"everything is holy..."

"When I was in Sunday School
we would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two,
and Jesus made the water wine.

And I remember feeling sad
that miracles don't happen still.
Now I can't keep track
cause everything's a miracle --
Everything, everything is holy now..."

Peter Mayer's "Everything is Holy Now," gives form to what is in my heart today. No matter where I look, I am seeing the sacred, the divine -- the holy.

This morning it was a pair of doves sitting -- one with its winged draped over the other's back -- on a low branch just beyond our kitchen window. It was a sacred moment.  One as deserving of reverence as the cantor's call to temple, small hands folded in prayer, or a choir singing Handel's  "Messiah."

I turned from the window and there, on the kitchen counter, was a pear. A perfectly formed pear. A pear. Just a pear. But in that moment I could see the hand of God in its timeless design. I've always loved pears -- everything about them. I love their grounded shape, the changing blush of color that rises as they ripen, the texture, their scent, a taste unlike any other. Gazing at that pear I wanted to drop to my knees in gratitude.

Walking out to the mailbox I felt the first warm rays of mid-winter sun on my skin and a cool morning breeze softly lifting the stray hairs at the nape of my neck. An unseen gift. A holy gift.

Later, watching our frisky little pup standing nose-to-nose with a baby bunny in the yard, I bowed my head in prayer. I was witnessing a miracle. My very own window on the Isaiah prophesy -- a lamb lying down with a lion -- fulfilled, and I was blessed.  Everything -- every leaf turning towards the light, every flower arching its petals in a silent song of praise. Everything -- deeply, profoundly, knee-bucklingly holy.

Walking back into the house, I realized that the acute discomfort I'd woken with that morning, had dissolved in the light of this holiness-suffused day.

I love church. I love the sacredness of each opportunity to serve our community.  I love working in fellowship with others.  I cherish our unity of purpose in accepting Christ's mandate to care for our neighbors in need. But these opportunities for community worship don't start (or stop) at the threshold of our place of worship. They aren't contained by, or restricted to, the activities we -- as a congregation -- choose to support.

We can find them everywhere -- when a fellow member quietly offers a ride to a stranger on a stormy night. When a high school-age neighbor helps his friend repair the damages done to another homeowner's mailbox. We see it in acts of highway mindfulness replacing road-rage, and grocery store courtesy overcoming impatience. Every instance of goodness worthy of praise.  Every moment a sacrament. Everything holy.

Each moment of our living is a miracle. The gift of consciousness -- of contemplation, creativity, prayer -- leaves me speechless. Our capacity to love and to be loved, to appreciate beauty, to breathe, to serve others, to listen attentively to a friend's story, to sit bedside with a patient in silent prayer -- all of it -- holy.

On the first page of her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy, offers:

"The wakeful shepherd
beholds the first faint morning beams,
e'er cometh the full radiance
of the risen day." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimpse of goodness is an indication of the divine All-in-allness. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. And everything is holy -- now.

We don't need to wait for things to change, to get better, or to be fixed by an alteration of circumstances, or a plea to God. When we seize each opportunity to get on our knees and look for even the tiniest glimmer of His presence -- in the persistent growth of a blade of grass, a robin's egg cradled in a fragile nest, or the tireless work-ethic of an ant -- the sacred is found in the simple. And ordinary moments become extraordinary.

Or, as Peter sings:

"so, the challenging thing becomes:
not to look for miracles,
but finding where there isn't one..." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimmer of goodness is an indication of the fullness of divinity touching humanity. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. Each instance portends His All-in-allnes, where everything is holy -- now. Yes, everything -- every little thing is holy -- now.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Indescribable, uncontainable..."

"Who has told every lightning bolt
where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses
laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun
and gives source to its light?
Yet conceals it to bring us
the coolness of night.
None can fathom it.

Indescribable, uncontainable,
You placed the stars in the sky
and You know them by name.
You are amazing God.

All powerful, untameable,
Awestruck we fall to our knees
as we humbly proclaim,
You are amazing God.

Incomparable, unchangeable...
You see the depths of my heart,
and You love me the same.
You are amazing God.
You are amazing God..."

Chris Tomlin's song, "Indescribable," reminds me of Mary Baker Eddy's statement:

"Patience is symbolized by the tireless worm, creeping
       over lofty summits, persevering in its intent."

There is something so extraordinary about seeing the wonder, and purpose, in every blade of grass, each tiny catepillar, every molecule of stardust, every dandelion seed...every one of us.  Each of us.  You, me, us them, that...yes, everything...filled with hope, passion, gratitude, tenderness, tenacity, vigor, beauty...love.  It stuns me, it takes my breath away, leaves me pregnant with joy, on tiptoe with expectation, hovering at the edge of the horizon waiting for the sun to rise and a leaf to turn in response to the sun's shining and awaken to her own shimmering color, movement, form, and grace.  In like manner, we each turn to God, and discover our own unique, divinely appointed purpose and promise.

