Tags
breathe, Earth, forgiveness, heal the world, heaven, John Philip Newell, land, love, love of life, love of neighbors, Peace, prayer, Praying With the Earth, self, souls, The Sophia Center for Spirituality
7:40AM. There’s something about the drop to just beyond freezing temperatures outside (26 F.) that silences me as if the earth put a finger to her lips saying, “Shh…Pay attention. Don’t move from where you sit. Just drink in the moment!” I would love to open my window and breathe in the freshness but I’m afraid that would be just a little too extreme for such an exercise right now. So I sit ensconced in the comfort of the chair that is slowly molding itself to my body, feeling the air around me. It’s cold enough to make me know I have made the right decision but warm enough to give thanks for the heat that rises from downstairs and allows me to concentrate on the prayer for Saturday morning in John Philip Newell’s book, Praying with the Earth: A Prayerbook for Peace. Won’t you join me?
To the home of peace, to the field of love, to the land where forgiveness and right relationship meet we look, O God, with longing for earth’s children, with compassion for the creatures, with hearts breaking for the nations and people we love. Open us to visions we have never known, strengthen us for self-givings we have never made, delights with a oneness we could never have imagined, that we may truly be born of You makers of peace.
May the love of life fill our hearts. May the love of earth bring joy to heaven. May the love of self deepen our souls. May the love of neighbor heal our world. As nations, as peoples, as families this day may the love of life heal our world.
As the temperature struggled to get up to 60 degrees (F) yesterday, I walked outside and noticed also that it was time to cut back plants that had flowered so beautifully, yet briefly, earlier in the summer. It feels already as if the autumn is upon us although the prediction is that we may return to milder temperatures in the coming week, as is often the case – ironically – when children return to school. I feel as if being outside tending to the earth would be a noble and restorative occupation today.
Yesterday I was in a wide-ranging conversation about elements of a future world that would not only include acceptable behavior of all citizens but also be compassionate toward all creatures and to the universe itself. It seemed that we have a long way to go toward consciousness if we are, in fact, to even approach the possibility of such a world. One element that we saw as necessary was the responsibility of each one of us to move the world toward that goal.
The suggestion of a commentary on Psalm 96, subtitled by author Lynn Bauman A Song Welcoming the Holy One, is that readers experiment with singing rather than saying it because singing is a “vehicle for communication with God.” While this is the rightful presentation of psalms in liturgy, I don’t often think of it as a mode of private prayer. I just tried it – in the privacy of my own room, of course – and the result was less than stellar. I have to admit, however, that I didn’t prepare; I just sang it “cold” without thought of the meaning, phrasing, timing or cadence. (Hmmm…that sounds as if I have some idea of musicality. Don’t be fooled!) My attempt was quite timid, but I must say it had the potential to open the words to me in a more vibrant way than if I had spoken the text. Perhaps I’ll give it another try. Should you be moved to join me from afar, here are the words I was tentatively offering as morning praise to the Creator of the universe.
There are many reasons to celebrate St. Francis of Assisi, a man whose life took what we would probably call a 180-degree turn after a serious illness and became one of Christianity’s most beloved saints. We who live in this neighborhood of the USA cannot help thinking of Francis as we watch the splendid transformation of the trees – not unlike the life and conversion of Francis himself. From the greening of spring when they seem to be born again to the maturing in summer, reflecting the grandeur of God, to the flaming out in vivid color that seems to lead to death, they are a metaphor for his 44 years on the earth. We know that after the next few weeks of spectacular color – already manifesting in New Hampshire and Vermont – the trees will join the bears in hibernation only to return again after the long sleep of winter. Francis knew all these seasons in his life and praised God for all of it in the wonderful prayer that we know as the Canticle of Creation. As we pray it today, let us be mindful of our earth and the challenges faced by climate change, asking St. Francis (and Pope Francis!) to increase our mindfulness of the need to care more consciously for this, our home.
Today there is a different sound outside my open window, one I don’t remember hearing since the leafing out of the trees was complete in the spring. It’s raining, a steady drenching rain that makes itself known in the sound of its passing through those leaves on its way to ground. Oh, we’ve had showers and the occasional rumbling of thunder with five minute sprinkles but this is different; this is like a long drink of cold water on a hot day. The birds are silent, most likely hunkered down like all of us humans trying to stay dry, but the farmers must be – no doubt – dancing with joy. I’m happy for the farmers and the animals and the tasseling corn. I’m happy for people everywhere who are thirsty and whose water has not been polluted by design or by neglect.