It is about 2 a.m. when my feet hit the soft grass under the bedroom window of my ranch-style home. I walk down the silent street of the small Wisconsin village, walking “cross-lots” through empty backyards, under the goalposts of the high school football field until I arrive at the door of a church. On Sundays I come here in my “good clothes,” but tonight I am a thirteen-year-old barefoot supplicant in cutoffs and a T-shirt. I find in the moonlit darkness of the sanctuary what I long for—a transcendent Presence that I somehow misplaced during the daylight hours of home and high school, and even church. I don’t stay long, but for a few blessed moments I feel the peace that passes understanding holding my mind and heart; I sense a love that is deeper than my knowing. I feel fully alive in those moments. Then I leave, retrace my steps, and noiselessly climb through the window and back into my own bed.
What I know now from my own life and listening to the lives of others is that there is always a path that goes “cross-lots” through our lives. The pathways to full aliveness—flourishing—lead us not away from our lives but instead into a deeper place within our own stories. I’ve seen that when I reflect on my life experiences, when I am alert to God’s presence and alive to Christ’s love, I am more able to live as a human being created in God’s image. Restored in Christ’s love, I flourish.
There are practices that help us to flourish. These practices lead us down pathways of love, of faith, and of hope. Every spiritual practice begins and is rooted in love. Without love, faith and hope will wither and eventually die. But without faith and hope, love itself fails to find its full expression. If we are to flourish, we must learn to choose all three.
As I tell my stories of love, faith, and hope, I invite you to find the storied understandings that lead to love, faith, and hope in your life. The prayer practices after each story are trusted pathways that will tune your listening. They will give you eyes to see that, just as the apostle Paul said, “The Lord is near” (Philippians 4:5). By choosing to follow the pathways, you are choosing to be fully alive with Christ in love, in faith, and in hope.
The percussionist in the back of the Beginners’ Band is only rarely, and then only by chance, hitting the snare drum on the beat. But nobody could miss in his wide, toothy smile the pure joy he finds in hearing the drumsticks make that reverberating racket. The frustrated band director stands in front of these students wearing the look of one who must endure to the end what cannot turn out well, or even passable. He audibly hums the theme while directing large, each and every beat, but no one in the Beginner’s Band is paying much attention to him. And neither is the audience.
My gaze is fixed on a ten-year-old girl in the obligatory white blouse and black skirt, her face red with the effort of playing her instrument. Awkwardly holding the trumpet up, her face is a study in concentration as she tries to count out each measure, noticing when to play and when to rest. At home this same child can seem irritatingly careless about living out her life’s details. But now I see a glimpse of the poised, knowing woman she may become, and I am mesmerized. I’ve fallen in love yet again with my own child.
Next to me, another mother’s attention is focused on just one student. As the band finally finishes its first number, her excitement spills over, and she turns to me with tears in her eyes, “That’s my son Darrin in the back, playing the snare drum. Isn’t he just great?” I see that she too has fallen in love with her child. My eyes fill with tears as well as I whisper, “And that’s my daughter, Lea—just look at her!” The other mother hands me a tissue, and we both wipe our eyes, eagerly awaiting the next raucous number.
Most of us have the idea that in this drama of Christ-centered life, God plays the role of the surly and impatient or stoic and resigned band director who is frustrated at his students’ inability to make proper music or even find the beat. What if, instead, God is more like the parents who sit in audience and listen with rapt attention, their attention fixed on their own son or daughter? Perhaps this One is watching with tears in those holy eyes, seeing not just the careful concentration but the posture and poise and possibility of living into another way of being.
We choose love when we choose to believe that God loves us and yearns to hear our unique song. Just showing up with our intention to play music with God is a commitment to the melody God put within us. Finding this melody is the way into the arms of a God who loves us. God longs to hear the voice of our imagination, the depth of our silent pauses, the surge of our feelings, and our tentative insights. God created us to find in the act of living every day a way to play that loves us into expressing ourselves.
Spiritual practices that can help us choose to live as God’s beloved are practices that teach us to loosen our tight grasp on our abilities, our securities, and status. One of those practices is the breath prayer. Because the act of breathing itself is unconscious, it requires us only to pay attention to life at its most basic and elemental. Perhaps that is why the gift of breath comes with the gift of Christ’s peace. (See John 20:19–22.)
Remembering that Christ is within you, his Spirit as near as your breath, begin by repeating any name of God that expresses your love, your relationship with God. As you inhale, breathe in that name of God for a moment. Now remember a deep desire of you heart. When you exhale, offer up the desire of your heart, keeping it simple. It is the simplicity of the prayer that allows it to be prayed over and over again. Some examples of this prayer:
Breathe in “Shepherd,” breathe out “bring home your child”
Breathe in “Abba,” breathe out “I belong to you”
Breathe in “Lord,” breathe out “here I am”
Breathe in “Jesus,” breathe out “have mercy on me”
Another way of discovering this prayer is to say your own name aloud followed by the question Jesus asks of the disciples in John’s Gospel: “What are you looking for?” Perhaps a single word comes to mind—“faith” or “trust” or “strength”—or a short phrase—“live in freedom” or “trust your grace.” Each breath can be a reminder of the constant presence of God’s love.
