"a sweet and certain sense..."

"God is Love,
God is Love,
if it's all I ever learn in life,
it's all I need to know..."

Outside my cabin, I could hear a group of girls serenading a boy's cabin just down the hill. Their sweet voices lifted into the night sky like fireflies turning into stars. I closed my eyes hoping to capture some of their joy as it rose over the tall pines that stood like sentinels watching over us all.

I was reaching for joy, but it seemed so beyond my grasp that night. I'd received a call earlier in the evening that shook me to my core. Sorrow and bewilderment circled like coyotes looking for a place in my heart. I was on full alert, but tired. I needed a companion in the watch. Mindy Jostyn's beautiful, "God is Love" was a friend in the dark.

I let her remind me through the night that if I took nothing away from this experience -- but an understanding of what it meant that God is Love -- it would be enough. The hope of healing was alive in me. But what that healing would look like seemed elusive. In some ways, I didn't even know what to hope for. Would I stop feeling sad? Would the pain disappear? Would my heart cease to ache? Would someone tell me that the call I'd received earlier had never really happened?

I'd been sitting in the dark for hours, when I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to read from Mary Baker Eddy's primary text on spiritual healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures. I had a long history with finding healing and comfort in her pages. It was exactly what I needed at that moment. I turned on the lamp and opened my dog-eared copy randomly.

My eyes fell on these words from a longer sentence:

"...the proof of healing, 
a sweet and certain sense
that God is Love." 

It washed over, and through, me like a dam breaking upstream. The proof of healing wasn't going to be seen in a changed physical picture. I wasn't going to hear different news, or wake up to a different report. But I would know this healing. I would have absolute proof of healing.  I would feel it in a "a sweet and certain sense that God is Love" filling my heart -- filling my life.

I turned off the lamp and returned to the stillness of the night. I listened to Mindy's voice -- and I knew I was healed. I felt it. It started as a glowing ember at my core. I felt Spirit breathe upon its presence - all the hope, trust, and affection I held in my heart. Before long, I could feel that "sweet and certain sense that God is Love" radiating, warming, and filling every dark corner of the night. I was healed. I had proof.

Elsewhere in Science and Health, Mary Baker Eddy assures us:

"The depth, breadth, height,
might, majesty, and glory
of infinite Love fill all space.
That is enough!" 

And it really was. It was enough, just to know that, "God is Love." I could actually feel that it was the most important thing I would ever learn in life, and that it was all that I would ever really need to know.

On the surface of things, nothing had changed. But deep within my heart I actually felt it -- that sweet and certain sense that God is Love -- and it was all the proof of healing I needed.  I have returned to this experience many times since that night.

In fact, just today my heart was heavy. The news was overwhelming. One alarming report after another. One disturbing account immediately on the heels of the last. The information was coming rapid fire. It felt like I had been praying -- without ceasing -- for days. I couldn't even imagine what healing might look like when there was so much to be healed, and so many issues to be prayerfully addressing. 

 As I stood at the stove waiting for the tea kettle to boil, the strains of Mindy's "God is Love," washed through my heart like the soundtrack from a favorite film. I recalled that night, over a decade earlier, when I had felt so engulfed in grief. And I remembered -- the only proof of healing I needed to feel was:

"a sweet and certain sense
that God is Love" 

I closed my eyes, quieting the clamor of the human mind.  And there it was -- the feeling. That sweet and certain sense that God is Love filling my heart. It was all the proof I needed. It was enough. 


offered with Love,

Kate

"...all over this land..."

"...If I had a hammer
I'd hammer in the morning
I'd hammer in the evening
All over this land
I'd hammer out danger
I'd hammer out a warning
I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land..."
- Hays/Seeger

Do you ever watch the news…CNN, MSNBC, or my favorite BBCNews on Public Television, and feel overwhelmed by the barrage of mind-reeling images and heart-wrenching information that comes out of that black box…flat screen or now, almost antique tube-style?   Have you ever wished that the NY Times you have delivered to your doorstep on Sunday mornings, pieced together from random pages scattered through the coffeehouse after church, or read online after midnight, would come wrapped in a "the contents of this package may be hazardous to your peace " disclaimer?

