"a small voice..."

"a thousand prayers,
a million words,
but one Voice
was heard..."

Almost 20 years ago the video for Billy Gilman's "One Voice," was released. I remembered it this morning in light of this week's Bible lesson.

What has stood out to me -- from all the wonderful ideas and stories -- is one word: small. Specifically as it is used in this familiar Scripture from I Kings:

"And =, behold, the Lord passed by,
and a great and strong wind rent the mountains,
and brake in oyes the rocks before the Lord;
but the Lord was not in the wind.

And after the wind, an earthquake;
but the Lord was not in the earthquake.

And after the earthquake, a fire;
but the Lord was not in the fire.

And after the fire,
a still small voice..."

I've often thought about the stillness of the Voice of God. The quiet invariability. The nevertheless-ness of its comforting presence. The constancy of its calm assurance.

But I had never really thought of what it meant, that the Voice was small. I went to Strong's Hebrew Lexicon and found this definition of the word "small" as it relates to this specific passage:

"lean, fine,
nothing extraneous
simple, gaunt..."

I held my breath. Isn't this what I have been learning for the past decade -- and especially in the last year? The simplicity of the Christ message. The piercing clarity of Truth. Nothing extraneous. No exaggeration. The smallness of "the still small Voice..."

I immediately thought back to every healing I have experienced and witnessed of late. What did they have in common: the lean-ness of the Truth. The simple shape of The Word -- free of words. The raw childlike wonder of honest hearts.

This Truth is unencumbered by "more than enough," - because in its simple Allness, it is always infinite. Or as Mary Baker Eddy assures us:

"The Scriptures plainly declare
the allness and oneness of God
to be the premises of Truth..."

"God is one.
The allness of Deity
is His oneness."

So, I went back to sifting through all the mental chatter -- the human mind's thinking about God -- to what I know at the very root-of-the-root of my being. And it was that very word. Being.  I AM.

I started there. Not just in listening for spiritual guidance about my own experience, but in relation to those who had asked for treatment -- as well as, those whom my thoughts and prayers natural rested upon within the all-inclusiveness of spiritual community and care.

"I am." This statement of spiritual fact suffuses every molecule of conscious being.  It is constantly repeating itself to each of us.  This Truth is affirming the presence of God. I AM (the only name God give Himself in Scripture) over and over again throughout the day - and night.

In the morning, I wake to, "I am..." And as I close my eyes, I rest my day upon, "I am..." I trust that what follows that opening coda of Truth, is also spoken by the same Voice. I am whole. I am loved. I am loving. I am honest. I am able to "listen for Thy Voice, lest my footsteps stray..."

It is echoing still in the hearts and minds of individual and collective consciousness.

And one Voice was heard...


offered with Love,

Cate

"Everything is holy now..."

"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 the Hallelujah chorus.

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 summer 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 day-suffusing holiness.

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 little urban 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 be loved, to appreciate beauty, to breathe, to serve others, to listen to a friend, to sit bedside 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. 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 glimpse of goodness is an indication of the divine. 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

"all of this is so very holy..."

"I believe there are debts
you never can repay.
I believe there are some words
you never can unsay.
I don't know a soul
who didn’t get lost along the way.
And all I know is I can’t help
but see all of this as so very holy..."

Some moments are so holy that they take your breath away. I was wrestling with something weighing heavily on my heart today. I'd spent all evening in prayer looking for just how to reach out to someone I care very deeply about.

It occurred to me that I could send an email as a first step. I reached for my laptop, which had been virtually untouched most of the day, and opened my mailbox.  Only to find that an email from that very friend was at the top of the list waiting to be read.

I almost burst into tears. It just felt so divinely serendipitous. Then I opened her note and the floodgates burst. She was sharing this link to Carrie Newcomer's live video recording of "I Believe."

If I didn't know that Love unites the universe in one seamless fabric of consciousness, it would have shaken me. The message couldn't have been more perfect.

I was vaguely familiar with Carrie's song, but didn't have the lyrics on the tip of my tongue. However the underlying message of finding holiness in our ordinary moments, had long-lingered since the first time I'd heard it.

