Where have I been? I haven’t been around lately. I’ve been going through the motions, but not really here. I’ve been multitasking, but all the tasks are just distractions from where I really belong. And where’s that? Here. Here with me. I haven’t been here with me.

Where have I been? Nearby. Not too far. But not here. I’ve been able to preach sermons, but not write new ones. Thanks be to God for the file. I’ve been able to write stories for my kid while they’re at camp, but not the normal ones. Not stories with a plot, but rather a gimmick. I’ve been able to build the scaffold of a gimmick, and fill in the cells of the spreadsheet. That’s fine, it’s served the purpose, but it’s not been me. I’ve been writing, but it’s not the written me. It’s just scribbles. I’ve been scribbling.

Where have I been? Stuck playing video games. Stuck lying around. Stuck fiddling with sticks, playing fiddlesticks. Fiddling while Rome burns. Fiddling while I waste away my life. Waste my life away. Watching as day by day I fill up one more slash on the calendar, one more tally on the tally-sheet, one more morning where I say, “How am I going to get through today? I have to be around people today. I wish I didn’t.”

Where have I been? I’ve been so close. I’ve been peeking through. That smile you saw – that was me. I wasn’t wholly absent. That clever turn of phrase you heard – that was me. I was able to send a few missives through. But I’ve been hiding for the most part.

But what have I been hiding from? From the mess all around me. My desk is a mess. My bed is a mess. My office is a mess. My schedule is a mess. My diet is a mess. My “to-be-read” book pile is a mess. Everything’s a mess. And I don’t want to clean it up. I don’t have the energy to clean it up. But I don’t want to live in it like this either. So I run away.

What have I been hiding from? From the possibility that I’m not who I think I am. From the thought that I am not the depressed pastor I make myself out to be. That I might be more maudlin than bedlam. That there might be more gravy about me than grave, and no gravitas whatsoever.

What have I been hiding from? From looking for meaning in all this, because all this is just…well, all this. What if there is no meaning? What if it’s all just a façade? I walked home in the rain tonight, wondering what it would be like if a lightning bolt struck my umbrella. “As long as it’s quick,” I thought, “that would be fine.” As long as it’s quick.

I check my work email so frequently, and why? Mostly to see if someone is angry with me. I’ve been doing this for years, absolutely years. Checking email to check if I’m okay. If nobody is angry with me, then maybe I’m okay. But the funny thing is – in those rare occasions when I have found some anger there, it’s torn me apart, ripped me to shreds. It wasn’t a case of “Well, that’s what I expected.” So why do I check it? Because I’m hiding. I’m hiding from allowing myself to judge myself. I look to others to judge me. “Am I okay? Only you can tell me.” I check my work email for this, because I don’t get much in the way of emails at my home address anymore, except for junk and information from places I do business with. There’s nothing personal about it anymore. Only the work email is personal. Only the work email can show me who I am.

I’m hiding from who I really am. I don’t want to face it. Because if I face who I really am, then I have to face the mess around me. If I face who I really am, then I have to face the reality that I have to do something. I have to choose what to do. I have to choose to write. I have to choose to clean. I have to choose to do something. It’s my choice. It’s always my choice.

I’m hiding from the void. The nothing that’s calling from within. The deep, deep quiet that’s in the heart of everything. It’s so empty. I preach that the presence of God is in there. But I don’t know that for sure. It could be God. Or it could be the Evil One. Or it could be Abandoned. Just Abandoned. An empty tomb. Funny that. The empty tomb is usually such a source of hope, the original symbol of hope in Christianity. And yet right now an empty tomb at the center of it all feels not like a source of hope, but of gnawing, wanting, yearning, emptiness.

Then again – if there is an empty tomb at the heart of everything, a place of death and decay so ancient and so bereft that there’s nothing there – then doesn’t that mean that death has flown away? And doesn’t that mean that life is therefore to be found? And doesn’t it mean that there is something, something, something out there?

But what? And how will I find it? It’s flown like a dove. A pigeon. A city bird looking for a morsel of bread. And I’ll never find it. Life has flown away, and I will never find it.

And yet. And yet, I know that I will get up and look. I don’t know when. It won’t be today. It might be tomorrow, I don’t know. But I will get up again and look for that bird. And when I do, I won’t find it. But I’ll find something. I always find something. In that moment, it will look exquisite – no, it will be exquisite. And for a time, I will find meaning and perhaps even joy or peace there. But it won’t last. It never lasts very long. And I’ll be right back here again. Peering into that empty tomb. From wherever here…is. It’s somewhere nearby. I’m not far.

I’m just one step away, but it’s such a very long step. For now I’m just scribbling. I’ll write again soon.