the quality of a day

To affect the quality of the day is the highest of arts.

- HENRY DAVID THOREAU

One must assume that Henry meant affecting the quality of a day positively. It certainly isn't terribly difficult to do it negatively! There isn't much artfulness to a bitter word, a raw scowl, or a reactive rant.

But, the wakeful gaze, the attentive ear, or the grateful expression can change the angle of a moment in time, like a door hinge swinging wide open.

nonsense and incense

This evening I raked leaves

into black plastic bags --

an act of artificial intelligence

and nonsense.

But, a small handful

thrown onto the fire

became a playful dance

and incense.

take, eat, drink

While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples and said, "Take, eat; this is my body." Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins."

MATTHEW 26:26-28

Whenever Christians celebrate the Eucharist, breaking bread and sharing the cup, they celebrate fullness of life. . . but with reference to death, with reference to a bloody agony in which faith conquered fear. The Eucharist is a challenge to follow Christ from fear to faith. The courage it takes to receive life even under the image of death—that is the courage of faith, the courage of gratefulness: trust in the Giver.

BROTHER DAVID STEINDL-RAST, Gratefulness is the Heart of Prayer

This week I made visits to three different hospitals. It was a striking coincidence that as I walked up to the entrance of each hospital I saw young couples carrying newborn babies out into the light of sun for the first time. The parents looked weary but joyful, excited but cautious as they buckled their tiny bundles into car seats and began what would no doubt be a very careful and slow drive home.

Then I went inside, and walked the corridors in search of the patients I had come to visit. I passed room after room in which there were people making very different sorts of journeys from those newly born parents, journeys through injury, illness, and some, through death.

Birth, life, death, all in such terribly close proximity. Perhaps that is why hospitals are sometimes difficult and challenging places for us to be, because there we are confronted with the truth of just how close life and death always are.

As David Steindl-Rast writes, it does indeed take courage "to receive life even under the image of death," and to receive it with gratitude, with "trust in the Giver." From moment to moment this is how we receive life, with death as a close companion. There is so much in this culture and age of ours that would tell us this is not so and that death must be held at bay, avoided and eluded. Our fear of it grows with the extent of our evasion.

I live in fear of my own dying, and the impenetrable mystery that lies beyond. I live in fear of the beloved ones in my life dying, and the agonizing void that would inevitably follow. How would I ever survive such loss? I live in fear of all the "little deaths" that must happen in my life in order for me to live truthfully, wakefully and faithfully.

Those disciples long ago must have felt fearful as they sat at the table with Jesus and watched him break the bread, give thanks for it, then hand it to them with the words, "Take and eat, this is my body broken for you." They had no way of knowing this would be a "last supper," but perhaps they felt something of the fullness and finality of the moment when Jesus then took the cup of wine and said, "Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins."

Take . . . eat . . . drink . . .

Whenever we gather and break the bread and share the cup in the church, I am reminded as I look around the sanctuary that this is much more than a reenactment of an ancient moment, or simply an exercise in remembering. We come together as a many-storied people who are birthing, living, dying and resurrecting our way through this life. We bring all of it into the moment of communion, and this meal bears the shape not only of Christ's life but the shape of our lives as well.

And with courage we take, eat, drink, and trust in the Giver to move us from fear to faith.

hedgerow

(with a grateful nod to Robert Frost)

No longer yellow,

and not nearly enough woods

for two roads to diverge,

the hedgerow cuts between

stubbled corn and

sleeping winter wheat.

One traveler,

on one tangled path,

through life less bound.

hedgerow photo by Yolanda Kauffman

simple truth

let us approach with a true heart
in full assurance of faith
HEBREWS 10:22

We may be true or false, the choice is ours. We may wear now one mask and now another, and never, if we so desire, appear with our own true face. But we cannot make these choices with impunity. Causes have effects, and if we lie to ourselves and to others, then we cannot expect to find truth and reality whenever we happen to want them. If we have chosen the way of falsity we must not be surprised that truth eludes us when we finally come to need it!
THOMAS MERTON, New Seeds of Contemplation, p. 34

Most of us are not methodical or malicious about our falsehoods, but we do have our reasons for not acknowledging the whole truth. The truth may indeed be simple, but often it is a far from simple thing to tell and live the truth.

The truth may make us uncomfortable because it might mean owning up to our shortcomings or the ways we have wounded others. The whole truth may be difficult because it means we must risk something to tell it. Perhaps it will mean we must stand alone, like that small child in the crowd in Hans Christian Anderson's tale who points out what everyone else is too scared or too duped to admit: the emperor has no clothes.

Or, perhaps we struggle with the whole truth because we know full well that in telling it, and living it, we will need to change.

So we massage the truth. We tell it in part or we tell half-truths and partial fibs so as not to risk hurting others or making ourselves too uncomfortable. These falsehoods and omitted truths build like walls and lead us astray from true connection with one another and with God.

God is able to love only that which is true and real.
God can only find us and love us where we are
not where we wish we could be
or think we ought to be.

May the truth set us free to love.

assisted living

She sits in the recliner,

holding the dollar store doll to her breast

in such a way

and with such a look on her face

that I almost see

the child’s back rise

with a breath.

morning prayers

this silent circle recast
around a lamp relit

more than two or three are gathered
to restill
to reknow
that even if one
even if none
You are

this silent circle recast
around a lamp relit

something to sneeze at

A small girl,
probably late for school
but in no hurry,
scuffs her way
between parked cars
with backpack hanging
from bent elbows.

She stops
to consider the shiny grill
of a new SUV,
then sneezes on it.

gingko

One more gingko leaf

greets the light of dawn, and waits

for autumn's last breath.

the friend

Come friend,
we cross this threshold
and what seemed a door
is no more.

Nor is there a map
for the land we now traverse
in daylight
and in dark.

But, there is a guide

who knows the risks
but cannot save us from them;

who speaks the playful tongue of this land
and will teach it to us;

who knows which wells hold water,
which streams bear fish,
and where to find the good wine!

This one will still our fears,
weep our tears,
and call us friends.

written at the Mennonite Spiritual Directors Retreat, Cleveland, OH, October 27, 2009