Yesterday, we had our first taste of corn on the cob for the season of 2020. This morning it occurred to me as I read the gospel for today’s liturgical services (MT 13: 1-23 or 13: 1-9) that I had been deprived of one of my favorite Scriptural images and on-going meditations this year since the farmers along NY Route 81 had plowed and planted their fields of corn early on, before the pandemic took hold. I often travel that route and wait each spring and early summer for the miracle. First there is just a tinge of green throughout the rows of soil. Then tiny shoots appear and a week later, should I be passing by again, the soil has been overtaken by the planted corn. From then on everything speeds up and within weeks—by the 4th of July—the exponential growth is clear and we begin to look for the vegetable stands along the way.
I always say that corn is my favorite miracle because once the planting is complete it seems as if the effort is over and all that’s left is to wait. The waiting, I imagine, is the most difficult for farmers who have no control over the weather or diseases of the crops. And their livelihood depends on the corn for the feeding of the cattle—or the hungry New Yorkers, as the case may be. But the farmers are certainly busy throughout these months. It is the time of the invisible work for the passersby. We can’t see them checking the weather or inspecting the ears or watering thirsty fields or loving the earth and the relationships that exist between grower and the growing.
I feel as if the longer version of the gospel selection is the one we ought to reflect upon today, where Jesus is asked why he speaks in parables and answers that the people look but do not see, hear but do not understand…Gross is the heart of this people...It brings to mind the news story yesterday of a young woman who went to a party recently, (no masks required), contracted the coronavirus and, on her deathbed said, “I thought it was a hoax…but it wasn’t.” How long will we—as a nation—persist in our willfulness, hearing but not understanding, doing as we please, refusing to remember that we are endangering others when we ignore the rules?
May we listen in this growing season with our inner ears, hear with our hearts and pay attention to what we cannot see in order that we will live to see another spring.
The lectionary readings for today are a little scary. In the first (from Genesis 6&7) God is lamenting that he created humans at all because of how wicked they have become. The only solution, God thinks, is destruction of all humans. animals and birds. “For I am sorry that I made them,” God says. Thank heaven that Noah showed up as the one shining creation, enough to save the world because “he did what God commanded him.”
For today, a post as short as yesterday’s entry was long. From J. Philip Newell, a prayer:
I just read the gospel story of the blind man, Bartimaeus. (MK 10: 46-52). My favorite line has Bartimaeus answering the question Jesus had put to him when he called out for attention. Actually both lines of the exchange are crucial. Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” to which Bartimaeus answers, “Master, I want to see.” Upon reflection one might ask why Jesus needed to pose that question as it must have been obvious that the man was blind. It certainly wasn’t a trivial request. The fact that Jesus asked it, however, might move us to consider some deeper content in our own prayer.
Today’s gospel (MT 5:43-48) is one that can make me feel as if it would be easier to go back to sleep. Turning over and saying, “Sorry, God. Those questions are too hard for this time in the morning” seems reasonable. It never works, though, because the questions keep nagging.
How fitting for those gathered in this tiny town in Maine that we should be celebrating today the Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. As we endeavor to move in prayer and practice from a stance of oneness, we are frequently reminded to “put the mind in the heart” and act from there. No judgment, no self-identification, just the love that flows out of a consciousness that we are all one. While not an easy goal, it is the simplest of practices – just breathing into the sense that the heart is central to our living and its steady beating is our lifeline to love.
On this Friday morning as I sit waiting for the light to come, I offer a simple “Prayer of Awareness” from John Philip Newell’s book, Praying with the Earth. May it travel with us through the day.
6:37AM: Very dark outside. Very cold in my bedroom. A day to hunker down under a mountain of blankets, one might say. But I’m awake and moving with thoughts of gratitude for the promise of two days of work that is not burdensome. Rather I look forward to the creativity of planning with my “Wisdom Team” for the events that help us and those who participate in these retreats to go deeper into life in the Spirit. The work is greater than anything we could conjure ourselves and it is always a joy and privilege to see where it takes us. Today is a new beginning and I find myself singing silently a familiar chant:
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 