Practicing

My earliest introduction to the Gifts of the Holy Spirit was an enthusiastic thing. I was a child of the 70's and my parents were wholly unprepared for me. My father did his best to keep up, and with God's abundant gift of hospitable and faithful aunts, I grew.
My aunts' faith was nurtured in the arms of the charismatic Pentecostal church.   In their faith, the gift of the Holy Spirit is equitable to God's favor and blessing. If one is obedient to God, then one will receive the gift of Speaking in tongues. My father had been was nonplussed. His new wife was horrified. I was young and torn. I kept my thoughts to myself.

As I have grown in years and faith, I have begun to reconcile an unrestrained interpretation of the Holy Spirit with the more reserved leanings.  About ten years ago, I completed my first study of the Gifts of the Holy Spirit. Since then, I have been both spectator and participant in my life as I seek both to observe my natural inclination and guide that yearning closer to God.

These questionnaires can be tricky. I've done them in the past. What's the right answer? How much is often? Sometimes? Do I do what I do because I am wired that way or because I ought? For a time, they were my guide. They were a glimpse of a person I longed to know and set free. I wanted to be whole, magnificent and a blessing to God. How ideal and glamorous.

In fact, the more I identified with my gifts, the more frustrated I became. What was I to do when my gifts were not utilized. Was it my fault? Could I shift blame? Was my ailing church someone else's fault? At the root of all of these gifts is this: These charismata are God given, super natural enhancements to our mortal selves. Our limits are stretched to accommodate the hands, feet, mind and soul of our Lord. How then, shall I live with this hodge podge listing of gifts?

Not too long ago, I was in church. As it happened, the children had baked the communion bread that morning. That was unusual. Further breaking tradition, two children were tapped to help serve it.  My daughter was one. I was anxious, lest someone be offended. My skin is thin.

 During Communion, I watched as the bread was broken to remind us of Christ's broken body. I watched as the grape juice was blessed in remembrance of shed bled. Then, I watched as my daughter walked to the opposite side of the sanctuary.  I was overcome with gratitude and connectedness. This tiny bean that I had diligently nurtured in obedience to God- this tiny creation had grown into this bigger person that regularly fleshes out her own call to Christ. I was so humbled.

And then, I started to wonder, how do I do this? I wanted to sneak to other side of the sanctuary to be on my child's side. I wanted to receive the blessing from my beloved. Then I remembered that God already knew this moment. He knew where I sat. He saw my baby *and* He saw the other one. He saw there was more than one precious child that longed to be a part of worship. More than one beloved that longed to live out their own growing faith. More than one parishioner longed to connect and be blessed. I remained where I was. I am not the conductor.

It is important for me to act. It is perhaps  more important for me to learn that action includes self control,  restraint and silence. It was not the first and will not be the last time, that I allow the Giver of Life to watch over and guide as He sees fit.

It was a Holy moment. But not as Holy as what came next. I dropped my family at home and went out for a bit to visit an older friend. She has Alzheimer's and on this day, was recovering from a fall.   We were not especially close when she was lucid. She was busy. I can be shy. In the last two years, I have come with small gifts, I have held her hand. I recently rubbed her feet. On this day, I walked down the somewhat grey halls of the recovery unit and found her. We reacquainted, as we do each time we meet these days. And then, what I will not forget, is that while kneeling on a thick, padded gym mat, set out for physical therapy and accident prevention, we held hands and sang. We sang Jesus Loves Me, Amazing Grace and Mary had a Little Lamb. It was Holy. It was so very Holy. It was communion without bread.

What my gift inventory does not tell me to do, is what I am learning must be done. I am to be humble and open. I am to take risks. I am to love. I am to both do something and nothing. I am to speak and not. I must lift others to the light. As Paul writes in 1Corinthians 13:1, without love I am no more than a gong booming or a cymbal clashing.   God creates the moment and endows me to live as abundantly as I choose.

This class has been an unusual experience for me. Normally, I am an enthusiastic participant. This time, I have been hesitant, more of an observer. I wrestled with addressing the topic. In fact, earlier this week, I sat at a park in Roswell while my children meandered about. We had come to meet various homeschool acquaintances.  I wrestled with how to explain that I only vaguely care what my "gifts"are and couldn't begin to tell you how they direct my faith and service. A women came into the group. She was a bit pushy. One of the other woman made an early departure. I stayed. The weather was nice. I was attempting to be productive. To write.

Then the comments began coming. The loss. The anxiety. The brokenness. The tears.  This stranger. I told her about grace, forgiveness and compassion. My brokenness. I put my writing away. It was not time to be lofty and reflect upon my gifts. It was time to live. To get messy. To contain another person's broken humanity.  God did that. I just showed up and said yes.

The Scripture passages and inventory tests only give a glimpse of the real story. The real story is what happens when we learn to step aside our own made up agenda and goals to allow the big, expansive God to exercise His being.  These gifts we talk about are not ours. They are not just from the Holy Spirit. They are the Holy Spirit. They are the breath, understanding and action of the Spirit of God. I am grumpy, jealous, impatient and reticent. God is perfect love. There are no limits to what God can do when I learn how to sing, stand, shout, pray and yes, remain silent according to His will.
Our hands and feet. Our Mouths. His being. His heart. His unfailing redemption.

Thanks be to God.