So, before listening to the song, I sent a reply thanking her for thinking of me, and promised to watch the video. I pressed "send," returned to her email, and clicked on the link.

That's when I lost it. It was too much. The lyrics were simple, perfect -- healing. I felt as if God's voice has been whispering to my friend, "This is what Kate needs today, will you be My messenger of Love?" And she had answered, "Yes."

I hope she knows how much her willingness to listen for God's direction -- in all things, big and small -- matters in the world. I hope you all do. I can't even begin to tell you how often -- just when I need it most -- someone has "unknowingly" sent a message, a song, a poem, or smiled from across a room, and made all the difference in my day.

In the story of the Good Samaritan a stranger goes out of his way to care for someone he finds broken and alone along the road. He doesn't need to know the backstory, only that the man is hurting and needs to be cared for. He doesn't hesitate.

There are some acts of kindness so meaningful -- which represent a value so great, a worth so incalculable -- that any true measure of reciprocity is unfathomable. All we can do is try our best to "pay it forward" as we continue on our journey.

Tonight, my friend may think she merely heard a song, thought of a friend, and shared a link. But that simple, unvarnished act of kindness was one of the holiest moments of my day. I felt the presence of God. I still do. Can there be anything more wonderful?

so deeply grateful,
 

Kate

"...simple and profound..."

"Tis the gift to be simple,
'Tis the gift to be free.
'Tis the gift to come down
where we ought to be.
And when we find ourselves
in the place just right,
it will be in the valley
of love and delight..."

I woke with "Simple Gifts" as my morning prayer.  Simple gifts.  Nothing complex, complicated, or difficult, but simple. sweet, and timeless.  As ancient, and new, as the first cry of a baby.  Thirteenth century Sufi poet, Hafiz says:

"We should make all spiritual talk simple today."

Over 600 years later, spiritual reformer, Mary Baker Eddy would write:

"When hearts speak, however simple the words,
its language is always acceptable
to those who have hearts."

and elsewhere in her primary work on spiritual healing, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, she would state:

"Love one another," is the most simple
and profound counsel of the inspired writer."

Here is my heart's simple reflection, in its native tongue:

The ego
begs for words...

it wants me to
say something

it 
pleads
for pithy platitudes,
researched,
inspired,
scholarly words,
rich with
similes and metaphors
perfectly mined quotations,
poetry that sings
like notes
from the
lute of a repentant King...
prayers that
will turn the key...
treatments
that unlock the door
to the
inner sanctum
of the
temple.

But they
have no
power
anywhere,
but in the heart of
the inner ear,
the space of the hearing,
the heart of the
hungry who
sits waiting
for
a simple
wafer,
a
sip
of
wine...

My words,
her words,
his words,
their words...
are interesting,
beautiful,
rich with allegory.

They are woven with
golden threads of
Scripture
and
the musings of
a
saint
who walked the
streets of
India
feeding
children,
or a prince
who
sat beneath
a tree
and wept
for
all
the pain
he'd never
seen.

But these words
themselves,
they do not
heal,
transform,
liberate...
cure.

"Love one another."

Love.

simply, love...

love one.
just one,
then,
love another...and
another...

love.

It is enough.

The Quakers understood it from the space of extended silence and a deep cavernous listening for the echoing of His breath upon their heart.  And they sway to the music that sings without words, without complex stanzas and a carefully turned phrase...and they bow to His calling, and bend to His will, and turning, turning...they come round right within themselves....within the kingdom...within.  Where simplicity is a delight.

"When true simplicity is gained
To bow and to bend,
we will not be ashamed.
To turn, to turn
will be our delight.
Till by turning, turning
we come round right."

Simply....gratefully,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Down to the river to pray..."

"As I went down in the river to pray,
Studying about that good old way,
And who shall wear the starry crown,
Good Lord, show me the way.

