Shining Spirit

I have wondered, as you have, in a quiet, reflective moment: What is the purpose of my life? Why am I here on planet earth? What am I to be or to do? And I know the traditional answers. If you are secular, it is to be successful. If you are religious, it is to live in praise of and gratitude to your Creator. If you are a humanist, it is to do good for others. If you are entirely self-centered, it is promote yourself over all things. The fundamental problem with the question: What is the purpose of my life? is that it is set in constant, unpredictable, sometimes unwanted change. I am one person, a constant, in the midst of change that often borders on chaos. What if question was: “what is my purpose in this particular moment, this experience, this encounter? What if the question is daily or hourly? Let me give you an example.

Last evening, just before sunset, I drove to the highest point I could find here in the White Mountains in order to catch beautiful photographs of what was to be a spectacular sunset. Well, the sunset itself was a dud. I watched the sun go down without any colorful fanfare, returned to the car to put my camera away, and saw in an entirely different direction the rays of sunset bouncing off giant, puffy white clouds. And for the next few moments, I took photo after photo of this magical scenery. It seems that I missed a sunset in favor of a cloud. But my purpose was to capture a sunset. That’s what I thought originally. Instead I came home with a cloud. What if I stopped asking “what is the purpose of my life” and began asking “what is the meaning of this moment?” By not getting the sunset in the lens of my camera, did
I miss the mark? Fail to accomplish? Go home empty-handed? On the contrary, I got the most beautiful, stunning, remarkable cloud picture possible in that moment.

Consider the possibility of living moments and days instead of months and years. Maybe who I am is not the finished doctoral dissertation at the end of my life. Maybe who I am is a day by day conscious encounter with the mystery of life. It’s not what it all adds up to…it’s what happens right now. You’ve heard the expression: “Think big!” Not for me. It’s the moments that count, and I don’t want to miss any of them. That particular cloud will never happen like that again, and I was there to witness its grandeur. Purpose enough.

Faith, hope, and love. Three important words in the Apostle Paul’s vocabulary. I wonder how many times those words popped up in his preaching, teaching, and personal conversations? Probably quite a few times. I remember them, of course, from the beautifully poetic section of his letter to the church at Corinth, our Chapter 13. “Faith, hope and love remain; and the greatest of these is love.” Called “the love chapter,” I commend it to your reading today. In what some scholars designate as the oldest document in the New Testament, 1 Thessalonians, those three words appear again. Paul tells the Thessalonica church how dear they are to him personally and how he holds them in daily prayer: “We always give thanks to God for all of you”…constantly remembering “your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.” Of course, Paul learned the meaning of these three foundational words when he chose to leave his old way of life and “put on Christ.” Not only did he learn the meaning of the words, Paul demonstrated their practical applications in the lives of people in varied life circumstances.

It’s one thing to know the meaning, the definitions, of the words. It’s quite another to move them from dictionary to daily life, to apply them to specific moments . Faith – Hope – Love. In life’s great joys and certainly in the darkest moments, these words are like stepping stones across the quicksand, foundational pillars that hold the house up, and they work together like this: I have faith: I believe in that which I cannot see; I believe because of the witness of others and the testimony of Jesus, His life and His presence. I have faith, but when that faith starts to wobble, I have hope: Hope for me is one step beyond faith; sometimes when faith is assaulted by life’s brutalities, I hold faith as firmly as I can but I know that hope will withstand attacks of evil, hate, or cruelty. Lord, I have faith, but help me when I struggle. That’s when hope takes over. Against all odds, regardless of the circumstances, in spite of what might be lurking out there, I hope. The rest I leave in the hands of God.

But the greatest of these, love, is the capacity, the choice, to be Christ in the world. Faith may falter; all may seem hopeless, but still…but still I can love, for it is in loving that faith and hope are resuscitated, revived, renewed. I believe those who love out of tender hearts and grace-filled spirits are as close to the heart of God as those bursting with faith and hope. “The greatest of these is Love…” Paul’s own admission and his antidote to faltering faith or hopelessness.

