by Joanne Blum, Ph.D.
“Were not our hearts burning within us?”
— Luke 24:32
Recently my church relocated to a small village named Etna. I was pleased to learn the name derives from the volcano in Sicily, Mt. Etna, and that the word itself comes from the Greek “aitne,” which means, “I burn.” What a fitting site for a spiritual center! I hope my parishioners and I take it to heart as we continue to grow here, for we all need more fire in our spiritual practice.
I frequently wonder if we aren’t a little too comfortable in our churches. I worry that what we’re most interested in isn’t a deep and authentic experience of God, but rather a safe, pleasant community where we can all feel secure and good about ourselves. A closer walk with God, though, doesn’t always mean steady, uninterrupted comfort. Sometimes it means having a fire in our hearts, and tongues of flame goading us onward.
Just like the body-builder, who must push
the muscles to the point of burning in order to prompt any physical
development, those interested in genuine spiritual growth must also keep
pushing past their limits. If our
spiritual practice has become passionless and cozy, if it’s all about having a
safe place to go on Sunday mornings and then going home happier with the status
quo of our lives, then I’m afraid the boat to the promised
land has sailed without us.
That we need passion in our spiritual
practice is not a new idea. Nor is an
awareness of God as fire. Fiery images
of the divine have been around for centuries.
St. Therese of Lisieux (1873-1897), in her
autobiography, Story of a Soul, wrote
passionately of her desire to accept the gift of God’s grace. “Jesus,” she prayed, “grant me the happiness
of being . . . burnt up in the fire of your divine love.” The French theologian, Teilhard
de Chardin (1881-1955), communicating with God as
with an intimate companion, wrote, “It is not in the form of a ray of light . .
. but as fire that I desire you . . and
it was as fire that I felt your presence.”
Images of God as fire, flames, and
burning heat have always been a part of the Christian tradition. We recall, for instance, the powerful
mystical experience of the disciples, when they were touched and empowered by
the Holy Spirit.
“When
the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And
suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it
filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire,
appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were
filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the
Spirit gave them ability.” (Acts 2:1-4).
What an experience of the divine presence
this was! Not as peace and light, not as
comfort and security, but as tongues of fire! Have we forgotten that God’s
power can ignite us in this way, enabling us to do
things we don’t know how to do—speak in foreign tongues, heal the sick, utter
words of wisdom and light to uplift the world?
We need to remember the mightiness of God’s power, its ability to fire
us into action, to set us ablaze with new ideas, to transform us with its heat
like hand-blown glass.
As a spiritual teacher, Jesus lit fires
in people’s hearts and minds. I think of
Simon and Andrew, dropping their nets and leaving their homes and families to
follow him. What did they hear in his voice?
I think of Mary sitting rapt at Jesus’ knee while her sister Martha
fussed over dinner, of the crowds that surrounded him in the marketplace and
temple, of Peter stepping out on the water at the sound of his voice. What a
teacher he must have been! What
excitement he must have aroused in his listeners!
My favorite story of the fire of Jesus’s spiritual presence was the account of the two
disciples’ journey to Emmaus. Only days
after the crucifixion, the two men walked along the road, talking of recent
events, when Jesus himself joined them, his resurrected spirit somehow visible
but not familiar to them. He walked and
talked with them, explaining events related to his own life, interpreting the
sacred teachings, but they did not recognize him until they sat down to eat and
he broke the bread. Suddenly their eyes
were opened, and then he was gone. They
exclaimed to one another, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was
talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” (Luke
24:32).
Why didn’t they recognize the presence of
the Christ? They should have known by
the fire in their hearts. And so should
we. How often are our lids too thick,
our vision too obscured by fear and pettiness, to see the presence of the
divine in our midst? How often do we
miss the cue of our own energy rising within us, our own passion and intensity,
telling us we are close to something of great importance for us and had better
pay attention?
