This brief verse by Masahide is a favorite of mine:
The barn burned down
Now I can see the moon.
Fasting is a big part of my spiritual life. It can take endless forms and have as many different purposes: fasts can be short and intense or long eras of spiritual discipline or seasonal (e.g. lent). They can affect food, actions, attitudes, creativity or sometimes all aspects of life. Fasts are sometimes about giving up and sometimes about taking on. Most are reminders to look up from life and remember God’s presence.
The fast I am in now is called, for short, the barn/moon fast. I felt the urge to this fast after a conversation with my lifelong friend Dianna Boone, who prays fervently for PTH against every nuisance she can imagine—from health-related, to equipment, to travel, to household, to finance.
Oddly, the opposite seems to have happened: the last four weeks have been a relentless series of inconveniences—from dead car batteries to randomly canceled bank accounts, checks returned by mistake, weird illnesses, jury duty, insurance woes, computer failures, hurricane-force wind storms, and so on. Nuisances have not abated; however, their consequences have often been miraculously redeemed. That’s why Masahide’s poem sprang to mind. I think it describes elegantly what artists are supposed to do: one foot in suffering, the other in epiphany.
To do this honestly, we must acknowledge nuisance, heartbreak, or sorrow for what they are. There’s nothing more onerous than someone who leaps over your inconvenience (or suffering) to force a silver lining because of their discomfort.
It’s equally as important to stay open for redemption that cannot be anticipated. When my car battery died on the way to work, I stopped at A&A Tire where the owner, Sarkis, shared moving memories about Christmas that surprisingly brought both of us to tears. Barn: $115. Moon: a hug from Sarkis and wishes for happy holy-days. He also pointed out, had I left the car for the month I am in Indiana on the old battery, it wouldn’t have started when I return. So—nuisance or blessing? Both.
The barn/moon language has become part of a shorthand on our producing team since we started this fast (I’ve been joined). I’ll get a warning text: “barn burning!” And sometimes later: “I can see the moon!” One of the unexpected by-products is a strange calm that pervades even the most threatening of our circumstances. Several have expressed in the face of daunting challenges that they feel a peace that is otherwise inexplicable. Perhaps that is the epiphany of the barn/moon fast.
Think what kind of risk-taking we can do in our work when that is at the core of our daily lives. When we are unafraid of what might threaten to derail us, and confident—even excited!—to see how God might show up.
It’s Christmastide, leading to the season of epiphany. The ancients believed that the veil between the two worlds of earth and heaven was more permeable during this season, and God’s presence more visible. If that’s true here in Indiana, we plan to shoot it.