Come sit with me

Picnic snack. Tara Faul/Flickr/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

"Is it the doorbell ringing? Quick, open the door! It's God coming to love us. Is someone asking us to do something? Here you are! ... It's God coming to love us. Is it time to sit down for lunch? Let's go -- it's God coming to love us.

Let's let him."

-- Madeleine DelbrĂȘl

What if all God is saying to me is, "Come sit with me. Sit down. Just sit." And all the while God pats the picnic blanket, lays out a snack, picks off the stray piece of grass, readies the spot meant for me alone on the brightly checked cloth. The lure is strong. Sun-warmed and soft, it beckons me. But I am not ready to sit. Or rather, I am not willing.

God's sincere request -- "come sit with me!" -- is not difficult to heed, but sometimes feels impossible to fulfill. How can I sit when I have goals to pursue and tasks to complete, when I have human relationships that require attention and care? Why should I sit on a blanket with a God who is everywhere, around me and within me, just to partake of a snack when I could instead expend energy to act on God's word? Surely I know what God wants of me. Surely God wants me just to "do it," whatever I perceive "it" to be.

In my mind, to sit is to surrender, and not in the meaningful spiritual way. It signals rest where I see no room for rest, and quiet where I do not wish to listen. If I sit with God, I must BE with God. Not that being with God requires small talk or logistics. We're not at a cocktail party. It merely requires I show up. But showing up does mean relinquishing something else -- like fun. Or ego. Or control.

No wonder I continue to decline God's invitation.

Yet God keeps asking and patting and putting out snacks anyway. How miraculous that the blanket never scratches and the food never stales. How wondrous that the request never changes: "Come sit with me. Sit down. Just sit." A simple act with profound results, if only I accept.

Prayer #322: Picnic

One day, God, I'm certain you'll tire of following me around with your re-folded blanket and your picked-up shoes and the basket full of goodies that I never help you lighten. One day you will notice that the sun has set, or the food has molded, or the park where you've been pursuing me has been bulldozed to make way for a housing development, and you'll shrug your divine shoulders and think, "Better luck with the next one" before you head home to put up your feet.

No one can keep up a pursuit this long, especially when there's no reciprocation.

This is how I escape you, right God? I'll pretend I don't see or hear you. I'll pretend you're incapable of loving me. I'll pretend you're pretending, too, but only I will be none the wiser.