Shining Spirit

It might be said that each of us is a mirror reflecting the experiences that have made us who we are. What people see today is a kaleidoscope of my yesterdays. The joys, the fears, the affirmations. You and I are complex creatures who, over time, adjust and adapt into the people we are today. The question is: “Who will I be tomorrow?” And that question, perhaps rephrased into: “Who am I?” is the doorway to discovery. It’s a sacred question, a holy wondering. If and when you ask it, the light is beginning to slip through the cracks. Regardless of faith traditions, people have expressed this holy wondering for ages. Your next door neighbor, people in the Great Depression, St. Paul in the magnificent Letter To The Romans, Moses, the male and the female who emerged from a cave, looked up into a starlight night and wondered: Why? Who? Am I merely the sum of my parts, my experiences? I offer you this answer: I am made to mean something. I am not an accident. I count. And so do you. Yesterday I collected stones washed up on the beach. Each was different from the other and they all glistened in the surf. The water covering made them shine. But when they dried out, the luster was gone. It was the water that made them beautiful in their diversity and in their commonality. The water of hope, of faith, of sacred awareness brings together all the experiences of our lives. The Christian scriptures called it Living Water.
I can never escape the reality of my experience, but that reality does not identify me, nor does it guide my way. You, either. In faith, in trust, in hope we shine because the sacred surf of grace, mercy, and forgiveness has washed over us. And the stunning truth is, the shining surf is a gift to every culture, every society, every race, every identity, every human being. Even me. Even you. I am not merely a composite of yesterdays. I am a creation, using my yesterdays, that shines in Living Water and walks toward tomorrow with hope. You, too.

Reputation: the estimation in which a person or thing is held, especially by the community or the public generally.

Reputation is the star that streaks through the night,
brilliant, flamboyant, amazingly bright,
as it leaves a trail of stardust behind,
a flash and it’s gone, not the usual kind
of star that fills the evening sky.

Reputation is a judgement that others make,
opinions about decisions and actions I take.
They define me by what they hear and see,
they determine the essential, public me.
I am the product of community.

Character: the aggregate of features and traits that form the
individual nature of a person.

Character is that star that anchors the sky;
reliable, stable, not needing to fly
in a burst of brilliance, here and gone.
It’s the beautiful sounds of a classic song,
not a pop-star that fades over time.

Character is built one stone at a time,
deeds that are just, enduring, kind.
It’s not about who people think you are;
their opinions won’t carry you very far.
It’s what you think of yourself.

Two words describe the lives we live,
reputation is what the community gives,
character, on the other hand,
is the inner measure of a thoughtful man,
foundational stones put into place
by diligent effort and sacred grace.

We share this world with some truly amazing neighbors. I walked along the shoreline of this lovely lake the other day admiring the smooth, glass-like surface, the reflections of pines and oaks decked out in their autumn coats, the brilliant white bird that swooped low over the water. All the pieces of the neighborhood fit so nicely together and produced a very memorable moment. And as I ducked beneath the low hanging branches of a nearby tree, I felt those silken threads brush across my face, the unmistakable signal that you’ve just walked through a spider’s web. When that happens, I always hope no one’s at home. When I accidently wrap myself in a spider’s web, I always feel a tinge of regret. This amazing creature has spent hours, maybe days, constructing his silken home and I’ve destroyed it in a matter of seconds. And now, if the spider family is to catch another meal, they have to start all over again, thanks to my inattention to the almost invisible. The handiwork of creation is stunning, isn’t it. The colors and textures, the sounds and smells, the “in your face” obvious and the subtle, almost unnoticed delicacies are, all together, breathtaking. Can you remember the last time you were stopped in your tracks by unexpected beauty or by a sacred surprise? Experiencing grand moments is rewarding, but there is something extraordinary about a soft breeze moving the silken threads of the spider’s home. Make a memory today. Be alert and aware, attentive to the Presence that is endless and inviting. All is gift, and all is yours.

