A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Meg immediately knew the answer to that question. Ever since she was a little girl, she had loved the image of God as a shepherd. She remembered looking at pictures in a children’s Bible at Mrs. Anderson’s house. Her favorite was a drawing of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, with a little lamb draped over his shoulders. He had left ninety-nine sheep to find the one that was lost.

  “I think my first image of God was the Good Shepherd,” Meg answered. “My neighbor used to sing me a song when I was a little girl, and for years I sang that song every time I felt afraid.” She was surprised by how quickly the words came to mind, and she spoke them aloud. “‘Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me; bless thy little lamb tonight. Through the darkness, be thou near me; keep me safe till morning light.’ I guess that’s why I liked the image so much. Whenever I thought about Jesus as the tender Shepherd, I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

  Katherine nodded. “Beautiful,” she said, still resting her hand on Meg’s shoulder. “So hold that as your image of God today. And as you walk, I’ll sit here and pray for you.”

  Breathing deeply, Meg went over to the entry point of the labyrinth and stood still. The Lord is my shepherd. The Lord is my shepherd. She began to walk slowly and tentatively, concentrating on the winding path so she wouldn’t get lost. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He leads, guides, and protects me. He invites me to rest. He seeks me when I’m lost. I don’t have to be afraid. Why am I always so afraid? Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me. Help me not to be afraid.

  As she followed the meandering path toward the center, her imagination wandered. She saw a little lamb, lost, alone, and frightened, bleating piteously for its mother. But no one came. Darkness began to descend, and the lamb lay down, exhausted from calling out. How would the shepherd ever find it? In the distance Meg could hear the howling of wolves. Come quickly! she pleaded. Come quickly!

  Meg heard him before she saw him: the shepherd was whistling as he came down the path. And when she heard the sound of his voice, her fear evaporated like fog in sunlight. She watched him pick up the little lamb and tenderly embrace it, nuzzling its nose and speaking softly and reassuringly. His voice sounded vaguely familiar as he spoke his words of comfort. “Don’t worry, little one; you’re safe. I have found you; you are mine. No one can snatch you away from my hand.”

  You are mine. You are mine.

  What if she really believed she belonged to Jesus? What if the shepherd really did come and find her when she felt lost and afraid? What if the assurance of his presence really was enough to strengthen her and give her courage? What if . . . ?

  She stood in the center of the labyrinth, contemplating the presence of God. She longed to believe God’s promises. She longed for stronger faith. Help me trust you, Jesus. Help me trust you. Please. As she prayed, another verse from the psalm surfaced, and she held it for her outward journey. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”

  You are with me. You are with me. Help me be with you, Jesus. Please. She wound her way through the turns and switchbacks. You are with me.

  When she completed her journey, she went over to sit beside Katherine on the bench. Picking up a rose petal, Meg began to rub it slowly between her fingers.

  The two women shared the hovering, prayerful silence for a long time before Katherine quietly asked, “How was your walk with God?”

  Meg shook her head back and forth. “I’m not sure I did it right.” She recounted how she had prayed and what she had seen. “It was all just my imagination,” she concluded. “And I can’t trust that. My imagination is always getting me into trouble.”

  “In what way?”

  Meg let go of the rose petal and watched it flutter to the ground. “My mother always told me I had a wild imagination. I was always imagining bad things that might happen—I was always afraid. And then when terrible things did happen . . . ” She took a slow, deep breath to still herself. “When terrible things did happen,” she whispered, “I just became more afraid. And I’ve never stopped being afraid.”

  Katherine wrapped her arm around Meg’s shoulder but did not reply.

  Meg sighed. “I’d like to believe that what I imagined is somehow true. I mean—I know what the Bible says about Jesus being the Good Shepherd, but I haven’t thought much about being like a lost sheep.” She paused. “There was something so powerful and comforting when I imagined him finding me and rescuing me and telling me that I belonged to him. For a moment, it was like all my fears melted away.”

