that the whole earth is a sacrament-
a limitless possibility of encountering
God reaching toward us.
During this time of disorientation and separation, we’re asking members of our St. George’s community to offer poems, reflections and images they’ve created as doorways into prayer. We will share them with you weekly. They may be ways to face what you are feeling today. They may be reminders of beauty and communion. We pray they will be signs of hope and the nearness of God in all things.
The Rocky Beach
When first birthed
From its mother rock
Each stone was sharp, jagged, unbending.
Now, eons of storms and pounding surf
Have rounded the edges,
Smoothed the surfaces.
Each stone different.
Some black, others white—
Speckled ones abound.
Many flat, more round—
Mica glitters from granite globes.
None shaped like its neighbor.
All together make the rocky beach—
A rough-hewn edge to the sea
Sparkled by the sun.
May one stone chosen from many
Be a reminder that we are each like this—
Born of the same Source.
Each is unique,
Each is being worn smooth
By the storms of life.
Together, with our various shapes,
Sizes, colors—and our various gifts—
We return beauty to God’s world.
I remember when my daughter was younger, she had asked what Easter was about. I gave her the historical context; I shared our Christian belief in the Resurrection. But I also tried to convey a deeper sense of the symbolism. “It’s about new life,” I told her. “…about love, and hope.”
To me, Easter is like buds pushing their way into the world on dormant limbs. It’s like holding a single determined flicker of fire on a moonless night. It is the whisper of the Universe when the sorrow of one more headline feels enough to crush me, saying, “And yet…”
And yet, today I awoke to spring daylight, feeling rekindled.
And yet, I held my lover’s hand. I spoke to a cherished friend. I sipped a cup of lavender tea.
And yet, on my evening walk, the cry of the loon echoed between the blue grey shores of the harbor, painting me into the watercolor of sunset.
And yet, I heard my child’s gentle breath as she slept tucked beneath my arm.
The hard parts of life sometimes soften; sometimes they are unwilling.
Easter is breath to my fainting heart. It is the Universe reminding us of everyday miracles–resurrecting me from the tomb of despair with the astonishing hope-promise: “And yet…”
I have learned to listen for her whisper. Her voice is breezy soft like a lily field; so intensely beautiful that I find myself leaning towards it. This, I’ve discovered, is exactly the needed leverage for rolling away stones.
– March 27, 2016