I am here.

There's lots of talk these days about being present.  It is as if down deep within us we realize a disconnect has occurred. From our awareness of a cell phone on a table during a conversation to the rise of the emoji response. We are connected - but we still desire connectedness.

This is not some new desire but rather some thing that has been with us from the beginning. A desire to share our experience and lives, that there is some depth that can only be found in community.  Call it a give and take, a pouring in and pouring out, a shared chorus - we each are keenly aware when this connection occurs.We long to hear this from another...

I am here. I could be anywhere else but I am here. I am here with you.

It is such a beautiful expression.  Yet for many of us, somehow we often find ourselves as the ones saying this and unable to receive such a statement from another.  Some of it is our internal wiring and no doubt some of it comes from our own life experience and whatever residual effects hurt or heartbreak or loss has had on us.

This ability to be dispensers of love, grace, and acceptance has deeply infected not only the full spectrum of relationships in our lives but also displayed in how we hold our faith.  Sprinkle in a little of our cultural bias towards individualism and consumerism, suddenly we are view our walk of faith much differently. Suddenly we are the active agent for change and restoration.

We resonate with passages like this from Isaiah and claim as affirmation to our calling:

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

We believe that somehow that the Great Commission was custom tailored for us.

So we chase after grand ideas and projects. We pour out and invest. We feel affirmed in that we are doing what we should.  Yet when we look around, there is a feeling of being alone in a crowded room. Or maybe that we speak a language or view the world in a way few seem to understand or join in. For whatever reason, there are moments were life can be overwhelming and we can feel isolated.We long for others to express and embody the love, faith, and grace we have poured out to them.  Yet in those moments we realize that for whatever reason we lack the ability to receive the things we deeply desire.  Or maybe that it's not that we lack this but have forgotten the art of receiving another's presence and care. We struggle to believe that we are worthy of the same love and grace that we so desire for others to know and embrace. We fear feeling or being seen as lacking or needing.

There's a Jewish practice you might have heard of, it's done with those who are grieving, it's called sitting shiva. A simple practice of presence, where:

'You just sit with them. And you don't say anything. If at some point they want to talk then you talk. If they prefer silence, then there's silence.'

It is almost too simple that it is difficult to participate in it.  It requires of all parties a humility - to give and to receive. Trusting that presence is enough.  It humbles the grieving in that they must trust those who have chosen to enter into their struggle. It humbles those who have joined to offer nothing and that there is nothing that can be fixed.

Though this practice is used specifically during the times of loss - there is an art, an invitation to embrace this posture elsewhere. Not that we simply sit in silence but that we truly sit in the presence of each other.  This could mean turning off the things that pull as away from engaging. This could mean taking a breath before we respond and really trying to listen and hear what others saying. This might mean acknowledging we can't fix the world, that God's call is to all not just some. This might mean demonstrating to each other what it means to expose our hearts - not just all the hopes, joys, dreams, and love but all the hurt, heartbreak, fear, and anxiety as well.For in doing so we might realize the power of presence.

Often it is through our interactions with each other that we then believe we know how God works.  If our friends and loved ones are distant - so must be God. If we experience heartbreak and somehow love failing, God's love must also be conditional.

Maybe today we need to acknowledge that we are afraid of being hurt again but that we have grown tired of feeling like we are doing this alone.

Maybe today we need to be reminded that God is here. Sitting. Listening. That the Divine Presence is one of patience, never imposing Itself on us.  Instead choosing to be with us in the midst of all of the experiences of life.

Maybe today we see that there are caring people all around us - just waiting to engage if only we welcome them in.

Maybe today we need to be reminded that God's movement has always been towards us - that there is 'no God forsaken place'.

And maybe today if we are able to still ourselves we will be able to sense, to hear, God's whisper 'I am here.'