Thursday, Day Five: Guard
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything flows from it.” Proverb 4:23 is one of my favorites. Sometimes I am so full of conflicting feelings, of overwhelm, that I can’t control what I am doing. I am frantic, moving too quickly through life, or else, the opposite—so overstimulated that I can’t move. Either way, I am no use to the world. And, I can’t see the world, either—can’t feel awe at the dawn’s slow coming to light, at the colors of the sunset, at the sounds of giddy laughter from children in the park. I pull the dog along on his walk instead of walking beside him. I fret about everything that has to get done.
How do I get this way? By not taking time, every day, to be present with myself, with all that is larger than myself. By not paying attention. Not getting enough rest. Saying “yes” to too many things.
Sometimes, though, we guard ourselves from what is deep within us by purposely becoming overwhelmed with things to do. We avoid silence, quiet, time to ourselves. We stop looking at how we’re feeling, paying attention to our hearts. We guard ourselves unnecessarily against God’s slow, steady warmth, against the light of truth touching our deepest places.
The guards at Jesus’ tomb were there to make sure no one stole the body—perhaps to keep the faithful from visiting the body in the first place. They were unnecessary. There was already a giant rock in front of the tomb. When the earthquake came, when the angel appeared, they fell to the ground in fear, no longer able to do what they were supposed to be doing. Later, in some accounts, they became believers, which at that time meant taking the risk of standing for Jesus’ love and against the political and religious oppression of their time (not believing in any specific doctrine).
If we would just fall down as the guards did, in awe of what we see. If we would just let ourselves open to the mystery of what is in our own hearts. If we would stop trying to do everything, to know everything--if we would just take the time to be present with ourselves, we could be of more use to the world.
“Let me keep my distance, always, from those/who think they have the answers,” writes spiritual poet Mary Oliver. “Let me keep company always with those who say/"Look!" and laugh in astonishment,/and bow their heads.”
How do I get this way? By not taking time, every day, to be present with myself, with all that is larger than myself. By not paying attention. Not getting enough rest. Saying “yes” to too many things.
Sometimes, though, we guard ourselves from what is deep within us by purposely becoming overwhelmed with things to do. We avoid silence, quiet, time to ourselves. We stop looking at how we’re feeling, paying attention to our hearts. We guard ourselves unnecessarily against God’s slow, steady warmth, against the light of truth touching our deepest places.
The guards at Jesus’ tomb were there to make sure no one stole the body—perhaps to keep the faithful from visiting the body in the first place. They were unnecessary. There was already a giant rock in front of the tomb. When the earthquake came, when the angel appeared, they fell to the ground in fear, no longer able to do what they were supposed to be doing. Later, in some accounts, they became believers, which at that time meant taking the risk of standing for Jesus’ love and against the political and religious oppression of their time (not believing in any specific doctrine).
If we would just fall down as the guards did, in awe of what we see. If we would just let ourselves open to the mystery of what is in our own hearts. If we would stop trying to do everything, to know everything--if we would just take the time to be present with ourselves, we could be of more use to the world.
“Let me keep my distance, always, from those/who think they have the answers,” writes spiritual poet Mary Oliver. “Let me keep company always with those who say/"Look!" and laugh in astonishment,/and bow their heads.”
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