O sisters let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down,
O sisters let's go down, 
Down in the river to pray..."
- traditional gospel performed by Alison Krauss

I have loved going "Down in the River to Pray"over, and over again, this week. I've allowed myself to return to Fresh Pond, our little estuary just north of Cape Cod, and live in the space of Tuesday's post "so like still water" when I've been able to carve out moments for silent reflection.   And since past, present and future coalesce in the beauty of  an eternally infinite now, I've been listening for how I can discover from the classroom of yesterday, the lessons of today.  And how, through the simple lens of humility, I can let the ego dissolve in ashes of Love's strange, refining fires, and allow another self to evolve towards an "advancing thought", as Mary Baker Eddy suggests in one of my favorite passages from the first page of Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896, and recently shared by two very dear friends:

"Humility is the stepping stone to a higher recognition of Diety. The mounting sense gathers fresh forms and strange fire from the ashes of dissolving self, and drops the world. Meekness heightens immortal attributes only by removing the dust that dims them. Goodness reveals another scene and another self seemingly rolled up in shades, but brought to light by the evolutions of advancing thought, whereby we discern the power of Truth and Love to heal the sick."

[Thanks S. and J. - for your wonderful reminders about this statement...it so perfectly describes exactly how I felt revisiting the pond. ]

One of my favorite spiritual practices for listening, and learning, at the feet of divine Love, is "dictation."  Just sitting with pen in hand...poised over the pages of a journal or legal pad...heart open, listening for more love-lessons from the voice of the Great Teacher....and then writing whatever comes.

This week I have returned to Her classroom at the water's edge.  It wasn't long before I realized, while writing "...so like still water..." that the lesson, from a rainy morning two dozen years ago, may not have been finished just because I was ready to get back to the house and begin putting into practice some  of the threads and strands of practical wisdom I'd been able to glean from that morning's curriculum on stillness.

So this week,  I slipped into the back row of Her lecture hall on the shoreline, into that space of stillness, and asked the Teacher for more.  And She didn't leave me hungry.  One afternoon I listened to Her speak on the subject of "simplicity" and its critical role in my usefulness to Her.  Simplicity is something I have been striving to live, with more purpose and practicality, over the course of the last few years.  So her subject-matter was timely and meaningful.  I now have pages and pages of class notes to ponder, but one recent dictation was so arresting, that I can't help but let it sing me forward on a river of prayer, and share it here with you:

"I am here.  I have shown up in this moment, on purpose, to listen and to learn.  How important is simplicity to my purpose in serving you?

Simplicity in purpose is not just important to Me, it is essential.  Water (H2O) is a simple chemical equation.  It is made up of two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen molecule.  In this simplicity is the profound breadth of its function and usefulness to Me.  A drop of water doesn't seek out elemental change.  It doesn't try to be something it is not.  It just shows up, simply and authentically, as H2O and therein is its genius.  It is always ready for whatever I need it to be.  It doesn't decide to be refreshing water, it doesn't try to be clear water, or seek a degree in buoyancy, or get credentialed in purification.  It just is what it is...H2O.  So it shows up as water.

And since you've asked, an even simpler element is Oxygen.  One oxygen molecule is critical to life, but only in its pure simplicity.  It is silent, invisible, vital...there is not a breath taken, not a sound made, not a leaf moves without its presence.  Hmmm...that sounds like Me, Spirit, doesn't it? 

You are my daughter.  You are enough. You don't need to be something more, have something more, get something more, want something more.  The more purely and simply you just show up as you...in your truth, the more useful you are to me in serving my creation in an infinite number of ways.  The more you try to be something, inhabit a role, take on an office, or make a name, the less ready you are for whatever I need you to be at a moment's notice.

You are most useful to me in your simplest "form"...that effortless consciousness of your worth as the reflection of  Me, the one and only I AM that is...in all my Allness...in all.   The less you drag around with you...names, histories, resumes, degrees, expertise, credentials...the less roles you try to occupy, the more vital, valuable, and useful you are to me.  If you will just show up each moment ready to be anything I need you to be, based on the elemental balance of PMSSLTL (Principle, Mind, Soul, Spirit, Life, Truth, Love) to the infinite degree or measure - your one real truth,  the more ways I can give you as a covenant...a promise of my Love..."

