“Run away!”

“Run away to God,” the prophet Joel calls [2:12b-16]. “Leave what you are doing, and hurry toward God! Gather all of the people — bring your teachers and your infants, bring your siblings and the strangers among you, bring even the couples from amidst their wedding ceremonies. Declare a fast together so that you can pray to God without distraction! Interrupt your daily routine and run away to God who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”

Can you imagine: disrupting your life for God? Setting down what you are doing in order to spend time meditating upon God without distraction? What part of your day would you be willing to interrupt, what moment would you be willing to walk away from, what items on your “to do” list would you delete so that you could run away to God?

There are some easy answers to these questions: you would eliminate the chore that you already dislike — the dishwashing, the email, the house-cleaning, the schmoozing with relatives who irritate you, or that one task at work that frustrates you and should really be someone else’s responsibility anyway! There are other easy answers that might roll off our tongues because we think they’re the right answers: “I’d interrupt my life anytime God called. I’d gladly prioritize God over my daily routines — in fact, I already do!”

But would you disrupt your life to the extent of leaving your own wedding (as Joel suggests in 2:16), because the horn of prayer had sounded? Would you willingly lose sleep in order to stay awake in waiting for God? Would you give over your time to God, walk away from your work schedule, if God called the congregation to gather in the middle of the week? Would you interrupt your spending habits; would you drop your stresses — really set down them down; would you set aside your complaints and your indulgences alike; all to lighten your load so that you could run swiftly to God?

Can you imagine: disrupting your life for God?

What treasures would you have to give up to let yourself be truly disrupted, unsettled, completely relocated in mind-body-spirit?

Every year as Lent begins, two questions circulate in Christian circles and communities: “What are you giving up for Lent?” and “What are you taking on for Lent?” The idea of taking on something for Lent — adding a spiritual discipline or an exercise routine, for example, or perhaps adding an act of random kindness every day — is an idea that continues to increase in popularity. Some say that “giving up” for Lent hints uncomfortably of Catholicism. Others report that giving up something for Lent feels too negative. And I don’t disagree: I’d much rather “take on” extra acts of kindness than give up chocolate!

Then again, our lives are already full and we already take on & pick up & store up & consume far more than we need, even more than we can handle at times. We are culturally so familiar with “taking on” that we don’t always distinguish between taking on a necessity or taking on a distraction … between taking on what we are called to do and taking on what we feel obligated to do … between the essentials and the excesses … between the treasures that collect dust and the treasures that breathe life into this dust.

Notice Joel doesn’t say, “Pick up something extra on your way to prayer with God. Bring a souvenir. Come with your hands full and your lives busy.” He doesn’t say, “Finish your wedding and be sure to share that gorgeous cake with someone who needs cheering up before you come to sit with the congregation.” Matthew doesn’t say [6:16-21], “Just make sure that all of your treasures and toys are put away neatly before you center yourself for meditation.”

Of course it’s possible to take on a Lenten discipline in thoughtful and spiritually challenging ways, but to effectively “take on” in a way that’s distinct from your usual habits of adding & overburdening & consuming, you still have to make room for taking on … which implies that you still need to give something up.

And so the question returns: What treasures would you have to give up to let yourself be completely disrupted and interrupted by God? What would you have to set down, unload, unburden, if the call came: “Run away! Run away right now to meet God!”?

Can you imagine: disrupting your life for God?

From out of our lives of ashes and dust, from out of our storerooms where we count our excess of treasures, God calls us: “Run away to me! Come, hurry! Gather together and meditate on my goodness and mercy! Let me interrupt you so that I can satisfy your dry dusty self with a rich harvest of grace, with an outpouring of joy, with a touch of healing. Let me interrupt you already! Run away from those treasures that you thought would make life easier, from those idols that you hold onto for the sake of security or self-image; run away from the discontent and from the expectations that you have organized so neatly on a shelf in your heart.”

“Come! Run away to me already!” Run away to the Treasure of all treasures, to the One who does not rust or grow stale, to the One who cannot be consumed but who satisfies, to the Holy Treasure who takes this dust and loves it into life!