I write this to anyone who cannot get beyond the eternal struggle between faith and reason, someone whose faith suffers because “it just doesn’t make sense,” to one who finds faith futile. Hope. Even if faith doesn’t make sense, seems out of date, is illogical or irrational, hope for the good. Hope for that which you know is intuitively right, fundamentally good. A waste of time? No. Hope is the middle ground between faith and love. Hope is a bridge that moves us to the ultimate expression of life, which is love. You don’t need faith or hope in order to love as Christ loved. Just decide to do it. Do it for the feeling love produces; do it to get a glimpse of joy or gratitude; do it for any self-serving reason you want to because love given eventually becomes love received. That’s the mystery, isn’t it. Love given returns to knock on your door, and love eventually brings two friends along…faith and hope. Whether you invite them to stay is up to you. Love is up to God. When we give it, we step into a realm that is beyond our common humanity, bigger than faith or hope, the closest place we know to the fulfillment of life’s meaning.

Short on faith and hope? Do love. Then set two extra plates at the table.

The unspeakable tragedies of flooding in Texas and New Mexico weigh heavy upon our hearts. We join our prayers with the grieving who wait anxiously for information, and we hold close to our hearts those lost in the raging waters, especially the children. In times of joy and laughter, imagination can be a wonderful friend, but in moments like these, imagination conjures up more than our minds and hearts can hold.

Submerged In Sorrow
Sometimes imagination is a horrible companion.
I lock the door, draw the curtains
around my inherent curiosity,
refuse to acknowledge the insistent knocking.
But it will not go away; it feeds on
the bizarre, relishes the possibilities from
the pain and suffering of others.
Imagination, freed from the guidelines
of common courtesy, splashes the canvas
with crimson paint and calls it art.

The faces of parents shielding their children
in the rubble of a Ukranian building.
Sudden flashes of light in the night sky
as the car rumbles over a scarred roadway
in a Gaza village. The feeling of her
heart being ripped out of her body as
her child is yanked from her arms
by the flooding river filled with
debris and death.

For so long I thought imagination always
led to cuddly puppy dogs or riding the
stars through a benevolent universe
or chocolate ice cream on a Sunday afternoon.
But I was wrong.

I hate imagination’s insistence that
overpowers compassion’s limits.
My soul is submerged in sorrow.
The raging rivers of imagination
have swept away the pieces of
my shattered heart.

Who knows the secrets of the great deep?
The hiding places of ancient life still unknown
to the human eye? The outer reaches of space
are not the only discoveries yet to be made.
You and I play on the beaches with buckets and
shovels, sandcastle makers who watch the tides
roll in and out, churning and smoothing,
churning and smoothing, fashioning its own art while
laying low what we thought indestructible.

Who knows the thoughts, the mind, of the great deep?
The wave? Perhaps. It is not the ocean of itself,
it is a single note of the eternal song,
one word from the encyclopedia of life,
a single taste of the sweetness that seems
inherent in the great mystery.

There was once a revealing of the Silent Deep,
a wave upon the shore where children play and
build their castles. For a moment, we frolicked
in the wave’s charm and invitation, but then
it was gone. Back to its source. Back to the
place of sending. And yet, mystery of mystery:
the wave returns again and again,
bringing a hint of the deep, a glimpse of
a deeper consciousness that reaches out in an
eternal rhythm, something we call life.
We play as children on a shifting beach, always
aware of the wave’s revealing, joyful in its song,
unfulfilled in its absence, renewed when it returns,
sent by the benevolent depth
that blesses again and again.

I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.
A couple in their 80s, walking quietly hand in hand,
turning to smile into each other’s eyes: that’s Love.

The wide eyes of a little child who sees the
big red balloon for the first time; the giggle:
that’s Wonder.

The homeowner bringing a glass of cold water
to the delivery person as she stands at the door:
that’s Kindness.

The willingness to say NO, that is not right, to
power or pressure: that’s Courage.

