As Pentecost Sunday winds up, my mind goes back to a trip I took about two months ago during Lent.  I knew I needed some time away to process things going on (or not going on) in my life.   I can’t even remember how I stumbled upon the information about the retreat. All I knew is that I needed to go.  So I went, enjoying the rustic scenery on the way.  When I arrived, the sky was overcast.  It was springtime, but neither my surroundings nor my mood reflected this.  Almost a year after my ordination, life seemed anti-climactic.  Perplexed,  I wondered, “Now what?”

So here I was at this gathering.  There couldn’t have been more than 10 people present.   To reinforce our discussion, the facilitator decided to play a clip from the movie Ray, which offers a glimpse of the life of the late Ray Charles.  In the scene, a young Ray, who had lost his sight, runs into the house and trips over something on the floor.  Disoriented and scared, he cries out to his mother for help.    There is no response. Ray’s cries grow more desperate. The mother is in the room. She is standing in a silence that would seem stoic, if the camera had not come in closer. Compassion fills her face and her eyes brim with tears, yet she knows that her son has to apply what she has taught him.  So she stands and she waits. Ray begins to grope around to get his bearings. Then, he gets still. He hears a cricket and runs toward it, fears fading.   And yes, he hears his mother breathe.  She had been there the whole time.  “Why are you crying, Mama?” he asks. Her answer — “Because I’m happy.”

As a fan of Ray Charles’ music, I had already seen the movie.  I recall being very moved by the scene I just described, but this second viewing was different.  This time, I wasn’t just watching Ray.  I was Ray.  Along with his cry, I heard the voices of the Psalmists weeping as they sought the whereabouts of God.  And I heard me.  In the face of Ray’s mother, I saw the face of God, full of love and waiting for me to get still, listen, and apply what I have been taught. God was there the whole time, breathing and rejoicing.  In that quiet moment, I had a profound awareness of God’s Presence that I had not experienced in a while and tears of release came.  Pentecost had arrived a bit early and I’m just realizing it now as I write this post. I’m grateful.

Your Call: How have you navigated seasons in your journey in which God has felt distant to you? How are you heeding the call to be still and pay attention to God’s presence in your day-to-day life?