Trance of the Familiar

After last Sunday’s rollicking festival celebrating the spiritual physics behind resurrection in the world, and after watching resurrection happen in the natural world of springtime all around us this past week, it’s so easy to fall under the spell of “the return to the familiar.”

You know this well. You see or touch something new about or within yourself; a new insight or aha moment arises, and then it sort of sputters out. It loses gas as the inertia of the status quo deadens the baby-sized spark of Light and Love.

Or perhaps, like Herod Antipas, the Roman king of Judea who was called in when Jesus was being tried for blasphemy, Jesus is one who is still just understood superficially, and not taken all that seriously. In Luke 23: 8 it says, “Herod was delighted to see Jesus; he had heard about him and had been wanting for a long time to set eyes on him; moreover, he was hoping to see some miracle worked by him.”

Makes one think he sort of saw Jesus as some kind of entertainer, no? A novelty with whom to write about in his next blog post, perhaps. This is a fault line that runs within all of us—to give Jesus just the passing nod of attention in our lives as Christ followers—when in reality he invites us to participate with God in a radical transformation of ourselves and our perceptions of the others around us that could help bring about the shifts in consciousness for which our dear planet is gasping.

Here’s a question to ponder if you like. If on a scale of 1-5, life is a 4, what is keeping it from being a 5? What are you doing that’s keeping it from being a 3?

Now try sitting with Jesus while you ask this question of yourself and see if the answer shifts at all.

Springtime isn’t just for daffodil bulbs and maple trees, robins and rabbits. Springtime is meant for you, too. The whole purpose of Christianity is to help us know how deeply we belong to Springtime, even and especially after the trance that’s produced after a long list of flops.

With Love and Light for the journey,

LeAnn