A Hidden Life — Poetic Underpinnings

For you have died, and your life is now hidden with Christ.

Most years the Lenten season does not find me giving up anything. One year I successfully stayed off of Facebook for 40 days, or maybe I didn’t eat chocolate. Or maybe I just made it into a memory. It is only this year that I have almost grasped Lent as a time to help me pay attention to what I rely on more than I rely on the Holy Spirt or Christ’s righteousness. Without too much fanfare, I have experienced these past forty days as a time of God helping me learn more of what he has for me—a hidden life.

Ironically, here I am bringing out into the open this idea that has been percolating in my mind.

Why hiddenness? When I find myself not satisfied with being seen and known by only those who love me and instead want the affirmation of more people “out there,” or when I am anxious the work of my hands won’t be noticed by enough people to make it feel worthwhile, or when I forget the miracle of a year of being tumor-free right now and fixate on how unhappy I am at the weight my body is carrying (because this is the side effect of the medicines I take that fight stage 4 melanoma and stage 2 breast cancer).

I am learning to say to myself and to Jesus, “A hidden life. . . “

I feel a whispered peace settle me.

And it is like the start of spring.

Coming out of winter, we take our first steps of waking up to more sunshine, blue clouds, and bird song. Light seems to escape from the inside out of baby green leaves. Pink and purple crocuses carpet green yards. White flowered branches and cherry blossoms spill over and shade the sidewalks. Forsythia with its wild yellow explodes in hedges lining roads we drive on. Life that was hidden in the ground and in the trees comes out into the open.

My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

I think I will order a butterfly kit from Insect Lore just to watch caterpillars turn into butterflies. A cup of caterpillars and their food will arrive in the mail. Caterpillars will eat and grow and grow, and then one day each of them will form their own chrysalises. Eventually butterflies emerge, ready to wing their way out into the world. Hidden life becomes new life.

Just like springtime, it’s such a good metaphor for what happens in hidden places. I have been thinking of other examples, too.

Like each one of my babies still in the womb. The first flutters of feeling their hidden presence inside—what a magical experience that was. I loved how each time I was pregnant I could feel a tiny foot pushing up, or their hiccups, or their somersaults. Life was growing but hidden from my sight.

Or like tumors hiding deep inside my body. One grew so big it made a huge lump under my skin. A couple grew in places I could not see or feel. I take my meds every day, and they work into the dark parts of my body, keeping melanoma or breast cancer cells from growing. It’s a hidden work that only God can see. Learning to trust God in all the dark places is part of the new life he is forming in me.

What else is hidden? Treasures in our hearts. The promise of heaven, vouchsafed by the Holy Ghost. Living water that springs out of our hearts and flows to other people. Finding shelter in God as our high tower. Grace upon grace. The deep calling unto deep. Dying. Being buried. Resurrection and new bodies.

Faith. Our eyes cannot see Jesus, and our hands cannot touch him. But he makes himself known.

And God’s word taking root deep inside and forming us..

Christ’s life was hidden—Eternity taking up space in a body. Jesus living in a small village before it was the time to bring the kingdom of God out of the shadows. Sometimes he directed people not to tell anyone he was the promised Messiah; they were to keep this truth hidden. A priest-king who loved those most people did not care to see. Then His death tore down the curtain that hid the Holy of Holies from the world. Now we do not need to hide our faces from God. We are hid in Christ and united to him; we’ll live in the presence of God for eternity, without shame covering us. His dead body is no longer hidden in a grave. His resurrection brings light and life to us and the world.

When Christ who is our life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

As we hide his word in our hearts, we’ll learn what it means to be trees planted by streams of living water, with roots deep down in the soil and leaves shining light from the inside out, flowers spilling over, and fruit bursting in season.

And as the year continues, I’ll learn more about a hidden life. . . but this a start.

From Scott Cairns One might, as well, consider this Lenten period as a period of descent. For one, it can be a period of our more frequently descending with our minds into our hearts in silent prayer, into prayer as communion with Christ. It is also a descent into our partaking of His kenosis, His emptying, His self-sacrifice that occasions our healing. Lent, therefore, becomes a salutary means of our dying to mindless habits, our dying to soul-scattering distractions, our dying to life-inhibiting illusions. It becomes a season of greater deliberation, and a recovery of our sense of the invisible Love in whom we live and move and have our being, even when we don’t take notice. Great Lent is the Church’s way of assisting our taking notice.

We die for a season, and then we live, live with greater awareness, and live more fully. So they say, and so I gather.

Spring in Lancaster City…