So what has changed because of our momentary pause for Christmas? I ask myself that question, fully aware that we are still in the midst of a pandemic that is taking so many of our loved ones from us, a political situation that crawls more slowly toward an end than we have ever known, and an economy that threatens our lifestyles in more ways than we care to discuss. Yet as I sit here typing away, the sun continues to play on my words, playing peekaboo with the clouds, to remind me, I think, that all is not lost and Christmas really did mean something this year.
The conclusion that I have come to after diving into today’s lectionary readings which are full of murder and mayhem (on this feast of St. Stephen) is that life goes on as it should, teaching us again that God is not absent and we are inching toward understanding bit by bit. Christmas provided a pause that we needed, to help us remember God’s willingness to remain with us and calling us to “stay the course” until things right themselves again. We are being shaken into our role in that awakening, I think, and yesterday provided a “rest stop” for us to re-group for the next part of the challenge.
You may disagree with me on these images of “what is” but I truly think we are called to learn by living — sometimes in trial and some in bliss. Bliss may be somewhat of an exaggeration but if we come to see life from the inside rather than being spectators, we may well be much better off when the challenges come. The long and the short of it is, I think, the role of perspective. How do you perceive expectations? How is life supposed to be? I am, I think, more peaceful today, even in the face of serious challenge, than I was on Wednesday, and I want to meet the day with affirmation.
May the sun continue to shine for you today!
On this dreary Saturday morning it is clear that the earth has shifted into the season of Autumn. As the rain taps out a wake-up call on the roof, I wonder if we will see the usual splendor that accompanies October. Some say because of the hot, wet summer we had, the trees will not provide us with that gift this year. I always hold out hope though, and it will last in me for a few more days. For now, I am relaxed into morning by a prayer of John Philip Newell that expands the rhythms of time and the seasons into a God-like view.
We’re starting our summer book study next week at The Sophia Center with a book called Fully Awake and Truly Alive. Each time I try to tell someone the title of the book I have to find either the book itself or the flyer announcing the topic. It’s not that complicated but I’m always concerned about remembering it correctly. “Is it Truly Awake and Fully Alive or does Fully come before Truly,” I ask myself. And then there’s Awake and Alive to deal with. Is it possible to be awake before you’re alive or is it all a question of those demanding modifiers?
Yesterday a trio of people came to visit and remember the days of their youth here in Windsor. Two of them had been campers here when the Spiritual Center was Big Island Camp, a summer camp for Jewish children and teens, and the third, a husband who had heard all the stories from that era and was a willing companion to the two who desired a return to “the old days.” It is less common now, after almost 40 years of the life of the Spiritual Center, for campers to come back to refresh their memories, but come they do and their conversations with each other as we tour the land and the buildings always reveal a fondness for their experiences here.
I’m feeling like the weather today: gray and rainy, not much air moving…I was grateful when my doctor told me last Friday that what she found was not serious, just “a little virus” that would, unfortunately, probably hang on for awhile. My scratchy throat is gone and now distress is virtually “all in my head” but it amazes me how debilitating such a little thing can be. I think of my good friend and my sister-in-law, both suffering from pneumonia this month, and of all the people who are chronically ill, who daily have to struggle not to give in to the lassitude that has been my constant companion now for almost a week. I remember in my early days of teaching school when, during a class observation by the principal (my first), my eyes were running so fiercely from a head cold that I could hardly see and my fear was that Father Owens would think I was nervous. There was no luxury of staying home then; work was work, after all.
Psalm 84 speaks of the loveliness of God’s dwelling and our desire to find and join God there. Yearning always arises in me when I hear or read the words that are so familiar. My heart and my flesh cry out for God, the Living God…Even the sparrow finds a home, your altars, O God…My response is always a wish to have the day to hide “in the shadow of God’s wing” in pure being with God. That is certainly a flight of fancy because I know myself and even if I did have a whole day with nothing pressing to do, I probably wouldn’t be able to be quiet and attentive. Only if I go on a retreat, a dedicated time and place that others share but spend in silence, am I more likely to allow myself to bask in God’s presence.
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 