(IM)POSSIBLE

Hung out with Lisa for a few hours yesterday. That's always dangerous. We seem very similar in a lot of ways, personality probably topping the list. However, as is the case with many of the people I most admire, she's a good deal further along in areas of spiritual development I am still struggling with. Thus, some of her stories from Malta once again reminded me of goals I set a few years ago and still haven't faced. For example, about 3 or 4 years ago while doing house-keeping duties for my boss, I was listening to a Graham Cooke instructional c-d my brother Nolan lent me. Cooke cited Romans 8:19-21: "The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." Cooke's point was that nature physically responds to humans who are filled with the Spirit of God. His case in point was St. Patrick, who was followed in loving adoration by wild animals across Ireland. Lisa had a more recent example: wind and waves suddenly picking up and crashing whenever two of her intercessor mentors came near. You know, my favourite stories as a child and teen were always fantastic tales of seemingly weak or unimportant figures, such as orphans or beggars or orphaned beggars, finding they have extraordinary powers to control and commune with natural elements, such as animals, fire, water, plants, earth, the weather. We always think those stories have such great appeal precisely because they're impossible in reality. But what if we "invent" those mythic stories in the first place because not only are they possible, but we were intended to live them? So I asked God that day, in the midst of vacuuming an already clean carpet, if I could be like St. Patrick, and have wild birds come sit in my hand and let me stroke them. It hasn't happened yet. Also about 3 or 4 years ago, I borrowed two books from Nolan. One was called Eli, which was a fictitious work that tried to show what Christ's life and sacrifical death would mean and look like if they had occurred in North America today. The other was called Blessed Child, which was about (you guessed it) an orphaned child raised in a middle east monastery who was born with an unusually strong presence of the Spirit of God in him. He stunned North America with his ability to heal the blind, crippled, and disfigured; to survive drinking ridiculous amounts of cyanide and being shot by snipers. Both these books raised in my mind the possibility that I could be healed of my diabetis. I'd never asked God about it before: I always figured I should just be grateful I was born in an age and place where my condition could be treated so I could live a fairly normal life. I've never been bitter or depressed over having diabetis- it actually creates some good common ground between myself and anyone suffering with an incurable condition. I don't really regret suffering depression either, for the same reason. There are some gifts from heaven that cannot be received in a state of happiness. Still, diabetis is an expensive burden for my parents to bear, not to mention a blight on the environment from all the disposable syringes, lancettes, test-strips, testers, and insulin vials required, so I decided to at least ask God if he'd heal me. He did not. However, he didn't say whether or not I would ever be healed from it at some later time in my life. Perhaps he'd like to save it for a more public occasion where his glory can be revealed to many people besides just me and my family. I'm okay with that mystery: God will decide how long I live, just as he ultimately decides how long everyone will live. Diabetis does not change that. I put the question aside. But then I started reading this book called The New Friars for a class on spirituality I'm taking with one of my favourite professors, Charles Nienkircken. The New Friars describes the old roots of new movements within modern radical Christianity towards vows of poverty, purity, and being the gospel incarnate. He notes this life has two forms: (1) contemplative, which provides places of spiritual sanctuary where people are invited to come live in healing community together (e.x. urban monastery houses of prayer) and (2) missional, where individuals go out alone or in groups to live among the poor/marginalized, serving them from a level of equality rather than a position of power. It has such a powerful call to it. Matthew 25:1-46 (The Sheep and the Goats) was really emphasized in the book, which is partly why I quoted it in my last post ("Faces").

Verses 34-36 Then the King will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

In that same class where I read The New Friars, we watched a video highlighting 5 pilgrimage sites: how they came to be pilgrimage sites, and how pilgrims to those places feel they were impacted by/changed through their pilgrimage experiences. Of all the deep, ancient spiritual places to go on earth, one of the 5 featured in this video was Canadian. I was kind of surprised. I've never heard of any pilgrimage sites in Canada. When I think of spiritual sanctuary here, I picture the wild, the mountains in particular. I've always found it easiest to see God when surrounded by his creation. Conversely, when I think of pilgrimage, I imagine pretty much any place except North America. We don't keep anything old if it's not making good money. Not even our globally rare expanses of wilderness, which is perhaps why I'm an environmentalist geek: deforestation, mining, and pollution feel like a desecration of the sacred to me, equivalent to someone spray-painting profanity all over the ceiling of the Cistine Chapel. It's just wrong. Well, lo and behold, the Canadian pilgrimage site is a natural area. It's called Lac de St. Anne (Lake of Saint Anne).