Living in the love of God as a child in God’s nurturing care is the beginning point for our life in Christ. It is also our ending point. When troubles overwhelm us we can still flourish when we return to this pathway of belonging in God’s safe love.
Shortly after moving to Anchorage, Alaska, I was invited to be part of a retreat leadership team. During the retreat week, one of the other leaders invited us to listen imaginatively to a story about Jesus with his disciples. He told us to picture the events. He invited us to smell the smells, to touch, taste, hear, and see it all as the story unfolded. He said, “In your mind’s eye, allow yourself to actually be in this story, while keeping your eyes on Jesus.”
I accepted his invitation and entered into the story as best I could. Jesus told his disciples to go into the boat ahead of him. Then he went up on a mountainside to pray. When night came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, while Jesus was on land. From the place where Jesus stood, he could see the disciples straining to pull the oars, because a storm had come up and the wind was against them. So Jesus came down from the mountain and walked across the water toward the boat.
Immersed in the story, I saw myself as one of those disciples in the boat, pulling as hard as I could on the oars, fighting the wind and the current. I saw, also, Jesus coming across the water toward us. But then the Gospel story says that Jesus “intended to pass them by” (Mark 6:48, NRSVScripture quotations marked (NRSV) are taken from the New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition, copyright © 1989, 2021 The National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.). As the writer describes the disciples’ fear because they believed Jesus to be a ghost, I felt another emotion altogether. I felt anger. Didn’t Jesus see how hard all of us in the boat were struggling to keep it afloat? It felt outrageous that Jesus was about to ignore all of us, that he was about to ignore me.
My reaction to Jesus seemed out of proportion to the simple story itself. So I asked a wise friend to let me talk with him about it. He listened intently to my story and my angry feelings, but asked me nothing about the story itself. Instead he asked me to describe what my life was like since moving to Anchorage from Chicago. I replied, “In Anchorage I didn’t seem to be required to do as many things as in Chicago. In fact, I’d say that though I still have good work to do, it is not so outwardly motivated by others.”
The he asked, “What’s that like for you, Helen?”
“Well, the truth is it is a bit scary for me. I’m accustomed to my life being about meeting the demands of others—the things I ought to do and should do. Part of me finds this exciting; another part of me is terrified that without the outward demands I will fail, neither continuing my work nor being asked anywhere to teach or write or offer spiritual direction, and my sense of vocation will be lost.”
As I spoke those words, I felt my anger crumbling around the crippling sense of fear it masked. I remembered again my companions in the boat, who were not so scared of the storm. But they were terrified at Jesus’ appearance as he walked on the water.
“I wonder,” said my friend, “if the boat where you are struggling against the wind might be your life in Chicago that you’ve already left behind. Perhaps Jesus is inviting you to get out of the boat and follow him as moves on the water.”
As I recognized the truth of his observation I realized as well that what I needed to hear were Jesus’ words to me, “Take heart, Helen, it is I; do not be afraid,” the very words that Jesus called out to his frightened disciples in the boat. He was inviting me to choose faith, to get out of the boat and follow Jesus.
Living our lives fully with Jesus means facing truth, not just the truth on the surface of our lives but also the deeper truth about who we are, understanding our fears as well as our desires. Our hearts can provide a pathway of emotional honesty that lead us toward God and bring us life, if we listen and respond. Expressing our true feelings, even if they are puzzling or difficult, is what brings us authentically into God’s heart. It is then we are invited to hear and understand in a way that allows us to flourish. It is then the gift of faith is realized in our inmost being and our lives are transformed in Christ.
Imaginative prayer as a way of praying with Jesus in a Gospel story begins with your desire to know Jesus intimately, choosing faith even when you are struggling with your emotions. As you pray with a text about Jesus, you interact with him friend to friend, trusting Christ’s Spirit to direct your imagination.
Choose a short story from one of the Gospels. Read or listen to the biblical passage several times until you are comfortable with the story. Then allow the story to unfold in the here and now, and allowing yourself to be an active participant. As much as you can, use your senses to smell, taste, touch, hear, and see what is unfolding in the story.
Notice where you are in the story. Are you a bystander, or do you identify with one of the characters or groups of people in the story? Where is Jesus? How do you experience his presence?
When Jesus encountered people in the Gospels, he asked them to bring their true selves, even when that self was blind or sick, dishonest or frightened, angry or grieving. He asks the same of us. Honesty with God is not just about avoiding lies, but it’s also about being open and available to living a life with him, which means choosing to trust him.
