Accepting all things through Christ

This morning, as I was sitting and engaging in my morning meditation and prayer, the phrase accept all things through Christ came to me spontaneously... emerging within me unexpectedly, as though it were a breeze that had blown up out of nowhere, and touched the tops of the reeds in the salt marsh on the river.

It brushed me; it touched me. I'm not quite sure what it meant; then again, these days, I'm not quite sure what anything means, and I'm inclined to take things as they come, without asking as many questions as I used to.

Or, perhaps, what I mean is, not assigning as many interpretations as I used to. The questions may still be there; after all, I don't know anything about what happens. But maybe there is less of an urgency in me about that now; even the act of questioning does not seem as important as being present to what comes. It could be that what comes will be a question; I'm a curious type, after all, constantly inquisitive. But maybe it won't be a question.  Maybe it will just be a state of receptivity, where there is a certain kind of clarity that penetrates through the fog of my daily abstractions.

Accept all things through Christ.

What does that mean? Something is trying to reach me. A force I don't know about or understand is attempting to inform me; and I resist. The resistance is my own; it's what I am. I am as I am, and that is what resists. Yet there is this possibility of understanding life through a force other than myself. And perhaps this idea of accepting all things through Christ is of that order.

Yet it's not an act of psychology or a theory; to me, today, it is an intimate touch that reaches down into the depths of the organism, a gentle reminder of the fact that I am alive, and at the same time a definite sensation of how absolutely vital that aliveness is. Such a sensation, perhaps, as I have never had; and maybe every sensation is like that, new, completely different. Maybe that's what being touched by Christ is like; having Him with me.

I don't know.

 One thing seems certain to me today. Christ is not about something that took place 2000 years ago; it is about something that takes place now. It is today. I have the opportunity to live the day through a different quality of attention and a different kind of energy than I usually do. I could make that the center of my day; I could put aside my objections, my quibbles, my petty arguments about how things should be this or that or the other way. I could just encounter and accept. Even now, that's a possibility. If I walk away from it, it's my own fault, and no one else's, because the intimacy of life calls to me from here, and from now.

As I said — I'm not sure what this means.

I just thought I'd pass it on to you; because I feel so distinctly that the return of Christ is not far away. Every white cloud in the blue sky seems to announce this; every bird sings it; every bee carries it on its wings, and it rests in spiderwebs, busy picking out concentric rings of daylight.