Saturday, March 26, 2022 (today’s lectionary)
And on the third day
Come let us return to the Lord, it is he who has rent, but he will heal us, he has struck us, but he will bind our wounds. He will revive us after two days; on the third day he will raise us up, to live in his presence.
In the refrain of silence and sun on this my second day in Taos, I await the third, the “raising up” day. I’m leaving in the morning, but not before the third day will have begun.
Am I asking too much? I’ll eat a splendid breakfast of fancy eggs smothered in green chiles and cheese, waffles with fruit and a peach muffin, surrounded by other gourmands who chose this Casa Benavides (“House of the Good Life”) for the Food, and then drive over the Rio Grande gorge with my heart in my mouth.
On the third day he will raise us up, to live in his presence.
Because on the first two days I talked to God almost without ceasing, anxious for the salve of his words back to me, here in this place where I chose in almost every way to turn away forty-two years ago. Just three weeks after leaving Taos and the Lama Foundation, I was gathered up off the streets of Berkeley by Angelina and her Creative Community Project. In this group of “Moonies” I cleaned up my act, changed all kinds of habits, learned to pray again, began trusting God. That’s what I thought.
But familiar spirits of self and appetite and lust burrowed deeper inside me and stayed there. For decades. And in this sun-baked home away from home, I have been calling them out. I drove 10 miles up dirt roads into the Lama Foundation just to talk. I parked in the shadow of Lobo Peak and confessed (I can’t think of a better word) what I remembered of my story. There was no one there to talk to, no priest, no meditation enthusiast, only my Voice Recorder. Only God.
Then I drove back the way I came and moved on to the Taos Ski Valley. Eerily familiar it was, from 1976 till now. The parking lot was filled now as then, at least a thousand cars, at least a thousand skiers on the snow, just like I had been. I remember using zinc oxide on my nose, but it was too little too late, and my friend Ruth gave me leaves from her aloe plant. Pain, and pleasure, and I had no idea.
Let us know, let us strive to know the Lord; as certain as the dawn is his coming, and his judgment shines forth like the light of day! He will come to us like the rain, like spring rain that waters the earth.
On this second day the sun is setting. The sweet warm air on my bare arms is turning cold, and a shiver runs down my back. A jet flies over, and its sound interrupts the conversation of two carpenters finishing their week’s work just over the adobe wall. The birds sing an evening song, and they will soon be silent.
Don’t you know it is love that I desire, not sacrifice? Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness; in the greatness of your compassion wipe out my offense. Wash me from my guilt and cleanse me from my sin.
Night falls down on New Mexico. And I look forward to tomorrow, more than watchman wait for morning.
(Hosea 6, Psalm 51, Psalm 95, Luke 18)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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