Lac de St. Anne is like the Native/Canadian version of the Israelites' pool of Bethesda. Native groups have put aside their squabbles and fights to visit this lake because of its physical, spiritual, emotional, and relational healing properties since before the Europeans began coming. Don't get me wrong- I understand that it's not the water that heals people, and I know that God doesn't heal everyone, that we can't earn or manipulate God into giving us what we want by enduring certain hardships or going to certain places. But I think it's fair to say that some places on earth have been blessed (or cursed) with an especially intense presence of Spirit (Holy or otherwise), and in those places we are especially prone to transformation.

Transformation appeals to me. Not just in body, but in spirit. I want to cultivate a spirit of truth, fearlessness, love. I know in my mind that all things are possible through Christ who gives me strength. But I don't know it yet. There are a lot of experiences I avoid because I fear how they'll interact with my diabetis. I was sooo excited about finally going on my first back-packing camping trip with Nolan, Chasey, and Sam last summer. I want to do things like that- I want to immerse myself in simplicity, in beauty, in wild, in challenge, in quality time spent building meaningful relationships with people. But I'm so afraid of being isolated somewhere when I'm having a low blood sugar. Neither my siblings nor my friends wake up when I get up in the middle of the night because I'm having a low blood sugar- only my parents have developed the light sleeping habits required to get up with me when I need them. On that camping trip, my blood sugars were ranging from 2.0 mmol/L (50% of the min. required before brain damage and imminent death occur) to 24 mmol/L (4X the max. needed, which can cause long-term problems like blindness and loss of appendages) four times a day because I couldn't figure out how to balance my insulin, exercise, and food intake. It was scary. I felt physically sick. I've stopped playing soccer, partly because of time constraints, but also because it freaks me out that I can't tell the difference between a low blood sugar and simply being tired- the symptoms are the same. The only reason I didn't die just before Christmas when I accidentally overdosed on insulin in the middle of the day is because God brought my dad home early from work, so he found me unconscious and convulsing on the floor in time to get paramedics to me before I hit the no-return point. I don't even remember the seizures or hitting the floor, but the idea of it really shook me up (sorry for the unintended pun) for weeks afterwards. The ground-beef texture of my tongue and the mysterious white foam circles with metal things in the middle stuck all over my body were eery tangible reminders of how close I came to death. I've always rejected the possibility of my being a missionary among remote peoples because I know that it would be really difficult/ impossible to get reliable/consistent access to the medications and food I need there. Maybe that's God's way of protecting me from feeling guilty for not answering the call to GO make disciples of the nations. On the other hand, fear is not of God. And I feel like I'm wasting the best years of my life avoiding things I'd like to try while I'm still young enough and free from responsibilities.

I love my parents very much, and I appreciate the sacrifices they have made so that I and my siblings could have all the opportunities we do for sports, music lessons, and post-secondary education. Both my social psych and personality psych profs confirm that we all become very like our parents by middle age no matter how hard we try to become something else. But I dread the thought of becoming them. There has to be more to life than watching movies or reading novels so you can avoid noticing as your body atrophies from disuse and wishing every morning that you were not returning to a job you hate with all your being. There has to be more than this present avoidance of people and places whose strength makes me feel embarrassed by my comparative inadequacies and weaknesses. God, please, I don't want to do this forever. I don't want to do it now.

So I've begun thinking that maybe a pilgrimage would be good for me. Possibly this summer, or maybe the next. I wouldn't go alone- I'd definitely want at least one friend with me. So it'd be a good relationship deepening experience with both God and people as we push ourselves, struggle. Meeting people along the way (friends and strangers) that God intentionally brings into our path would be cool. I really like the idea of going to a place where Native peoples dialogue with each other and with Christ-followers (not that there aren't a significant number of people who are both already) about faith, healing, God, and the land. I'm willing to bet walking or biking from Calgary to Lac de St. Anne would also take a while (I'm guessing a month, at least) and put me in much better physical shape than what full-time studies has reduced me to. I could finally have the solitude, the quiet, the simplicity, the discipline and daily order so very lacking from my city life. Facebook is killing my soul:) I like the idea of temporarily protesting/ rejecting our culture's obsessions with working to acquire more wealth than we need, moving from one place to another at break-neck speeds without actually being present anywhere, and seeking happiness and comfort before everything else. I want to revolt. I want to be inefficient, uncomfortable, present, and inaccessible. Plus, I've always wanted to see the north. But not yet. I have studies to complete over the next 2 months. God told me they're important. Oh, the tensions of now and then, real and unreal, the possible and impossible. Stupid tensions.