Confessions of a Reluctant Observer.

I started re-reading one of my favorite books today, Return of the Prodigal Son, by Henri Nouwen. For those unfamiliar with the book, it was largely inspired by Rembrandt’s painting by the same title. I find the painting, Nouwen, and the Gospel parable all to be incredibly inspiring and relevant to where I am today. In the book, Nouwen depicts his own spiritual journey as seeing himself as the three main characters of the painting, the lost but returning son, the jealous and faithful son, and the embracing father. But Nouwen begins his introduction by noticing the four observers in the background and shares his temptation to remain an observer of the father’s welcoming embrace rather than allowing himself to be held and comforted.

This is where I found myself this morning. Standing in the backdrop. I watch others find comfort in the surrender of the Father’s embrace. All the while I am burning with jealousy at the gift they are receiving, but finding difficulty in allowing myself to be a recipient of such gracious comfort.

It is safe to be an observer. I can see it. I can smell it. I can experience it vicariously. It looks absolutely amazing. I know that is in the midst of the action where I long to be; where I need to be. To have my spirit, my needs, my sorrow, my hope, and my joy held in the arms of a loving Father is my deepest desire. But to actually go there myself . . . that scares the pants off of me. It is easy to write about it. It is quite another to do it.

I see my prodigal ways, at times with a harsh, critical eye. I am neither proud nor ashamed of them. They are what they are. I cannot undo my choices or any subsequent damage afflicted. I can seek forgiveness. I can work towards reconciliation and healing. But I fear I too often keep this process cerebral. “Yes, God, I seek your forgiveness.” “Yes, neighbor whom I harmed, I humbly admit I wronged you.” I remain on the outskirts nodding my head in agreement with the son’s whole-self approach towards the father, but rarely do I seek the close proximity of the actual embrace. Rarely do I throw my emotions, my soul, and my whole being at the feet of a merciful God. God gets my thoughts and my writing, but I hold back my relentless expression. I seem to believe that such an embrace is not for me.

I suspect much of this is a pride issue. Part a reverse pride that I am the exceptional one not worthy of such an embrace. And part an egotistic pride -- I am often too proud to admit that sometimes I just need to be held in the midst of my sorrow, my confusion, and my fear.

I suspect another part of me is still struggling to realize that this embrace is really for me. Struggling to trust that as I lay myself bare, open, and vulnerable I truly will be welcomed. That I do not have to earn it or even deserve it, but it is truly mine simply to have because I am who I am, a beloved daughter.

And this is where I begin 2012. My prayer has been to grow deeper in my understanding of grace and mercy. I am shifting that prayer. It is now to grow deeper in my experience of grace and mercy.