"Nothing is so common,
as the desire to be remarkable."

This axiom of Shakespeare's rings so true, speaks with such authenticity of voice, that it took me by surprise the first time I heard it.  I believe that we all leap towards this common hope, we lean into our collective desire to make a difference, and we rise on wings of our awakened potential in answer to the compelling call from within, gently whispering, "you might really be remarkable"...worthy of remark...in the eyes of God.

But, the ego...the only real enemy of the spiritual man...doesn't want us to answer that calling. It tries to convince us that what we really want, is to be better than someone else, more intelligent, more inspired, talented, worthy, holy, strong, wanted, deserving. The ego thrives on comparison, competition, and compliments.  But I don't think this is what we want at all.  I think what we are longing for, is to know that we have worth and purpose in God's eyes,  To know that we fit into a divine plan, that we are on the right track, and that we are fulfilling His dreams for us as His beloved children.  We want to please our divine parent.

A friend, who is an elementary school teacher, recently shared this story with me:

"So, I was sitting here today when one of my students brought a book over to me. It was a religious board book called Hermie: A Common Caterpillar by Max Lucado, but it was the story that got me.

It was about two caterpillars who kept running into other insects that, to    them, had something special that they didn't have.

The snail could carry his house on his back, the ant was super strong, and the lady bug had pretty spots.  Each time they met an animal or insect with something special, they would go to God and say, "why I am so common? Why don't I have anything special?"

God kept telling them that He loved them just they way they were, and that He wasn't finished with them yet.  He had a plan for them, and they had a purpose.

At the end of the story one of the caterpillars went to bed and prayed to God, saying, "You love me, and that makes me special."

The next morning the catepillar woke up in a chrysalis, and then he turned into a butterfly.  He and His friend then understood what God had meant.

They also understood that even though each of us is different, we are all special in our own way because God loves us."

I loved this story.  Such a simple example of how each and every instance of creation...molecule, insect, raindrop, leaf, sparrow, idean, man, woman, and child...has a divine purpose, is filled with promise, and has a spiritual identity that is designed, cherished, nurtured, and maintained by God.

There is something so pure about my friend's experience in the classroom that day.  We all find, in our moments of inner struggle for the wit and will to persevere, that the faint light of love we emit, is enough to gather angels…children who teach us, parents who love us, friends who believe in us, books and stories that inspire our hope…unawares.  Eddy, in speaking to each of us, encourages:

"The lives of great men and women are miracles of patience and perseverance.  Every luminary in the constellation of human greatness, like the stars, comes out in the darkness to shine with the reflected light of God."

Each of us is uniquely beautiful, incomparable, remarkable in His divine design.  We created with the inherit desire, a spiritual longing towards this spiritual purpose.  There is an inner compass that draws us towards our own North Star, our spiritual family homestead...the kingdom of heaven within...where we are always welcomed with joy, handed a dishtowel, and  pointed in the direction of the kitchen where we are thrilled to fill our special niche in time and eternity.  

I love the way J.G. Bennett describes this spiritual homing device within our hearts:

"Spiritual homesickness is necessary for us. 

It remains in our heart most of the time.  But sometimes, there are periods we go through when we are constantly aware of being bereft of something.  And when this feeling comes we have to watch over the purity of that desire, and not misuse it.  The feeling is, in itself, authentic. It is an indication of being near enough to something to be aware of its worth.  One doesn't really feel deprived until one is close."

To be close to our Father's house is to recognize a familiar landscape. To hear the sounds of our childhood...the way the wind whistles through the tall grass in the pasture, the call of indigenous songbirds, the whinnying of horses in paddock. We know that our Father, God, is the Patriarch of this homestead. And we know that He is waiting patiently on the porch, searching the horizon for our silouette to appear in the backlight of a risen morn. Our hearts leap, our pace increases, the past falls away behind us in the deepening blue of twilight. 

Our divine Parent is waiting to hand us our assignment and to tell us that He always knew we "had it in us." He knows that we are capable of being indescribably wonderful...of making a difference.  He is waiting to greet us, each and every day, with our unique calling in His heart, our spiritual purpose on His lips, and a fresh new task at hand.  He is waiting for us, for me and for you...to just show up. Joining Him in the harvest we become heirs of all we see. 

It's always time to come home to who we are.  To come home to the lives we have been perfectly designed to live.  In His eyes we are amazing, remarkable, indescribably wonderful, fascinating, worthy, deserving...we are beloved. We are His beloved....always.
Kate


Here is a version of Chris Tomlin's "Indescribable" without the lyrics, but with beautiful imagery.