Before I left him, he said that we should pray. I tried to explain to him that I did not understand prayer, that I could not see the meaning of it. "Then pray that you will understand," he said impatiently. "Devotion is necessary in our path. The trouble with you is that you don't believe in God. You only think you do. If you knew what I know then you would pray ... a prayer beyond form. And where is your love and gratitude? How many times a day do you remember to say thank you? Until you can be truly grateful, you will always be in separation from God ... The prayer of which I speak is the prayer of your heart, the state where all life has become a prayer. Whether God comes with a thorn to wake you up or as the gentle wind, it is necessary that you are grateful and that you acknowledge God. For praise and gratitude are like the two hands of prayer. A great Sufi once said, 'Make God a reality and God will make you the truth.' Begin now. Do you not want to meet God face to face?"
Holidays are about families, and families can be a bit of a mess under stress. But the love that will gather is much more important than anything else on earth, and bigger than anything else on earth, too. Because finally, that love is sovereign.
Unfortunately, change and forgiveness do not come easily for me, but ANY willingness to let go inevitably comes from pain; and the desire to change and forgive changes you, and jiggles the spirit, gets to it somehow, to the deepest, hardest, most ruined parts. And then Spirit expands, because that is its nature, and it brings along the body, and finally, the mind.
Steeping ourselves in a place, simmering in its bounties, celebrating its wonders, and loving its peculiarities are necessary steps on a spiritual journey. We often take for granted the places where we work and play. To get to know them again, or perhaps for the first time, involves acts of consecration and imagination. Or as Wendell Berry puts it: "My most inspiring thought is that this place, if I am to live well in it, requires and deserves a lifetime of the most careful attention."
The silence of the marsh was so profound that it could have been the flip side of the singing in my church. Just last Sunday the people had sung the old spiritual, "Go Down, Moses," a cappella because the pianist was gone, and a bunch of people were crying, singing very loudly with their eyes closed, and the singing of that cry of a song was a wonderful form of communion. How come you can hear a chord, and then another chord, and then your heart breaks open?
