One of the highlights of every week for me is facilitating and participating in a Friday morning Lectio Divina group on Zoom. Many of us live in Western North Carolina, but others are in the Piedmont, and still others scattered around the country. There is no agenda to our time together but to be still and listen for God’s still small voice speaking through the scriptures.
(If you’re ever interested in participating in this open commitment-free gathering online, I’d love to have you! Shoot me a direct message, and I can add you to the emailing list.)
Last week, we reflected on Luke 24:44-53 and the incomprehensible story of Jesus’ ascension. With our third listening, I invited us to prayerfully consider the passage imaginatively, entering the story through our mind’s eye, considering who we were in the scene, what we saw, heard, felt, etc.
After I read the passage to the group, I did my own imagining for a few moments, and I found myself walking the road to Bethany with Jesus and my companions. I saw a gravel pathway. I saw feet shuffling and garments softly billowing in the wind. I saw Jesus’ hands moving gracefully by his side, and I felt a deep ache in my to grab hold.
My mind then shifted to the moment Jesus was lifted from the ground and into the clouds. I stood there gazing up at him overwhelmed with sadness and confusion, wanting desperately for him to stay with us.
Then suddenly, one of Jesus’ sandals slipped off and landed in my lap! I was so taken aback that I started laughing to myself, and slowly the grief that had washed over me a moment ago at the realization of his departure began to fade.
I had received a sacred memento from my earthly journey with Jesus, an object I could always look upon and remember by. I had also been given something far greater—a promise of his presence, a resounding “I am also one of you.”
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Along the road to Bethany, you continued opening Sacred scripture to our befuddled minds, calmly Cracking wide the mustard seeds you had scattered Ever so abundantly across our hungry fields, Never forcing what our parched earth could not yet receive. Sandals—what lovely footwear in a world caked with dung... I caught yours barehanded as it sadly slipped Off your stained sole, your final words echoing in the cloud— No, I am here. I am still here. I will always be here.
*Today’s poem is best read on desktop to preserve the intended form.
What word, phrase, or image in today’s poem captures your attention, draws emotion, brings rise to resistance?
Consider reading the poem again slowly. Then spend some time in listening prayer. Is there an invitation you sense God extending to you in today’s poem? A kindness being offered? A reminder?
Consider giving Luke 24:44-53 a slow read. Then, close your eyes and imagine yourself in the scene. Who are you? What or whom do you see or hear? What thoughts, emotions, or spoken words arise? How might your imagining serve as an invitation into prayer?
I would love to hear your thoughts on today’s poem! Consider dropping your comments below. It’s always so encouraging to hear how a particular poem stirs you.
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