  Katherine squeezed her shoulder gently. “God gave you a wonderful gift, Meg. Your imagination is a wonderful gift—a vulnerability too—but a wonderful gift.”

  A gift? Meg’s imagination had always seemed more of a liability than a gift—the vehicle through which she raced at breakneck speed to worst-case scenarios. She had lived in thousands of potential realities over the years, most of which had never materialized. It was exhausting.

  “Jesus also had a wonderful imagination,” Katherine continued. “He had an amazing way of inviting listeners to enter his stories and catch glimpses of who God is. That’s what happened for you just now. You entered his story of the lost sheep. You walked in it and pondered it and prayed it, and the text came to life within you. That’s a gift, Meg. You yielded to the Spirit’s invitation and said yes to the gift of the Word made flesh. I’m proud of you.”

  I’m proud of you.

  The words ricocheted in Meg’s spirit as she tried to remember the last time someone had spoken them to her.

  Years. It had been twenty long years.

  Ignoring the stern voice inside her head commanding that she pull herself together, Meg buried her face against Katherine’s shoulder and wept.

  Hannah

  Ten-year-old Hannah stood in the doorway, holding on to Daddy’s waist and trying not to cry. Daddy kissed her forehead and spoke soothingly. “It’s okay, Hannah. I’ll be home in three days. And while I’m gone, you’re in charge, okay? Take good care of Mom and Joey for me. And I’ll call you when I get to California.”

  Hannah looked up into her father’s eyes, her lips quivering. “Why do you have to go away so much? I don’t like it when you’re gone!”

  “I know, honey. I know it’s hard. But I’ve got to do my job, and you have a job too. Mom needs your help. I trust you to keep things going around here, okay?” Hannah nodded, sniffling. “I know that’s a big responsibility, but I’m counting on you! I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  Hannah arrived at New Hope just as Charissa was being dropped off near the entrance. “Thanks a lot, John!” Charissa said with a laugh. “I’ll see you at one o’clock!” Then she hurried to the portico, where Hannah was holding the door open.

  “Charissa, right?”

  “Yes—you’ve got a good memory. And sorry—I know you’re a pastor, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Hannah.” She smiled wryly to herself as they walked down the hallway and signed in. Wouldn’t Steve say that was the whole reason for her sabbatical? To discover who she was when she wasn’t playing a role?

  While Charissa chose a seat at the front near the podium, Hannah took some coffee and scanned the room. Mara hadn’t arrived yet, but Meg was sitting by herself at the back corner table near the exit door. Casually dressed in jeans and a navy blue turtleneck, she waved to Hannah when their eyes met.

  “Nice to see you,” Hannah said, setting down her coffee and her canvas tote bag.

  “You too, Hannah.”

  Hannah was just about to engage Meg in conversation when Katherine gathered the group from the front. “Have you seen Mara?” Meg whispered.

  Hannah shook her head and looked around the room. In fact, it appeared that several of the pilgrims had not returned for the second session. Hannah wasn’t surprised. Intense and prayerful introspection wasn’t for the fainthearted. To be honest, she was surprised Meg was there. And Charissa. Charissa had s
eemed so disapproving and provoked about the labyrinth.

  Hannah sighed and looked at her watch.

  Even as Katherine invited the group to still themselves in prayer, Hannah’s mind kept whirling. People would be gathering at Westminster for the memorial service soon. She pictured Steve standing before the mourners, inviting people to share stories of how George had impacted their lives. She imagined Lindy sitting there in the front row, weeping at some of the memories, laughing at others. Steve had a real gift for personalizing funerals, and no doubt the intern would be learning a lot from him. Hannah hoped Lindy would be comforted by the outpouring of affection and gifts.

  Flowers. Hannah had forgotten to send flowers. How could she have forgotten that?

