Sacred Connections: And then . . .
So much for the lighthearted message I’d prepared for today’s post. Perhaps it will see the light of day another time, but it felt too jarring a contrast to the days we have just witnessed. More record cases of COVID-19, more deaths, more chaos as we witnessed our capital under siege by our own citizens, more disruption of political processes. We eagerly turned the calendar page to escape from the heaviness, chaos and darkness of 2020. The brighter 2021 we longed and hoped for may not be feeling that way right now.
On Wednesday we celebrated the Principal Feast Day of the Epiphany. In our Lectionary, Epiphany is described as “an appearance, a displaying, a showing forth, a making clear or public or obvious. On this day, Christians have traditionally celebrated the making known of Jesus Christ to the world.” In our dictionaries, we might also find the definition of how we use “epiphany” in routine conversations when we refer to a “sudden revelation or insight”. In some horrible and beautiful way, it feels very fitting that we might have witnessed all we did on this past Feast Day of the Epiphany.
Many years ago, I attended a program at the Omega Center in Rhinebeck, New York. It was entitled something like, “Art with an Open Heart” and it was led by an artist whose work I had long connected with, Mayumi Oda. I recall the workshop being an invitation to creativity and contemplation, both offering great appeal to me. My participation there truly opened my eyes and changed the direction of the path I was on in profound ways. And I awoke yesterday with the remembrance of that experience reflected in the words, “And then …”
Our time together in this workshop was primarily in silence. Our gatherings were in an octagonal shaped building in the woods, and there was a large white wall that we ten participants shared. Our guidance was that we could display anything or remove anything on that wall at any time, but we were not to speak to each other about our actions. Initially I vowed silently not to touch that wall, because I was surrounded by professional artists and considered myself an amateur if even that. But somehow things shifted and without clear intent I seemed to become the one most engaged with that wall, silently enlisting assistance in different phases of its evolution.
I longed for structure and substance – and we brought in huge stones and created a weighty three-dimensional construct in front of the wall; only after it was in place could I discern it felt too heavy and was a barrier for other expression. Amid beautiful artistic expressions, I added to the wall a terribly damaged stuffed teddy bear found in the woods; it was quickly removed by someone else. I followed by displaying someone’s beloved teddy bear with the words beneath it, “And then …”
The next day, with silent assistance, we removed that massive structure I had previously orchestrated, leaving only a few significant touchstones in place. Then we added a very long expanse of paper on which, days earlier, we had all made our impressions. We suspended the paper from the ceiling and draped it over the remaining stones as if a flowing stream. It felt beautiful. It captured the hands and hearts of all of us. Of course, we knew once we left, it would not remain.
I share this glimpse of experience because it feels relevant to me for today. We are all inextricably a part of our larger worlds whether we find ourselves to be on the sidelines or in the frontline. Our worlds are in constant flux, and that has with it the gift of being able to see what is working and what is not, and to do our part to support movement in a more positive direction. And the greatest beauty occurs when it is a reflection of all of us, in our uniqueness and our oneness; when the presence of our hearts and minds and spirits is visible, is revealed.
The tragedies we have been witnessing in recent days become a part of us. Their images are emblazoned in our minds. The toll is felt in our hearts. And this is our stark, urgent invitation to open our eyes and see what is being revealed. When our expressions of individual freedoms or willfulness overrun our call to love, and serve each other, united as children of God, something has gotten terribly lost. Yet when we can see clearly where we are, we can course correct, we can shift direction. We can create structures where needed and remove what no longer serves.
Jesus was not born in a pristine place, to perfect parents, in peaceful times. God became human in humble circumstances, in the midst of political agendas, at risk of violence by human hands. Yet amid all the turmoil, we are told how Angels guided shepherds, and a star guided the wise men. The light of Christ shown in an infant, the light of Christ shines still. Christ is present, among us, whether we are in times of chaos or peace. We are called to love each other, to care for each other, to come together united in Christ’s love.
“And then…” We are still works-in-progress as individuals, families, communities, nations of the world. Let us each do our part to see clearly and respond with truth and love. Let us pray for the courage, wisdom and heart to walk the healing path of Christ’s love.
