Holy Moments

Holy Moments
            When your world touches God’s world, the result is a holy moment. When and where doesn’t matter. What matters is that holy moments occur. Daily. And I’d like to talk to you about the holiest moment of your life.
            No, it’s not your birth. Not your wedding. Not the birth of a child. I’m talking about the holiest moment of your life. Those other moments are special. They sparkle with reverence. But compared to this moment, they are about as holy as a burp.
            I’m talking about the sacred hour.
            No, not your baptism or your christening. Not your first Communion or your first confession or even your first date. I know these moments are precious but I’ve a different moment in mind.
            It happened this morning. Right after you woke up. Right there in your house. Did you miss it? Let me recreate the scene.
            The alarm rings. Your wife pokes you or your husband nudges you or your mom or dad shakes you. Or you shake yourself. And you wake up.
            You’ve already hit the snooze button three times; hit it again and you’ll be late. You’ve already asked for five more minutes… five different times; ask again and you’ll get water poured over your head.
            The hour has come. Daybreak has broken. So, with a groan and a grunt, you throw back the covers and kick a warm foot out into a cold world. It’s followed by a reluctant companion.
            You lean up and sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the back of your eyelids. You tell them to open, but they object. You pry them apart with your palms and peek into the room.
            (The moment isn’t holy yet, but it’s almost here.)
            You stand. At that moment, everything that will hurt during the course of the day hurts. It’s as if the little person in your brain that’s in charge of pain needs to test the circuits before you make it to the bathroom.
            “Back pain?”
            “Check.”
            “Stiff neck?”
            “Check.”
            “High school football knee injury?”
            “Check.”
            “Flaky scalp?”
            “Still itching.”
            “Hay fever reaction?”
            “Achoo!”
            With the grace of a pregnant elephant, you step toward the bathroom. You wish there is some way to turn on the light slowly but there isn’t. So you slap on the spotlight, blink as your eyes adjust, and step up to the bathroom sink.
            You are approaching the sacred. You may not know it, but you have just stepped onto holy tile, sacred carpet, hallowed hardwood. You are in the inner sanctum. The burning bush of your world.
            The holiest moment of your life is about to occur. Listen. You’ll hear the fluttering of angel’s wings signaling their arrival. Trumpets are poised on heavens lips. A cloud of majesty encircles your bare feet. Heaven’s hosts cease all motion as you raise your eyes and…
            (Get ready. Here it comes. The holy moment is nigh!)
            Cymbals clash. Trumpets echo in sacred halls. Heaven’s children race through the universe scattering flower petals. Stars dance. The universe applauds. Trees sway in choreographed adulation. And well they should, for the child of the King has awakened.
            Look in the mirror. Behold the holy one. Don’t turn away. The image of perfection is looking back at you. The holy moment has arrived.
            I know what you’re thinking. You call that “holy”? You call that “perfect”? You don’t know what I look like at 6:30am.
            No but I can guess. Hair matted. Pajamas or nightgown wrinkled. Chunks of sleep stuck in the corners of your eyes. Belly bulging. Dried-out lips. Pudgy eyes. Breath that could stain a wall. And a face that would scare the neighbor’s dog.
            “Anything but holy,” you say. “Give me an hour and I’ll look holy. Give me some coffee, some makeup. Give me a toothbrush and a hairbrush, and I’ll make this body presentable. A little perfume… a splash of cologne. Then take me into the Holy of Holies. Then I’ll make heaven smile.”
            Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You see, what makes the morning moment so holy is it’s honesty. What makes the morning mirror hallowed is that you are seeing exactly who God sees.
            And who God loves.
            No makeup. No pressed shirts. No power ties. No matching shoes. No layers of images. No status jewelry. Just unkempt honesty.
            Just you.
            If people love you at 6:30 in the morning, one thing is sure: They love you. They don’t love your title. They don’t love your style. They don’t love your accomplishments. They just love you.
            1 Peter 4:8, Love covers a multitude of sins.
            Sounds like God’s love.
            Is our love supposed to be striving to be like His? I think so.
            The kid in my class that looks like he never made it to a mirror before coming to school. God loves him. That guy across the office that is annoying and rude. God loves him. That girl in my afternoon class that looks, smells, and talks, like she is on a desperate mission for a date. God loves her. Oh, oh, oh, that kid that cut you off in traffic this morning. Yep, God loves her.
            Wow, with a standard that high, I need to try harder.

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