In the Light

All my life has been a relearning to pray-a letting go of incantational magic, petition, and the vain repitition “me, Lord, me” instead watching attentively for the light that burns at the center of every star, every cell, every living creature, every human heart. (Chet Raymo)

There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun. (Thomas Merton)

In the late 1980's when my children were young, I traveled on the train overnight to a conference on children and spirituality. It occurred over the first several days of November. On the evening of November 1, All Saints' Day, we were gathered in the chapel of the seminary where we were meeting. This space was built in the 1920's and featured quantities of dark oak and stained glass. Everyone received a simple wreath for their heads made of gold garland. In the candle lit chapel our head wreaths were glowing. That is the single specific recollection I have of that meeting, a room with light blazing from our heads. It mattered that we were together. The light grew because there were many of us.

What would it be like if you and I were aware of the potential light we have to radiate wherever we are? How might the world be different if we recognized similar light in one another and in all that surrounds us? Light is life and energy. It fills us with hope, protects us, and allows us to see. Our light is a gift for us to give; similarly it is an offering sent in our direction. We can become light, name light, and send forth light. We face so much that is dark, dreary, and dangerous. Bearing light together is a powerful witness to what might sustain us all.

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Field Lessons

Trappist monk Thomas Merton once wrote: “Forest and field, sun and wind and sky, earth and water, all speak the same silent language, reminding the monk that he is here to develop like the things that grow all around him.” For Merton and many others, the huge panorama of creation of which we are a part is filled with steady, sometimes surprising teachers. This is the fourth spring I've watched the fields that spread in all directions from my home enter their seasons of fruitful planting, growth, and harvest. Planting isn't determined by a specific date on the calendar. The temperature of the soil has to warm enough. The condition of the soil needs to be right. And rain-soaked fields that haven't drained adequately aren't ready for planting.

We've had lots of rain lately. Pausing by this watery corner of the field west of my home, I thought about how much the fields have to teach concerning pace and process. Planting can't happen in March to gain a head start on the season. Time must be taken to tend and care for the soil that will receive the seeds. There is no rushing a wet field.

Many spiritual programs emphasize they are process not product oriented. Their focus is drawn toward the journey rather than the destination or endpoint. I pay attention to the fields when I am tempted to shortchange process or speed up journey. As it is with the fields, so it is with us. Preparation for our growth is critical. We are wise to respect circumstances outside of our control. Sane timing asks to be honored. In her new book Grounded, Diana Butler Bass claims there is a primary relatedness between the soil and our souls. Listening with the fields close by me, I couldn't agree more.

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