  She made herself a mental note to call a florist as soon as she got back to the cottage. Then again, maybe Steve wouldn’t approve of her sending them. Would she be reinserting herself into the pastoral care process by sending Lindy flowers and a card? Hannah always sent flowers and cards to anyone who needed encouragement, and now she didn’t know what to do.

  She resented these boundaries. It didn’t matter if Steve’s intentions were good. She still felt like she was being punished. It wasn’t fair.

  She focused her attention on the group just in time to hear Katherine invite people to name their images of God. Help me be fully present here, Lord. Please. As voices from around the room spoke words and phrases, Katherine wrote them down on a large white board.

  Jesus. Savior. Lord. Creator. Father. Provider. Healer. Spirit. Revealer. Good Shepherd. Lover. Physician. Tower. Rock. Door. Wind. Light of the World. Living Water. Teacher. Friend. Comforter. Counselor. I AM. Guide. Helper. Victor. Rescuer.

  The words kept flowing.

  Truth. Way. Immanuel. Redeemer. Artist. Author. Word. Treasure. King. Lamb. Host. Hiding Place. Love. Vine. Fire. Gardener. Builder. Resurrection. Life.

  Katherine let each of the images rise and hover before she spoke again. “Maybe you’ve just heard a particular image that has caught your attention,” she said. “Notice the things that attract and repel you. The Spirit of God speaks through both. Perhaps you heard an image that either drew you in or made you uncomfortable. Take the next twenty minutes or so to reflect in your journals on that. And if you don’t know why you’ve responded in a certain way, ask the Spirit to show you.”

  While the room descended again into prayerful silence, Hannah studied the list of images carefully, listening for her own response to them. She knew which one unsettled her. She couldn’t read beyond Lover.

  God as Love, yes. But change that noun from an abstract concept into its active form, and she squirmed uncomfortably. Despite all the beautiful imagery in Scripture of God as the Lover pursuing his people and longing for intimacy and union, Hannah could not embrace the image for herself. That kind of intimacy frightened her.

  She remembered one particular spiritual theology class in seminary. They were reading Christian mystic literature, full of erotic imagery about intimacy with God. One of her classmates had spoken up. “Sorry,” he prefaced, “but all this lover imagery for God is kinda creepy. It’s making me blush.”

  The class laughed, but their professor encouraged a willingness to be pushed beyond what was comfortable. “After all,” he observed, “we do have books like Hosea as part of our sacred text.”

  Hannah supposed that if she were being psychoanalyzed, someone might probe her resistance to intimacy. Why was she afraid of being, as one mystic had expressed, “loved passionately, loved often, and loved long”?

  What would she answer?

  She knew her practiced response when people asked if she was married: “No. The right guy just never came along. Besides, my work keeps me so busy. I don’t have time for a relationship.” That was usually enough to shut down conversation. There was no arguing that Hannah Shepley was busy with her work. She wore her busy schedule conspicuously, faithfully attending every ministry meeting and every church event—always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Hers was the phone that rang with pastoral emergencies at 2 a.m. because people knew there was no family to disturb. She was always available, always willing.

  But Steve had seen through her. “You hide behind your busyness, Hannah.”

  She hated admitting he was right.

  Though Hannah knew many people thoroughly and intimately, very few knew her. She was skilled at disclosing just enough for others to believe they had connected with her in vulnerable places. But there were untouched layers—high security areas fenced off with barbed wire. No one had ever penetrated deep enough to glimpse the No Trespassing signs she had erected.

  Except one. But that had been a lifetime ago.

  One more thing she had been determined to forget. And right up until that moment, she had succeeded.

  Sacred Journey, New Hope Retreat Center

  Session Two: Praying with the Word

  Katherine Rhodes, Facilitator

  _______________________________________________

  Lectio divina (sacred reading) is an ancient way of listening to Scripture, dating back to the early Middle Ages. It is a slow, prayerful digesting of God’s Word.

