Conversations with El Who Loves Me

       This morning, after a fortnight of immersion in Christian history and thought, I awoke craving Sufi poetry.  It seems to smooth over the rough edges that Christianity leaves in my soul.  When I read Christian history or study the Bible I often become concerned with right and wrong, heaven and hell, punishment and sin.  This is unusual and disquieting for me, and I start to worry about getting things right. 

       Going back to my last post, where I explored the idea that the names for God were actually names for an experience, I would name it "God Who Loves Me."  Being right (or wrong) doesn't even enter into the equation. Craving reconciliation between my experience and my reading, this morning I picked up The Soul of Rumi, opened randomly and read.  It began with

No mistakes can be made or said when your consciousness is in your love and your love is in God.

        If I err, or if I offend you, please forgive me.  I know some of you who read my blog are devout Christians who are challenged by what I write in my blogs.  Some are devout practitioners of Judaism, or Unitarian Universalism, or paganism, who feel the same way.  There are even a couple of atheists in the crowd. Please know that as I type these words into my laptop, my consciousness is in love to the best of my ability.  Rumi continues: 

Hypocrites give attention to

form,  the right and wrong ways of professing belief.  Grow

instead in universal light…

…Let your eyes get used to universal light.  Don’t miss your own splendor!

(emphasis mine)

God Who Loves Me spoke to me through Rumi, a 13th century Persian Muslim.  Later this morning, God Who Loves me spoke to me through Michael Coogan, a modern professor and author of A Brief Introduction to the Old Testament.  Coogan said writings of one particular author of the Bible can be distinguished from others by his unique depiction of El (God):  

“The deity is typically manifest in his “glory.” This is a concrete image that means a light-filled cloud that both indirectly reveals the divine presence and simultaneously conceals it.”

          Rumi used to say that humans were like lamps—each lit from within by a divine flame and each covered with a lampshade that allowed the light to shine out differently from each of us.  I must have had that in mind as I read the above passage, because I was struck by the image of everyone as “God’s glory.” We are all light-filled clouds that both indirectly reveal the divine and simultaneously conceal it.  This is the vision of humanity I feel called to share.

          May you see your light, shine your light and be your light.  Be aware that you are an opening through which the absolute manifests.  May your presence allow those around you to do the same.  Blessings, love, and light.  Amen.