I've never been very adept at following along with the chronology of the Gospels. In other words, I am rarely aware of where Jesus is headed and when; the action blends together in my mind. So it was a special moment for me when I last read through Matthew 14 and realized the flow of the story. The chapter starts with the death of John the Baptist at the hands of Herod. When Jesus hears the news, all he wants to do is get away and have time alone. But it doesn't work out that way. And that's when things get interesting.
The crowds follow along and catch up with Jesus, interrupting his quest for solitude. But Jesus has compassion on them, teaching and healing the people. By the end of the day the disciples were faced with a problem -- how to feed all these people. Of course Jesus takes care of this need by feeding the five thousand [or more to the point, "five thousand men, besides women and children"] using only five loaves and two fish. But the day isn't over yet.
Jesus "immediately" sends the disciples ahead of him in a boat while he climbs onto a mountainside to pray. When he has finished he begins to catch up with his followers by walking out toward them on the water. At first they think they are seeing a ghost, but then they realize it is Jesus. Peter steps out onto the water also but his faith is not enough to keep him going, and Jesus must save him. "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?"
So think about it, two of the most famous stories of Jesus' ministry -- the feeding of the five thousand and Jesus walking on the water -- happened just because Jesus was trying to find a little time alone.
A friend of mine recently asked how I find solitude for prayer, and I admitted that I hardly do. It's not an easy thing to find solitude, between work and family and the busy-ness of life. Jesus was not immune to this problem -- the crowds would follow him. But even in the story told in Matthew 14, Jesus does eventually find his opportunity to be alone. We each need to do the same in our own way. If we don't, we won't have the chance to connect directly with God without distraction; we won't recharge our spiritual battery.
Some people have a "prayer closet," but I think of myself as having a "prayer nest." I do my best praying right in my bed, nestled in the blankets and focused on God in the darkness of the late night or early morning. A few years ago I read a book entitled An Infinity of Little Hours, exploring a monastic order, and though I was not drawn to the entire lifestyle, I was captivated by the thought of the cells, and especially, the description of the monks in their simple beds, alone and apart from all the world, aside from God. I can lay there in my bed and picture myself in such an austere setting, huddled against the cold drafts of the stone walls, with nothing ahead of me besides the job and pleasure of talking to God. I lose myself in the thought and let it take me closer to him.
Similarly, I have been intrigued for quite some time with the idea of the ancient monastic structures found on Skellig Michael, a severe rock, basically, off of the west coast of Ireland. There, hundreds of years ago, monks built sturdy beehive-shaped cells out of stone, overlooking the sea. As hard as life in that setting must have been, I can romanticize the thought of laying in my stone structure at night, as the North Atlantic rages outside and the rain and sleet pour down, while I am secure and apart from all the world, with nothing left to concentrate on but God. These are the sort of places I go while in my own "prayer nest," attempting to separate myself from the cares and concerns of the day, and merely focus on the direct connection between myself and God.
But unlike the monks, the day must begin again, and I must leave my nest and its comforts behind. Again, however, the same thing happened to Jesus. The crowds found him, and interrupted his time alone. But that's alright. If he could feed the masses through a miracle, maybe I can do something worthwhile, at least, as I wait for time alone again.
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