  In our information-overload culture, we have lost the art of lingering over words. Often when we read, we hurry through the material as quickly as possible, skimming for main ideas. But that kind of reading is counterproductive to spiritual formation. While it’s essential to read God’s Word, we must also allow God’s Word to read us.

  Many people study the Bible without ever being shaped by the text. When we come to the Word with our own agenda, we put ourselves in the position of control. We may look for what we get out of it rather than ever allowing the Word to get into us. We so easily forget that reading the Word of God is meant to be a supernatural act of cooperating with the Holy Spirit. We’re meant to be listening to the Word with the ears of the heart.

  At the beginning of his gospel, the apostle John wrote: “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” This is the process of sacred reading. We read the Bible slowly and reverently, listening for the Word made flesh in our own lives. In sacred reading we aren’t studying the Bible for historical, theological, or cultural contexts. We are looking to encounter the living God. Lectio divina invites the Holy Spirit to bring the Word to life in a way that grips us and speaks to us right in the midst of our daily lives. We let the word descend from our minds to our hearts where it can penetrate and transform us.

  As Jesus often said, “Let those who have ears to hear, hear.”

  4

  Learning to Linger

  When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?”

  John 1:38

  Lectio Divina

  If Charissa had not chosen a seat at the front table, she might have attempted an inconspicuous exit.

  Was it her imagination, or did Katherine Rhodes look in her direction more frequently than any other? Not that she wasn’t accustomed to being noticed. But Katherine seemed to possess an uncanny ability for zooming in on Charissa’s face whenever she was feeling most provoked. Yes, Katherine saw her, but what exactly was she seeing? Charissa hated the thought of yet another person reading the subtext of her life without her permission.

  As she listened to Katherine describe the process of lectio divina, she felt the impulse to leave, no matter who was watching or what they might think of her. Here she was again, listening to someone accuse her of wanting too much control. Ridiculous. This was not what she had signed up for. She wanted out. Maybe she could pull John away early from his football game to come and get her. But no, he wouldn’t have his phone turned on. She sighed more loudly than she intended as she looked at her watch. One more hour. She might as well steel herself through to the end. For today, anyway.

  “Picture lectio divina as a way of feasting on God’s Word,” Katherine was saying. “First we take a bite; then we chew, savoring the taste of it; and finally we swallow and digest it, and it be
comes part of us. I’m going to read the same passage several times. Slowly. As I read the first time, listen for a word or a phrase that chooses you—something that catches your attention and invites you to linger with it. Don’t analyze it. Just listen to it.

  “Then, as you listen to the text again, ponder that word. Chew and savor it, letting the word descend from your mind to your heart. Why did it catch your attention? What is God personally saying to you? How does that word connect with your life? Don’t be afraid of thoughts and feelings that arise around that word.”

  Charissa stiffened in her chair. Why should she be giving priority to feelings and impressions when she was reading the Bible? This sacred journey group was nothing but a collection of subjective exercises. What a waste of time. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if Katherine had them all gather in a sacred circle, hold hands, and begin chanting some mantra together.

  “After you’ve chewed on the word or phrase for a while,” Katherine said, “begin a conversation with God. How is God inviting you to pray? Be honest. Allow the word you have been pondering to touch you at a deep level as you dialogue with God. Listen for the Spirit’s gentle voice of reassurance as you talk with God about what you have heard. And then finally, simply rest in the Lord’s presence. Let go of the need for words, and just enjoy being held in God’s infinite love.”

  Katherine looked out at the group and smiled. “I can hear some of your thoughts racing, already worrying about whether you’ll be doing it correctly. But lectio divina is simply a slow and prayerful reading with the heart. If you attempt to turn this into a method to master, you will have missed the point. Remember: we’re looking to encounter God in his Word. And this is only one way to do it—not the only way. So don’t worry. I’ll guide you through the process with plenty of time for silence. Then, after I’ve given you time to rest in God’s presence, I’ll ring a chime to ease us back together.