I think it’s taken me this long to realize when I say “God” others don’t automatically know this means: newborn gasp “these are my hands?” When I say “Jesus” I mean: Muse out of dreams. Fog rolling over a mountain studded with snow like a lover’s graying beard. The feel of hot tea sliding down my throat. The satisfaction of reading a great novel and understanding enough to change my life while knowing I didn’t get even a tenth of it. When I say “The Spirit” I mean: that deep rumble feeling of earth quake that did not choose to unleash its power. The speed of a quark. The mutability of an atom. When I say “Christian” I mean: the magic of a word. And of course, so much more than this. It isn’t automatically assumed that my beliefs are about something abstract, conceptual, impressionistic, cubist, beyond the naked eye dimensionable. Some shrink the thoughts immediately into some old santa man in a dress, minus the presents. This makes me beyond impatient. I personify Mystery because I’m a person. A crow will caw at me even though I am not a bird. I think for me to celebrate what I really believe, I may have to use other words.
Amen sister! And by Amen, I mean I agree, and by sister, I mean I love you. I too search for adequate words to describe these mystical relationships, and I fail dismally every single time. They are so much bigger than my words, and my faith so much more complicated than a “confession of faith”… Keep on trying to describe these things. I’m cheering you on.
ah, you’re right, so much bigger than a “confession of faith” – love that – lovely Kathleen. xo