I looked around the sprawling back deck of the farm house set in the deep woods of central Texas, and there they sat. More than relatives, kinfolks, but a living testimony to 1 Corinthians 12. That’s the place where the Apostle Paul reminds his readers, and us, about spiritual gifts. Gifts: little manifestations of the Spirit; little fragments of the Sacred installed in each of us. “He’s a chip off the old block!” Something like that.
A friendly breeze made the oaks and pines dance. The yellow and golden leaves made an earth carpet. The small lake at the bottom of the hill kept saying: “Stop by for a visit.” But the rocking chair was too comfortable and I chose to watch and listen, and it occurred to me that the hum of voices floating through the air was, in fact, a love song. The stories and memories shared illustrated how different and unique each is, but when all the stories mixed together, when the laughter rose and fell, when the hum of sharing almost became quiet but rose again like the low swooping bird gliding just above the surface of the lake then lifting toward the pine tops, I realized that I was witnessing the amazing reality that Paul wrote about: how different we are; how uniquely we are made; how different and special…but how much the same. Wise Paul said: “there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in everyone.” And here’s the whisper I heard in my ear as I rocked and watched: “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Their stories may be different because life has led them in a variety of ways, their experiences unique, but when their voices are joined in the same song, when the stories and laughter and sobs blend, it sounds like a blessing rising through the trees to be carried by the Spirit for the common good.
Every life is unique. But we are the same. Experiences may be different. But we walk the same path…it’s called life. Memories may be formed differently. But when memories blend in awareness and insight, the notes of the song fall into place and the sound is remarkable. And…it’s all gift. When the gathering ended and the family went in different directions, when the deck was empty and the rocking chair sat motionless, when the sun set over the little lake and the tall trees slept, and a little brown duck nestled in the tall grass near the water…the song continued. Love given, love received, love shared blesses the world. And the song goes on through the hearts and the hands and the gifts that we each possess. The endless melody that begins from the little segments of the Sacred, deep within, that invite us to sing our common song.
I suspect that as each person drove through the gate and headed toward home, off in very different directions, even through the sadness of parting, the song went with us. For the common good from the One Common Source.
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