Where’s God?
What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Tryin’ to make their way home? — Joan Osborne
Just where do I find God?
As a stranger on the bus or a priest at the highest pinnacle of power in his grand vestments?
Or is the Source of Life sensed in a flickering flame in my heart? Or as Etty Hillesum describes it we,
“safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves”
What are the GPS coordinates for this God?
One thing I know is when I begin to experience the Eternal one, in myself, you, nature, my sister and brother critters, then
I’m on my way home.
It’s a continual challenge to identify home.
I know that, for me, it is not sitting in a house of worship. I frequently ask, “Is this where I’m supposed to be?
It’s not sitting on top of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.
Nor do I find home in my grand achievements or crashing failures.
But,
I glimpse God in the eyes of the starving refugee, the abandoned child, the man in Morocco who just lost his wife and children in the earthquake, or the stray animal foraging for the last morsel of food.
Did not Jesus give us the first beatitude as
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the rule of heaven?
In the world of the prosperity gospel (I’m rich and that’s a sign of god’s favor),
entitlement (I’m the head of the home because I’m male and white).
manifest destiny (I am on top of the caste system and deserve first dibs on all that is good including your land).
the words “poor in spirit” and “blessed” don’t seem to go together.
Jesus was not an advocate for the wealthy ruling or religious class.
Mary describes him as someone who “brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:52–53).
Over 2,000 verses in the Bible speak to our responsibility to the poor.
So why do we cut funds for the homeless?
What is the rationale for depriving minorities of their opportunity to vote?
Why cancel mental health services, avoid building low-income housing, resist helping those about to be evicted from their homes, and punish refugees seeking asylum?
The radical Jesus is not the president of some nanny state. Nor is he a bleeding-heart liberal. Instead, he is clear-eyed, compassionate, and reflects the mercy of God.
I sense a Divine spark in the other passengers.
In the gurgle of the new-born in her mother’s arms.
In the disheveled homeless man in the back of the bus.
Many like myself feel alienated from their Tribal rules, rituals, and dogma.
Old beliefs such as “I pray, and it happens” are now seen as pure magical thinking.
These practices are not worthy of devotion or act as reliable guides for day-to-day living.
Fear does not generate wholeness.
Conformity destroys true faith.
Who, then, is this stranger on the bus?
What is our common ground?
Could it be a shared Divine imprint?
Could it be that we have love at our core?
We travel through the desert with few signposts. Our confused state is a blessing in disguise as we hear the call of life, “Seek and you will find.”
We are more comfortable with thorny questions than the easy answers.
The bus now approaches the edge of the wilderness. I gaze into the distance. I see the Promised Land (home) in the eyes of the stranger.
Someone asks, “Are we there yet?” The driver responds, “Nearly”.
There is always the tension between my aspirational self and the reality of my swaggering ego that avoids true spirituality.
But some unseen force pulls me in the direction of this liminal space. It gives me a glimpse of what it means to be awake.
Now, in my more advanced years, I experience sightings in dreams, the song of nature, serendipitous surprises, inner prompting of the spirit, teachers of the soul from many cultures and traditions, ancestors beyond the veil of death, and glimpses of the transcendent on the margins of society.
The stranger glances at me, smiles, and recognizes me as her companion. I stare back with gratitude for someone who has been there all my life. In this connection, I am home.
Could she be the carpenter from Nazareth? I read her lips as she whispers, “Follow me.”
Right now, I am miles from the institutionalized religion of my past. I muddle around at not being fully a part of any community.
The spirit of this familiar stranger is dormant, waiting to be heard, inviting me to love and transforming me into an instrument of peace in our world.
I squint in the direction of the setting sun and glimpse a lamp shining in the home window. I smell fresh bread and wine.
Those nail-pierced hands will break the bread as I hear the greeting, “Whoever you are and wherever you find yourself on the journey of faith, you are welcome here.”
The Prodigal’s home is not a future destination or state. It is now found in the connection with the slob on the bus and all the other passengers. These are genuine soul-to-soul encounters. The Presence in me meets the Source in you.
We are one.