Always setting the dining room table with one
extra plate and one extra chair: that’s Hospitality

The smile in the face of adversity; the calm word
when people are shouting; that’s Hope.

I may not know how to define it,
but I know it when I see it.

And when I look at you:
a Friend.
Priceless.

Can there be anything more horrifying that searching for your child in the debris of disaster? Take time today and walk the Texas streets with those parents; be there with them. They need us right now. We are their family, too. Extend your hand and your heart into the hurting. This is who we are.

i’m Life isn’t perfect; don’t expect it to be. That said, try to find something that makes you want to sing today, or dance, or throw a party. The dancing flower people at the Botanic Gardens in San Diego have it right. Find a song and sing it. Find a dance and kick up your heels. Hum a tune. Write a poem. Call up a friend. Here’s an idea: how about remembering something good about the nation. I know. We don’t all agree on what’s happening or not happening in the world. Granted. But isn’t there some way that common gratitude can hold up a light for all of us to follow? Sky rockets and fireworks burst and then fizzle. They are gone in a flash. But gratitude is the perpetual light that shows us the next few steps along the path. For those of us who are pleased with currents events, be grateful. For those of us who are not, be grateful. Eventually we will find common ground on which all of us can walk together. Life isn’t perfect. Don’t expect it to be. And neither are we. But we can choose the common trait of gratitude, undergirded by hope, as the sign of our willingness to envision a future that honors the diversity of our dreams.

On the day before the big show, before the first Skyrocket streaks into the July 4th night, maybe it would be a good idea to remember who we are: “one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” One nation, not many defined by cultural or political boundaries. Under God, the Source of our diversity, the Advocate for our commonality. Indivisible: united, bonded, committed to a shared oneness. Liberty and justice: two words that define our community. For all: no interpretation needed.

Say a prayer today that the varied colors and shapes and designs of tomorrow’s fireworks will remind us of the essential meaning of unity in the midst of diversity. It’s the variety of color and the creativity of design that make the fireworks beautiful. So it is with all of us who look up to the heavens in hope. All of us. Amen.

In the garden of my imagination
there is a small stone bench, just big enough for
two, a place where we can sit and find
delight in conversation and watch the flowers grow.
Yes, you are correct. My garden grows without the
details of manicure. Pink flowers spill onto the
lovely stone walk. Vines are heavy with blooms that
might otherwise be snipped or sorted. The fingertips of
one plant reach out to those of another.
Too much, do you think? Too animated?
Oh, no. In the Garden of My Imagination, life flourishes.
Come, sit with me on the stone bench.
Watch. Listen. In time your heart will smile
at the sound of laughter hiding among the clumps
of green grass, or at the song the wind sings as she tosses yellow
blossoms into the morning air, blossoms that fall
like confetti at our feet.
Welcome to the Garden of My Imagination.
It is a special place where all lines flow and curve,
where blending replaces boundaries.
I’m glad you are here.
You make it even more beautiful.

In case you haven’t noticed, I love to photograph birds in flight. Some of them don’t look exactly coordinated walking around on the ground, but when they spread their wings and take off…it’s magnificent. This graceful Hawk is an example. I remember “Gooney Birds” on Midway Island. Large, sturdy birds, they are comedians when they take off…running and stumbling, falling this way and that until those large wings catch the air and they glide smoothly into the sky. It’s the same way when a Gooney Bird lands. Glide so smoothly and effortlessly until its big feet touch the ground. Crash landing! The bird rolls and tumbles, sometimes beak over feet, then finally collects himself to waddle off to his nest. In flight, birds are beautiful to behold.

It’s the same way with people like you and me. When the Wind of Spirit lifts us, motivates and informs us, we can soar. So many times Jesus talked of Spirit and life and encouraged his listeners to spread their wings…trust and follow His way. Once you try, you will notice that the view in flight is life-changing. You’ve never really experienced the wonder of life until the Spirit becomes the wind beneath your wings.

Looks like a good day for flying, don’t you think?