“In ancient times, bees were said to be vestiges from a golden age or the only animals to have survived unchanged from the Garden of Eden.”

– Bees by Candace Savage

The god Re wept and the tears
From his eyes fell on the ground
And turned into a honeybee.
The bee made [his honeycomb]
And busied himself
With the flowers and every plant;
And so wax was made
And also honey
Out of the tears of the God Re.

A Religious Text from Ancient Egypt

The story in my head goes something like this:

As God was walking in the Garden, he was suddenly overcome with a vision of the future suffering of his most beautiful creation, humankind. He saw their hatred for one another, the ways they would seek to kill and destroy each other. He saw their deep wounds, remnants from their shaky and chaotic beginnings, wounds given by other wounded souls. He saw the moments where they would be so overwhelmed with their suffering that they would curse the day they were born, that they would even curse God. Seeing all of this, seeing the tears of the crown of creation, God wept. God. wept. And as his tears hit the ground, they transformed into a million tiny buzzing creatures. God’s tears remain with humankind, buzzing in our ears reminding us of their presence, bringing life from one place to another, and creating the sweet, sticky, golden substance that reminds us of the goodness from which we were made, the goodness for which we were made. The bees testify to the presence of God.

Coming back from a recent backpacking trip, my heart was suddenly captured by a lake-side mountain. Most days, I keep my heart deeply hidden, attempting to protect it from the harm that seems so rampant as of late, protecting it especially from the God whose goodness has been called into question by the quantity of my own tears. But God called to me from that mountain, and I could not resist. He sang to me from that mountain these words:

“I saw God on a mountain
tearing at the sky.
I saw God on a mountain
with tears in his eyes.
He said, ‘Son, I used to know where I put things.
I used to know.
I could have shown you all the beauty in the world,
but now I need you to show me.’” — Panning for Gold, by Ben Sollee.

And I saw God there, standing on top of that mountain, holding his head in his hands, weeping. He looked at me, a knowing glance, a glance that penetrated my very soul. And I was suddenly struck with a thought, that God is a fellow sufferer. The things that bring tears to my eyes bring tears to his. For every tear I have shed, he has shed a thousand more. In that moment, I allowed God to embrace me, and I allowed the most desperate words I could ever speak leak from me, carried by the fresh tears tracing their familiar path down my cheeks: “I need you.”

It is these stories of bees and mountains, these moments of presence and mystical connection, that keep me tethered to my uncertain faith. It seems that right as I’m about to give up, to untie the old knot, God shows up, embraces me, and says, “Hold on, dear one.”

It’s been a while since I’ve written on here, and I’m hoping to change that. I want to begin writing again, chronicling my meandering faith journey, my thoughts on God, the Church, the seasons, the strange and wonderful world of therapy, and all of the (un)usual places where God seems to show up. I hope you will join me as I wander through this maze, trying to find my way out again, or possibly as I discover that finding the way out is not the goal, because this isn’t so much a maze as a labyrinth. Would you join me on this pilgrimage, as friends and fellow travelers?

Oh, how I hope you will.

For today, I will leave you with one of the (un)usual places that I have found God recently.  This is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard.  I find myself both crying and laughing in response to the beauty of the God with whom I wrestle.  I hope you can find God here as powerfully as I have.

(Note: Though I am generally opposed to the expectation that God be referenced using the male pronoun, God has been revealing himself to me lately as a male figure. So for this post, at least, I made the intentional decision of referring to him as a male. I also chose not to capitalize “he,” “him,” and “his,” in order to bring God down to earth a little bit. Offending is not my intention, so I apologize if anyone takes offense to either of those decisions. I’d love to talk to you about it, if it bothers you. Just let me know.)

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