As I was getting ready for bed, my mind to flip through hundreds of fears, my heart began to race, fear gripped my insides. The never-going-to-happens became the inevitable. I had made so many mistakes that day, God would never forgive me. I was going to lose my job. What it all my family got into a car wreck? What if my bank account was emptied and I couldn't pay my rent? I will never be able to keep my house neat. I won't be able to lose this weight. In short, I was having a full-fledged panic attack.
Unfortunately, I don't have insurance at the moment (believe me, I'm working on it) so I haven't been consistent with my anti-anxiety medication. I have no xanax. The fear was so intense that I felt I could quite possibly die. Who could I call that would understand? I tried praying, explaining to God and begging for Him to make it stop, but I couldn't get control of my thoughts well enough to do this.
I needed something. I needed something in my hands, I needed something tangible. I didn't know why, but in a fit of desperation I pulled an old, hand-made wooden cross from over my bed, gripped it tightly in both hands, and prayed The Jesus Prayer over and over again. (Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me.)
It wasn't a magical cure. I did not immediately become light as a feather. It took a lot of work to calm down. I repeated the Jesus Prayer over and over again, and anytime a fear began to creep its way into my mind, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed the Jesus Prayer fervently, imagining that the prayer was literally a fortress and all of my fears would be cut into pieces against it.
If you had told me a few years ago that I would ever have spent a night like this, I would have been terrified. I grew up idolizing the Puritans. I would have thought having the cross in my hands was akin to the Israelite Golden Calf when Moses went up to receive the Ten Commandments. I would have thought repeating The Jesus Prayer was too similar to the vegan-eating, yoga-attending, pagan, Prius drivers.
Recently, I have changed my thinking. I even have icons of Christ scattered about my apartment. Although there is not space in this blogpost to relate my theological understanding of icons and artifacts in my spiritual life (although I hope to do that soon) I would like to be clear that I know that cross in my hands is merely two pieces of wood fixed to one another. I know that the Eucharist is a wafer and a sip of sweet wine. I do not worship that piece of wood anymore than I worship the wafer and wine at the Eucharist. I can worship better because of things.
I used to think that we experience God only through the mind and heart. I believe now that God gave us 5 senses to worship better. There is nothing magical in crosses, icons, incense, or books, but I'm finally ok with saying that I believe there is something mysterious in them.
