Sentimental Much?

I am a pretty sentimental person. Or I was, at least, before moving to the UK where there just isn't enough space in a London flat to keep all the cards, candy wrappers, ticket stubs, books, love letters, etc. that I promise myself to look at in fond remembrance of dates, birthdays and special events. And then never do. But at the moment of receiving the card, reading the letter, holding the ticket stub, I am fully convinced that I will always hold on to this, because it is special and without the keepsake, the memory might be lost.

The danger is, though, that we assign value to our experiences according to the sentiment we do or do not feel towards that experience. More so, I think, in the presently growing culture of documenting everything we do on Instagram, taking selfies and leaving them in the recesses of storage space on our phones, or waiting for the Facebook reminders of what we posted today a year (or two, three, four...) ago. And though it's good to remember and use the tools at our disposal to help us remember, it can become an easy way to forget other, sometimes important things we didn't find as sentimental, special or selfie-worthy (I made that word up just now).

The same can happen on our journey of faith. We can have the most amazing 'mountain top' experiences; feeling God's presence as Moses must have done on Mount Sinai. And then, coming down to the proverbial valley of everyday life, family and work, the feelings of elation and joy, peace and comfort, power and grace, disappear in the thick fog of emails, phone calls, text messages, illnesses, stress, paying bills and coping with people in general. And though these 'mountain top' experiences are great, they can also become our personal measure of church and what we experience there; even of life and how we approach it. We start comparing worship leaders or teams or songs with what we've experienced before, and if it doesn't quite measure up we can fall into the trap of thinking that "God wasn't there on that day" or "I'm not getting all I can from this church" or whatever reasons we can come up with to explain why we didn't get to the 'mountain top.'

But God doesn't only live on the mountain top. Part of the Easter story tells us exactly that: the veil was torn: all is free to encounter God. He isn't confined to a single room in a temple somewhere. The fullness of God can be experienced by all, in every place. Even in the mundane. Even in the suffering. Especially in the suffering. Even in the frustration of everyday life. In every breath, even our last. In every heart beat. No matter if by adrenaline fueled pounding or peaceful tapping while at rest, God is with us in every heart beat. God is not distant until we need Him or say the right words in prayer, or sing the right songs in worship. He is here, now.

"Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5b - NIVUK)

So keep on chasing those 'mountain top' moments. Keep on looking for God with all your heart and in all you do, and  you may just find Him on your way down from the 'mountain top.'

Selah