Moses has something to teach us about
this kind of attentiveness. As a child,
I loved the scripture about the burning bush, the story of this ordinary
shepherd, who led his flock out “beyond the wilderness” and an “angel of the
Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush” (Exodus 3:7-12). The blazing bush, it turned out, was a divine
attention-getting device, designed to stop Moses in his tracks and get him to
listen. Moses did stop to gaze at this
miraculous sight—a bush which burns but is not destroyed by fire—and then God spoke directly to him,
telling him he was on “holy ground” and that his life was going to change
dramatically. He had been called to a
sacred mission. “Bring my people, the
Israelites, out of slavery in Egypt. I
will be with you.” Now go!
The story leaves us with questions
of course. Would Moses have seen this
amazing thing, would he have received this divine guidance, if he hadn’t gone out beyond the wilderness? And if he hadn’t been out there, if he hadn’t
paused in curiosity and wonder, would he have remained a humble shepherd the
rest of his life?
My hunch is that there was a part of
Moses, as there is in us, that would have liked to
stay a shepherd. Facing the unknown,
stepping out into a new life, is frightening, after all. We’re never sure that we’re up to it, that we
have the resources that we need. But if
he’d stayed on his familiar hillsides, resisting the pull to go farther out,
think of the adventures he’d have missed—the parting seas, the manna from
heaven, the companionship of God! And think of that unanswered call, the
children of Israel waiting in Egypt, the sacred work that wouldn’t have been
done. I’m grateful Moses was an adventurous
spirit, a truth-seeker curious about divine mysteries, and eager to commune
with God. Had he been anything less, he
would have nothing to teach us.
God still comes to us as fire, just as he
did with the prophets and mystics of old, making our hearts burn, and calling
us to be about our business. The
question is, are we listening? Are we
stopping to look as Moses did? Or would
we just as soon stay put, take care of ourselves and our loved ones, and not
press our luck?
If we truly want to know God, to hear its
guidance, and to let it direct and create our lives, then we must like Moses
keep pushing past our human limits.
Again and again, we must overcome our complacency, and our resistance to
change, and open ourselves up to something new, to a deeper understanding and
experience of God. For there is no end
of what we can discover of God. The only
limits are within ourselves. If there’s no
fire in our hearts, no passion and excitement in our spiritual unfolding, then
we need to renew our energy and attention. Fire ourselves up. Wander out beyond
the wilderness a little bit.
Burning bushes show up in all our
lives. We’re dealing with one every time
we hear something that makes our hearts burn within us. Whenever we witness something that fills us with
passion and enthusiasm. Whenever we feel
the energy rising within us, and a knowing taking shape, “This is who I am!”
and “This is work I’m meant to do!” It
could happen anywhere, any time.
One of my favorite real-life burning-bush
stories is my friend Ted’s. For many
years, Ted worked as a chemist though without much zeal or devotion. It was just a job that suited his educational
background and met his material needs.
Then one day, for his birthday, his wife Karen gave him a gift
certificate for a massage therapy session.
Ted had never experienced massage before. He made the appointment with curiosity but no
expectations.
Much to his surprise, something fiery
happened at that massage. The therapist
happened to be one with a special gift for healing touch, for ministry through
the hands, and somehow, mysteriously, she lit a fire in Ted’s heart. He left the massage with a good deal more
than relaxed muscles. A whole new idea
for his life had been planted in his mind.
Ted drove home thinking, “If I could touch people in this way, make
people feel this way—that would really be something!”
Over the following two years, Ted
discontinued his work as a chemist, attended classes and became certified as a
massage therapist, and set up practice in his home. He began serving as a massage therapist for a
hospice program in his city, as well as working cooperatively with a group of
practitioners in alternative healing therapies.
A whole new life took shape, and the work continued to grow. Such is the power of God’s fire in our hearts
and minds—a power to heal us, to fill us with joy, to utterly transform our
lives.
What puts a fire in your heart? What makes you tremble with excitement? Whenever we hear or see something that lights a fire within us, we know we’re getting close to something that strikes at the very core of who we are—and of who we are becoming. That inner burning tells us we are on holy ground. We should tread lightly, stay alert, and wait for further instructions. God has work for us to do and we will be guided in it.
Therese of Lisieux,
from Harper Collins Book of Prayers,
p. 355
Teilhard de Chardin,
from Harper Collins Book of Prayers,
p. 342.