Shining Spirit

It was a hot August morning, only 8 a.m. and the temperature had already flirted with 90 degrees. The walk had been good but it was time for a breather and there was a park bench just ahead. But turning the corner, he noticed that someone had found the resting spot and was claiming most of it, a middle-aged man wearing work clothes, a floppy hat and carrying one of those loud grass-trimming gadgets. When he saw the walker approaching, the seated man moved his equipment aside and made room on the bench. Conversation was easy and not long into the time-out, the landscape worker commented: “I think I’ve seen you before. Yeah, your picture was in the newspaper the other day. You just retired from that big church over on Pacific Avenue. That was you, right?” “Yes,” the walker replied. “I’m going to try retirement and see what happens.” “I used to belong to that church years ago,” the worker added. “I gave up on it, or it gave up on me, but I haven’t been through those doors in 15 years. I made a deal with God: I’ll take care of this park and you take care of the church. I quit being religious. Sorry if that offends you. What do you think of that?”

There was a quiet moment and then the retired priest said: “Well, you’ve clearly kept your end of the bargain. This park looks great! The flowers along the base of that wall are beautiful and spaced so perfectly, and the water feature behind us is always so clean and engaging. Green grass, neatly trimmed trees, new resting benches here and there…you have connected everything, brought it all together. I hope God has done an equally good job with the church. Sometimes I wonder.”

A moment later, when the walker got up to continue his exercise, he looked back at the workman and made one parting comment. “People who love beauty, who connect things and create something new are rather special. And when those people do their tasks for the benefit of others, well, they are involved in sacred work. Like you.” “Who, me?” was the reply as the landscaper stood up. “Sacred?”

“Keep up the good work,” the priest said as he walked away. “Your work is holy, appreciated and you bless more people than you realize.” The two men walked away in opposite directions. Neither could see the smile on the other’s face.

My wife and I went out the other day in search of blooming wildflowers along back roads and in locations where we had seen them in previous years. Memories of brilliant yellow flowers, like a blanket thrown over the field, caused us to happily anticipate this year’s stunning beauty. When the drive was done, we agreed that we had found more disappointment than dazzling displays of natural beauty. A cluster of blue Lupines sprang up here and there, but even they looked weak and missing their deep blue shine.
All in all, it was a pleasant drive but we missed the desert colors.

That’s not all we missed.

In our determination to find exactly what we looked for, we forgot to notice the striking pink sky that announced sunset, or the sounds of coyotes singing in the distance, or the crisp evening air that wrapped itself around us. The mountains in evening light, the graceful twists and turns of this quiet, two lane highway, the majestic saguaros fading into the approaching darkness…all there. To be focused on the end goal is fine, but don’t miss the reality of the moment. We went searching for wild flowers, and we found a few. I wish now I had paid more attention to the Cactus Wren’s song.

I learned this fact a long time ago:
two plus two equals four.
But now I’m not sure if it’s really true:
I don’t trust the truth anymore.

You said it was easy to forgive and forget,
that love always shines its light
into the corners of pain and doubt,
light in the darkest night.

But love has a way of shining its light
in places I’ve hidden so long,
revealing the truth that I want to forget,
like the words of a haunting song.

Show me this love you talk about;
teach me the words to say,
I am lost in a world of confusion and strife,
help me discover the purpose of life.
Take my hand and show me the way.

It’s not that easy to forgive and forget;
I’ve tried again and again.
But I’ll put my trust in what you say.
I’ll walk beside you along the way.
I know it’s time to begin.
It’s always time to begin.

Isn’t it amazing how often passages of scripture amaze us? Sometimes when I least expect it, there it is: truth or hope or courage just jump off the page. Here’s an example. The Apostle Paul, the one who developed Christianity through a few pieces of correspondence to local communities, mentioned in the first letter to the Corinthians an issue that was troubling the good people of Corinth. Problem: should we eat meat that has been offered to idols? Is it contaminated by that offering? If my neighbor throws a party and serves idol-offered meat, should I refuse the invitation? It was a serious issue.

Apparently some people held strong opinions–on both sides of the issue. You’ve met people with strong opinions, haven’t you. There is often the assumption that everyone should believe their way, and, if they don’t, then clearly they are misinformed and mistaken. Well, Paul does get around to answering the question of “idol meat” and if this is a major question for you today, then have a look at Chapter 8 of First Corinthians. I’m more interested at the moment with a preliminary comment Paul makes. He writes: “We sometimes tend to think we know all we need to know to answer these kinds of questions, but sometimes our humble hearts can help more than our proud minds. We never really know enough until we recognize that God alone knows it all.”

Nothing wrong at all with having opnions, even strong opinions; just get to your conclusion and opinion via the pathway of humility. And then once there, in the position of having an opinion, hold it gently, rather like holding a delicate flower instead of a club. In most tough issues, there is always room for conversation, listening, and considering with the heart. So, the next time “meat offered to idols” comes up in conversation with your neighbor, remember this simple statement of ancient wisdom: “humble hearts can often help us more than proud minds” and “We never really know enough until we recognize that God knows it all.”

A taste of humility for a Sunday morning. Bon Appetite!

I rise this morning from the comfort of my bed. I rise into the world of choices, experiences of responsibility and consequence. I stand surrounded by the anguishs of injustice, threats of power without accountability, challenges to my foundational beliefs about mercy and compassion. I stand in The Light that affirms goodness and fragile hope. And I do not stand alone. I see you there. I see you reaching for a hand of steadiness, listening for a word of encouragement, just like I do. And I see you in the moment you realize that you and I have become “we” and that this world is filled with people who struggle through the early morning unsteadiness into the stability of confidence.

I affirm you as one who brings beauty to this day, for whom truth is foundational to the day’s unfolding, one who, in the course of the day, will see and be fundamental goodness sharing itself with a confused and confrontational world. I acknowledge, with genuine gratitude, that I possess, in the gift of my humanity, the fullness of life meant to be enjoyed and shared in the bright lights of this new day. I also acknowledge that I am possessed by The Source whom I call God, the Mystery that gives my life meaning, the Unknowable whom I recognize in you and in others who walk with us through this bright and beautiful day.

I rise from the comfort of my bed into all this day offers and demands, for I walk knowing that you are at my side and that the collective “we” of humanity is capable of limitless goodness and unending hope. Let us smile together into the new day and walk together along the path of Goodness and Light. At the end of the day, may we all look back and see the lovely flowers of peace growing in the footprints we have left behind.

These things I affirm humbly and hopefully. May it be so. Amen.