Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Smell

Smell

Secretly, it arrived in the night. Well, as secretive as a thunderstorm can. At first, there was no loud boom or a bright flash of light. There was no steady rhythm of rainfall either. Outside my window the world was settling into the darkness. What got me to notice the falling droplets of water from the high heavens was it’s refreshing smell.

Slowly my living room began filling with the aroma of precipitation. Because I couldn’t hear or see signs of a storm, I rose to my feet and looked out the window. My discovery was the cobble stone street reflecting the rays from the street lamps. The rust colored bricks were ablaze in an artificial radiance, just as they did in the winter:  slick.

Standing on the boulevard, I saw the first flash of energy in the sky off in the distance. A low rumble, similar to that of Silas when he is annoyed with Chloe’s antics to get him to play, came shortly after. It was a matter of time before the tranquility of the rain would be disrupted by the storm the westward winds would usher in.

Silence has substance and perhaps a smell, too. In the gentle descent of the rain I was reminded of the way things stir by night. How the wind brought in a fragrance that flooded my memory with feelings of happiness and joy. Suddenly my whole being was saturated with a reminder of God’s often-unseen grace and love. Between the raindrops emerged this comforting silence.

Sophia, that is her name to many. Others call her “Spirit.” Whatever title and gender you ascribe, the Wisdom of God comes forth, reaching from end to end mightily, but gently. This Wisdom, Sophia, wills to be also the unseen pivot of all nature, the center and significance of all the light that is in all and for all:  mercy and love. This promise, in any storm, can usher us to sweet sleep.

“[Sunshine] burns in the sky like the Face of God, but we do not know his countenance as terrible.”*** God speaks to us gently in ten thousand things, in which God’s light is one fullness and one Wisdom. On that couch, seduced by that smell, love cornered me and surrounded me with peace without having to look very far or very hard or do anything special. My spirit was awakened.

Summoning me in the sweet, unforeseen fragrance of rain was a Gift of our Creator’s thought and art within me, speaking as Sophia. That is how God speaks though, isn’t it? God’s Wisdom, cries out to all who will hear and cries out particularly to the little, to the scared and the helpless. Indeed, O blessed, Silent One, who speaks everywhere! Out of the silence Light is spoken…

or smelled….


***Much of the imagery is influenced by Thomas Merton's poem Sophia.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Serve

Serve

Is your mug

half empty

or

half full?

That is the question…

Or is it?

Don’t get me wrong, it is a question worth exploring. However, making a definitive choice as to whether you are an optimist or a pessimist, a risk taker or a passive player in life, might get in the way of seeing, well, the mug.

Isaiah 64.8
⁸ Yet, O Holy One, you are our God;
   we are the clay, and you are our potter;
   we are all the work of your hand.

Whether we are half full or half empty, spilling over or run dry, we are shaped by God’s creative action, not for destruction but into something of worth.

John 4.10

¹⁰Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, “Give me a drink”, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.’

God’s desire is to fill all of us with living water. What is needed from us is to simply make ourselves available.

John 2.1-10

The Wedding at Cana

2On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. ²Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. ³When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ ⁴And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ ⁵His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ ⁶Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. ⁷Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. ⁸He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. ⁹When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom ¹⁰and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’

Some days we are half full. Other days we are half empty. But everyday we exist in the image of a God who longs to fill us up. The wonder of the transformation God brings about in our lives is that, like good wine, it continues to improve with age. God is not absent from us. God is with us, filling us up with grace and mercy and above all, love.

The thing about what is inside our mugs is that it must be shared to be appreciated and understood. We must give to it to others to drink for it to be fully enjoyed.

So, as you reach for that mug or cup or whatever it is you are drinking from, consider this…

that God has shaped you as an empty cup, has filled you with living water and is transforming you into something beautiful…

Have a great weekend.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-See

See

Matthew 20.29-34

Jesus Heals Two Blind Men

29 As they were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed him. 30There were two blind men sitting by the roadside. When they heard that Jesus was passing by, they shouted, ‘Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!’ 31The crowd sternly ordered them to be quiet; but they shouted even more loudly, ‘Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David!’ 32Jesus stood still and called them, saying, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ 33They said to him, ‘Lord, let our eyes be opened.’ 34Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him.

This past week, 14 of us traveled to Madison, Wisconsin for the purpose of engaging in community service. This particular passage was read one morning before we embarked on our service projects

The capitol building in Madison.

(either sorting canned goods for a food bank, or creating art at a pottery and glass studio to give residents at a local nursing home).

We sat together, back to back, focused on our collective breath, feeling our ribs rise and fall as we inhaled, then exhaled. Our eyes closed as the story of Jesus healing two people was read aloud, as we listened for words and phrases that jumped out at us. This is what stuck out:

“passing by…”

“shouted...”