I had an opportunity recently to visit a very special place, a quiet place, a peaceful place, and I took it!
It’s a small lake with a short pontoon dock, just big enough for a few chairs. Birds visit and fish jump and the quiet is very loud. Just right. And it appeared in my life just at the right moment. Just when needed most. What a gift of grace, through the generosity of my family and the welcoming love of The One who created all this stunning landscape. All of us need to drink deeply from the well of renewal periodically, that place of refreshment and re-creation. A word of encouragement and caution: don’t wait for it to come to you. Find it, and once found, be in The Presence until you feel the wounds heal, or the clouds lift, or the focus sharpen. Wise is the person who listens to the heart, takes the pulse of the inner self, and surrenders to The Sacred. Don’t wait.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have signs at every intersection of life? “Go here.” “Don’t go there.” “Stay away.” “Good choice.” Wouldn’t life be easier, safer? Not really. I knew a kid once whose source of fun was to go around changing signs, redirecting, getting a laugh when someone drove down the wrong road because he had intentionally shifted the signs. He called it a prank. That’s not what the coroner called it when the cars were untangled. How about these signs that dot the landscape all around the world: human life redefined by climate shifts, or the stunning increase in the number of mass shootings each year, or the way the earth is redefining itself in light of human abuse? “Signs of the times” we call them with a shrug and a sigh. Some would say the signs are getting bigger and bolder. Cold metal signs lack something called conscience, the measure of moral values. There was a living, breathing, human sign in the world once. A person who offered to be a signpost at just about every life intersection you can imagine: economics, politics, relationships…nothing went unnoticed by this man. That’s right, the “man-sign” who spoke about justice and life’s value and how to get along with your neighbor. Anybody can paint a piece of metal with an arrow on it but only the Source of Life could show us how to live it. The only problem associated with this better way is that you have to engage mind, heart and a commitment to truth. Seems like that’s asking a lot of folks these days. Bigger numbers on Speed Limit signs don’t mean you’ll get there faster, especially if the arrow is pointed in the wrong way.

Imagine for a moment.

Imagine that you are walking along the path and you
come to this place. You are tired and need a place
to rest. And here it is!

You sit down, thankful for your morning walk,
for the beauty around you, for the quiet,
for life.

And suddenly this place becomes a sacred spot
on earth, a place that invites you to experience
The Holy, The Presence, God. Names don’t
matter, just the power of the moment.

What would you say or think or pray
in this place and time?

Just when you think the journey will be calm, smooth, effortless, you round a corner and there they are. The dreaded rocks, big ones and little ones. And everything changes. Hold on! It’s going to get bumpy. One minute, your little boat is drifting on the serene surface, then, without warning, you’re dodging the rocks that are seen and the ones unseen. In matters of health, in relationships, in the stock market, in the practice of faith principles. Rocks are out there. As a general rule, don’t forgo the journey because of the possibility of turbulence. Everybody hits the rapids once in a while. Just be smart enough to deal with those rocks when they come along. Navigate your little boat carefully and you will come out on the other side, back into smooth water. At least, for the time being. A friend of mine told me that when rocks pop up to ruin his journey, he just turns everything over to God. Let God handle it. He called his approach simple trusting. Commendable. But that tiller back on the stern of your boat isn’t there for decoration. Trusting in God’s deliverance is good. Keeping your hand on the tiller and your eyes on the obstacles is better. Our faith tells us that God is always near but it doesn’t say that God will drive the boat.

The benediction pronounced,
the last hymn sung,
greetings exchanged,
sad farewells shared,
we drove away from the church
leaving behind pieces of our hearts
and the body of my father.
Only in our memories would we
ever again smell the fragrance of
his aftershave lotion, hear his laugh,
see him at his desk crafting a sermon
for preaching next Sunday.