Dialogue with Jesus about whatever you are experiencing as you participate in the story. Author Margaret Silf says there are two rules that must be followed as you imagine yourself in the story and converse with Jesus: “Never moralize or judge yourself. Always respond from your heart and not from your head.”See Psalm 16:7. These rules are not easy to follow, because we all carry within an inner critic that is quick to condemn, analyze, or exhort. It’s important to be aware of the voice of your heart, because negative or puzzling reactions can be an indicator of something deeper. My own reaction of anger had fear underneath it. I was afraid when I saw Jesus seeming to intend to pass the disciples—and me—by. But by paying attention to my fear, I was able to receive Jesus’ invitation to faith. And by choosing faith I became more fully alive in Christ.
When you sense you are finished, end your time with the Lord’s Prayer. This grounds your imagination in the prayer Jesus taught all of his disciples to pray. Then take a few more moments to review your prayer. What came up for you and what do you need to continue to process, and why?
My story also shows how helpful it can be talk about the experience with trusted friend or a spiritual director. Such a person might be able to help you see the real-life connections between the Gospel story and your response to it so that faith can root it more deeply in your life with God.
There was not a trace of pity in his face or tone when he looked at me and said, “What’s new?”
It was unusual for a pastor to look directly at me, and stranger still to see a friendly, open face. After all, I was an angry and belligerent pre-adolescent facing her fourth orthopedic surgery in six years and aware that at least one more was still to come. But my bad attitude, awkward age, and difficult circumstances did not seem to put off this visitor or make him uncomfortable. Over time, as my relationship with him continued, I realized that this pastor saw in me someone that I myself had not yet met.
What he saw was a girl with a significant hospital history and a lifelong limp, but who was intelligent and curious. While others brought stuffed animals to comfort me, he brought books to challenge me. Through these gifts I met thoughtful people of faith who introduced me to new perspectives. He was the first person I had ever met who wanted to talk about my ideas, instilling in me a lifelong love for theology and spirituality.
Because this good pastor saw beyond my obvious disability and valued my abilities, I started to believe that God might value me as well. He knew that I not only longed to believe God loved me in that hospital bed, but that God loved all of who I was and the more that I might yet be. The pastor saw me through eyes of blessing. He helped me see new possibilities for flourishing. His blessing gave me hope of living a full, abundant life.
Our usual way of looking at ourselves is to see flaws and defects. We tend to see others the same way. We believe this is helpful since it helps us see what needs to improve, but it actually ends up highlighting our sense of personal failure. “Helen is insightful, but she is so forgetful and disorganized.” Now whatever insightfulness I might have is buried in my piles of forgetful disorganization, and I focus on my failure. On the other hand, if I switch those views around and save the best for last, I can see that though I am disorganized and often forgetful, I am insightful, and at off moments even wise. I can accept myself for who I am in light of my gifts, not my failures. I choose hope.
The practice itself is simple—let your look end in blessing. Try it the more obvious way first, of beginning with a strength and ending in a weakness. Now reverse the order, placing the weakness first and the strength last. See the difference? See how this simple practice of blessing can open the way for hope, for flourishing? I find this practice of blessing has a significant effect not only on how I see myself, but also how I see my children, my spouse, and my faith community. It is not that blessing makes people holy. What I see instead is that holiness has been there all along, I just wasn’t looking. How could they not, since they are created, as I am, in God’s own image?
You can offer the look of blessing to colleagues at work, students in the classroom, or the clerk at the supermarket checkout. Blessing sees each person and all of life not out of the scarcity of what is not but out of the abundance of what is. Celtic author, John O’Donohue, lamented that we all too often “continue to live like paupers though our inheritance of spirit is so vast. . . . [I]n the activity of blessing it emerges to embrace and nurture us.”John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 2008), xv. What is revealed by blessing is our God-created self in all our uniqueness, yet deeply united in our common humanity. The look of blessing requires us to look beyond our assumptions, cherished stereotypes, and established preferences, and see the look of love God offers to us and those around us. Blessing fosters hope and makes us fully alive in Christ.
As these love, faith, and hope prayer pathways become habits, they reminds us of God’s love, welcome, and blessing within our storied lives. They give us the grace and faith to live in Christ with our longings and vulnerabilities and receive God’s love in it all. They teach us how to intentionally choose love, faith, and hope even in difficult or stressful times and receive blessing. They bring us into Christ’s presence, where we flourish.
Helen Cepero is a spiritual director and teaches spiritual direction at North Park Theological Seminary in Chicago, Illinois, and The Journey Center in Santa Rosa, California. She is the author of Christ-Shaped Character: Choosing Love, Faith and Hope (InterVarsity Press, 2014) and Journaling as a Spiritual Practice: Encountering God Through Attentive Writing (InterVarsity Press, 2008) and lives in Anchorage, Alaska, with her husband, Max Lopez-Cepero.