So, I am just showing up in the river to pray, studying about that good old way, not caring about "who shall wear the starry crown," but each moment asking, "O Lord, show me the way...."

your student...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"There are places I remember...."

"There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, [some] for better
Some have gone and some remain..."
-Lennon/McCartney

There are people and places that bring out the best in us.  And there are moments and events that provide the setting for this very best self to shine.  And then there are times when an unexpected moment between two people provides the opportunity for something rare and exquisite to occur. 

Yesterday afternoon I was reminded of two such instances among many. 

While preparing dinner for our family – a simple quiche and a fresh grapefruit, raspberry and pear salad –  I was stopped in my tracks by two memories.  Each taught me something about unexpected, and simple, gifts.

The first experience happened about 16 years ago. A dear friend who was my spiritual mentor and teacher had been through, what I assumed was, a very difficult time.  I called him to schedule an appointment that I hoped would allow me to show my support and express my gratitude for all he had taught me.  I arrived at his home late one afternoon expecting that we would go to his office for our visit and was sweetly surprised when he led me to their kitchen.  It was obvious that he was in the middle of preparing he and his wife a modest dinner of soup and fruit salad.  As we stood there talking he took the time to teach me how to section a grapefruit without wasting any of the fruit.  I was so moved by the precision and grace he expressed as he parted each segment of succulent pink fruit from the surrounding membrane.  I was struck by how he never missed a beat…answering the phone, responding to my questions, stirring the soup, pausing to pray, setting the dinner table he had generously invited me to share with them.  There was a sure peace, a confident poise, a humble grace in his movements and his sense of place.  It was a delight to see that his "office" had changed from an elegant suite high above the city, to a corner of their kitchen counter where a small easel, canvas, and paints sat next to his phone and a set of the books he turned to for inspiration and guidance in his busy healing practice.  Oil painting had taken the place of approving budgets and signing correspondence between calls from patients…and it was clear he had never lost his rhythm in keeping focused on the things most essential…as Mary Baker Eddy encourages in Pulpit and Press:

"You have simply to preserve a scientific,
positive sense of unity with your divine source,
and daily demonstrate this."

Standing there at the kitchen sink watching this man who was, and is, a spiritual giant in my life gently sectioning grapefruit as he shared what had excited him about some fresh inspiration he had gained through his Bible study that day…I was humbled by his purity and grace.  I still am. Everytime I cut grapefruit I think of that afternoon in his kitchen classroom and the fruit feels sacred in my hands.

The other instance also happened nearly twenty years ago.  A young woman had come to stay with us while she recorded some original compositions in our recording studio. 

We were all living quite modestly in those days…our guest included.  Our meals were always simple and there were very few "treats".  One afternoon our guest asked if she could prepare the evening's meal.  I was happy to have her go through the cupboard to find the ingredients she might use.  By dinnertime a lovely aroma was filling our home.  We arrived in the kitchen for dinner  to find a simple quiche and a beautifully set table with wildflowers and candles in jelly jars. 

It was a wonderful meal.  The quiche was delicious.  We sat for hours talking and laughing long after the candles had flickered out.  When our guest left later that month I found the recipe for the quiche on the kitchen counter.  I have used that recipe a hundred times since then.  I have it memorized, but still take out the recipe card written in our guest's careful script each time.  That quiche recipe and the memory of that simple meal has lived on long after chocolates, flowers, or a dinner "out" might have.  That well-worn recipe card is a reminder to me that sometimes the gifts that leave the biggest wake are the ones that we pour the most of ourselves into.

Last night as we sat at the kitchen table eating our dinner I shared these stories with my family.  The girls said, "cool", as they finished their last bites of quiche, asked to be excused, and ran off to start their homework.  My husband was attentive and thoughtful.  I couldn't help but wonder if I have done enough to honor the lessons these gifts (and their givers) have taught me.  Today I will do better…I hope.

"...Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love them all..."

Gratefully,
Kate