Dreary days passed before I could muster the
courage to open his desk drawers
and rummage through things he had
touched and treasured.
He wrote with a fountain pen…who
uses fountain pens anymore?
As I pushed scribbled notes aside,
I uncovered a small cloth bag,
a draw string at the top. It was not empty.
I looked at it for several minutes
before gently pulling the draw string
open, turning the bag upside down and
watching the contents tumble onto
the dark wood.

A slip of paper, a small pocket cross,
and a rock, a common backyard rock,
ordinary in every way.
I think I skipped a breath when I saw my
name on the folded paper,
addressed to me, left for me to find,
waiting to be discovered.
Here’s what I read.

My son, I left this little bag
for you. Maybe in time you will find it
and appreciate the contents. These two
items will influence how you live the
rest of your life. I carried the cross in my
pocket to remind me that love is so much
more than sentiment. Love is the will power
to sacrifice for the welfare of the other,
willing sacrifice for the welfare of life. Willing
sacrifice…say those words right now. Less
than that, love is a marketplace commodity.

The rock has worn holes in my pockets over
the years. It’s like the stone the man carried when
he was about to fling it at the woman caught in adultery.
Do you remember the story? Just when he was
poised to throw it at her pitiful body, he heard a
voice say: “Let him who is without sin cast the
first stone.” In sudden shame and embarrassment,
he dropped it on the ground, turned and walked away.
What you don’t know, my son, is that same voice
was heard again…”Come here my brother.
Yes, brother…lift your head, don’t be ashamed.
You are forgiven. You are a child of my Father.
You are my brother, and you are forgiven.”
As he said these words, Jesus slipped the
stone back into the man’s trembling hands
and told him to carry it as a reminder
of the moment when anger and hate
were overcome by grace and mercy.
They embraced and the man
walked away weeping.

There were times, son, when I wanted to use
that rock for revenge, but each time I reached
into my pocket to find it,
I felt the little cross
and I became the man whose anger turned
to shame and whose shame became rejoicing.
All because of a pocket cross and a rock.
Imagine.

Time. Friend or foe? Too much to do and not enough time? Or, too much time with nothing to fill the hours? How do you manage time? Or, maybe it manages you?

Remember the biblical story of Queen Esther? Uncertain about what to do, what decision to make, she was counseled: Be strong and have courage, for perhaps you have been called for this very hour…for such a time as this. There is a great lesson here. Have you ever felt that you were called “for such a time as this?” That somehow life has come together and is just waiting for someone to speak truth, or act courageously, or stand for justice. And maybe you’re the someone.

One writer put it this way: “The way we spend time defines who we are.” You can’t put it in the bank. You can’t hoard it in the closet. You can’t capture it once it’s gone. Spiritual discernment allows us to examine the moment and respond in the character of Jesus, to hear those words in your ears: Maybe you have been called to the Kingdom for such a time as this.

Be alert to the moment, sensitive to the circumstances, and courageous in addressing the moment with Good News. Ben Franklin: “Lost time is never found again.” Don’t waste it. Make the most of it. Time is a gift from our Creator. Spend it wisely.

Only when a building collapses,
only when the relationship crumbles into ruin,
only when the city street disappears into a vicious sinkhole,
only when the beachfront house slides down the embankment,
only then do we wonder about foundations.
When all goes well, and everything looks fine,
appearances are counted as successes,
and facade passes for substance,
then we feel good about
the moment, the meaning, the mission.
Foundations are forgotten.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Invisible until the inferno
redefines reality.

What we don’t remember, or
never knew, or have lost concern about
is that foundations are
structural imperatives.
They are purposeful,
often laid by unknown hands,
often designed to support something
far prettier, more compelling,
supposedly of greater significance.

Foundation builders should get the awards.
Foundation builders are the anonymous backbone of a culture
madly in love with toys and titles.
Stability and strength are at the heart of any
reputable foundation.
And, too, in the makeup of all
who in obscurity shape the cement
and think beyond the
immediacy of now.