“Moved with compassion…”

“stood still…”

“touched…”

“followed him…”

Take a minute to read it again…

…

This story that involves a lots of ‘doing’ on the part of Jesus. Notice all these verbs:

Left—Jesus had to leave Jericho in order for this miracle to happen.

Stop—despite being on the move, Jesus took time to stop and notice those who were being pushed to the side by the crowds

Ask—despite the crowd’s attempt to silence these two, Jesus engaged them with questions, and wanted to know their story

Loved—in a very human moment, Jesus responds with compassion, and the one who came to serve and not to serve, further exemplifies how to care for the least of these

Touched—as if listening to these outcasts wasn’t radical enough, Jesus moves towards them and touches them, giving them what they asked

One student on the trip commented that Jesus seems to move a lot; that, despite the adamancy of the crowd, Jesus was able to hear the cries of the blind men and focused entirely on them. [He/she] observed that one of the most notable characteristics of this story is how much Jesus actually touched people.

Jesus touched people, meeting them where they were. That is the good news, isn’t it? Throughout his ministry, Jesus wanted people to be themselves, and responded to the cries, needs, and realities of those around him in kind. Ultimately, the gospel of Christ is concern for the whole person. When confronted with the needs of others, Jesus didn’t check their prerequisites, or mandate “good behavior” before their needs could be met. Instead, Jesus fed and healed people, meeting them where they were, even when the crowd said “don’t”. Jesus teaches us this: that good news to a hungry person is not only bread, and to the blind person is not only sight, but being seen themselves as valuable human beings.

It is one thing to intellectually teach the foundation of our faith; it is quite another to allow ourselves (and in this case, our children) to live out this faith and express it through gifts and acts of service. What 14 of us did in Madison was mimic the actions of Christ in the context of this passage: bringing the good news of God’s beloved community by engaging people in a way that showed the hope and beauty that exists in a world. In this way, we can all, together, here and now, enjoy that renewal of creation, which is God’s ultimate purpose.

And so, like the blind men who followed Jesus after being healed, those who served and those who were served became peers, jointly sharing in the ongoing transformation of God’s reign in the world.

And that was truly a sight to see.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Smoke

The sun was setting, the day’s final light slipping through the thick foliage surrounding me. By my side was a sleeping Golden Retriever, Silas, worn out from a busy day of hiking and exploring. At my feet embers radiated heat, burning orange as fresh wood caught fire. The day’s choir of birds and squirrels completed their act, and after a brief intermission of utter silence, the crickets and frogs sang us the rest of the way.

As the smoke from the fire ascended to the evening sky, descending through the leaves were white fluffs from a cotton wood tree. Gracefully gliding, the weightless seeds turned ablaze as they reflected the evening light, becoming little balls of fire. Soon, their glows transformed into the flickering spectacle of a forest filled with lightning bugs. The dense elm trees and maple trees began to illumine like a pine tree in December, a light shining in the darkness.

Just as it rose, the sun set, and then escaped behind the western horizon. Without light, nighttime consumed the campground. What was once seen became hidden. A familiar path became foreign. Isn’t it funny how different things look and feel and seem in the dark? Silas’ head remained up, ears back, his breathing a sort of quiet, but heavy, as he listened to the trees come alive. The chill the storm ushered in settled between the leaves, resting on the already expended branches.

The flames danced, swayed, and flickered with the breeze. In the stirring of the night, the woods and pastures appear joyous in their abundance now in a season of warmth and much rain. The lake is beyond its banks, overflowing into dry creek beds and walking paths, spreading its mirrors out upon the fields of the valley floor. It has become like God’s love or sorrow, including at last all that had been left out. All the while, my face, heart, my being was warmed by the fire’s light. The solitude soon ushered me to sleep. Finally I found rest.

I read somewhere once that the interior life should consist of moments of relaxation, freedom, and ‘browsing.’ Some do this via literature or music. We must remember though our time is limited. We need to be by ourselves. When we are by ourselves, we soon get tired of our folly. In that tent, under those stars, having finally submitted to the rhythms of creation, I learned that my folly did not fit in with the eminent sanity of trees, birds, water, or the sky.

The silence of the woods forced me to make a decision, which the tensions and artificialities of society may help me evade forever. I, you, we, must get out every once in a while. I, you, we, need a good garden, access to the woods, or to the sea. I, you, we, need to run to the mountains and to the hills. It is at these places, between the twinkling of the stars and the chorus of crickets, where we will find the silence that asks us the most important question:  do you want to be yourself or don’t you?