that intermingles with the attractive and unblemished, with the smooth and
pristine.
Henri Nouwen, a faithful seeker and
disciple of the Lord who rarely shrank from taking an intimate look at every
path God set before him, recognized all too well the inescapable presence of
brokenness when walking with the Lord. He recounts in his Sabbatical
Journey:
Our life is full of
brokenness—broken relationships, broken promises, broken expectations. How can
we live that brokenness without becoming bitter and resentful except by
returning again and again to God’s faithful presence in our lives (134)?
The challenge of these closing weeks of Lent,
of accepting the invitation to make a “Closer Walk” is to begin to see the
beauty in our brokenness and know it to be loved and embraced by God.
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