This past month, NPR, CNN, BBC, and NYT have had me on my knees in prayer.  My favorite news source, The Christian Science Monitor, has been like a good friend standing over me in the bathroom holding my hair, whispering messages of comfort, hope and encouragement when my stomach is unsettled…but still, I am a venerate news hound and I want to hear more perspectives...however disquieting.  Thankfully, I am also a passionate metaphysician and when I can stay clearly focused on seeing that every image, every piece of news coming at me is just an opportunity to "hammer" out each dull cold lump of information into an exercise in using my spiritual ocular muscles more effectively in seeing God in all things…I feel, not overwhelmed, but empowered.

Finding God expressing Himself as compassion in the tenderness of a soldier who is caring for an Iraqi child, finding Him as Mind when I hear about a senator who has been inspired to sponsor a wise bill, finding Her as Soul when I see beauty in the face of a mother who has expressed mercy at the sentencing of her child's murderer…these are small ways that I can ring my own bell of freedom.  In those moments, I am no longer the victim of my world, but sitting at the feet of its Master, letting his calm eyes hold my gaze and His strong hand on my shoulder tell me He is there…I need not be afraid. 
As most of my readers know there is always a song behind any mental image I hang onto and find useful as I navigate this spiritual journey.  My news feasting experiences are no different.  As a veteran of the anti-war 60s and the bra-burning 70s, my songs of protest are usually folk songs.  Joni Mitchell, The Weavers, Bob Dylan, Jackson Browne, and Pete Seeger fill my sign-carrying, chain-myself-to-the-front-columns-of-the-Pentagon heart.

"...If I had a bell
I'd ring it in the morning
I'd ring it in the evening
All over this land
I'd ring out danger
I'd ring out a warning
I'd ring out love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land..."

As part of our Sunday routine, Jeff and I start our morning with a two hour walk in the park, which includes a detour for church and then back onto the pathways through our neighborhood's large university campus, down to "The Loop."  This is our city's happening stretch of coffeehouses, performing arts venues, restaurants, galleries, cool shops and your "throw one in for good" tattoo parlor (it's where I got mine!), and arts cinema.  We make our way through the neighborhood on a pathway that literally pours us out onto "The Loop" like small children coming down a slide into a university playground…music, costumes, discourse…a paradise for old hippies…like us.

Our favorite Sunday morning coffeehouse (as opposed to our favorite afternoon and evening coffeehouse a block from our home) is Meshuggah.  It's eclectic, political, quirky, and they make a great cup of hot chocolate.  But most importantly, they offer a first glance through the Sunday New York Times…if you can gather its crumpled and coffee stained body parts and put it back into some sense of order.  Rather, to use a metaphor inspired by my friend Maria, like picking up pieces of straw from the picked apart scarecrow in "The Wizard of Oz" and poking it into the right places so that he can stand up and find his voice. 

As I retrieved a bit from one table with my "Hi, are you finished with the front page..." the man who handed it to me said, "I hope you haven't eaten this morning…it's a tough day for news and it might upset your stomach."  And I replied with a smile, "Oh, I'm going to pray my way through this one, I'm sure there's something there to remind me that God is present in the world today!"

As I returned to our table my folkie roots took hold and the first strains of Lee Hays and Peter Seeger's "If I Had a Hammer" started popping through the dark soil of my news day.  I felt empowered by what I could bring to the table…I could hammer out, from the steely images of apathy and hopelessness, some instance of compassion strengthened by a harsh experience on the Gaza Strip revealing the tempered steel of humanity's potential.  I was going to hear soft the "bell of justice" in the way a judge ruled fairly even when the world would have applauded a harsher response.  I would sing a song that warned of the danger of losing our "true north"…kindness, trust, respect for free moral agency…by singing about the love between my brothers and my sisters…rather than celebrating the kind of gossip-mongering, judgmental cannibalism I could have become disheartened by on the society and opinion pages.

"...If I had a song
I'd sing it in the morning
I'd sing it in the evening
All over this land
I'd sing out danger
I'd sing out a warning
I'd sing out love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land..."

So, for this folkie, I have a hammer, a bell and a song…but most importantly, I have what each of these instruments of change represent to me…I have a prayer….so does our world.

"...Well I've got a hammer
And I've got a bell
And I've got a song to sing
All over this land
It's the hammer of justice
It's the bell of freedom
It's the song about love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land."

This Sunday--when you read the paper or watch "Meet the Press"--sing, pray, ring, and hammer…"about the love between your brothers and your sisters…all over this land."

I'll be listening,
Kate