Contemplating the Sacred Ordinary

"timeless contemplation of the ordinary"

I read that line this morning. A beautiful phrase that speaks so much. Originally a critique of Vermeer's work, I want to claim is as my approach to life.

I was a history major in college. My interest sprang, not from a desire to understand the big picture, but rather a desire to know about the realities of life for day to day people at a given time from the past. I came to understand my interest as more "social" history. I wanted to understand how real people felt and lived through those great moments that perhaps they never really knew about. 

I read . . . a lot. I want so much to share the insights and gifts I find in my reading, but I am hampered by not knowing how best to share. The ability to put into words the feelings that develop eludes me at times.

This morning I read a story from Morning Sun on a White Piano, and I was nearly overcome with emotion. The writer's words speaking so eloquently of his young son's deep need for all to remain safe, secure, and predictable. "No wolf. No wolf," the young boy cried when his father attempted to introduce an element of danger and suspense into a story. The boy didn't want his "bunny story" infiltrated by evil, and who can blame him. None of us wants our world to include a ravenous wolf. And yet they all do in one form or another.

And so I choose again to see the ordinary as sacred. To find pleasure in small things. A cup of tea. Clean laundry to be folded. The sound of rain on the roof. As Flannery O'Connor wrote --

I am afraid of pain and I suppose that is what we have to have to get grace. Give me the courage to stand the pain to get the grace, Oh Lord. Help me with this life that seems so treacherous, so disappointing.

The Woman at the Well

She said close yours eyes. Imagine you are the woman at the well (John 4:4-26) and watch the story play out as if it is a movie in your head. You are the woman. Tell me how you interact with Jesus.

I sat with my eyes closed. I saw the dusty ground and the stone-stacked well. There is a bucket sitting on the edge of the well, and I am carrying a jug to fill. 

She asks me to describe what I see. What I am wearing. What I am feeling. I tell her that I am walking down the road from the town toward the well. I am alone, but I can hear the town noises behind me. As I come closer to the well, I see Jesus standing near the well. I do not know who he is, but I do not feel threatened by his presence.

I walk up to the well. I am standing holding my jug in front of me. Jesus walks up to the other side of the well and sits on edge. We begin to talk. He is kind and generous. I listen to every word he has to say. He assures me of my value and worth in his eyes. I believe his words and am comforted. 

When the time comes for us to part, it is not painful or difficult because I know we will meet again, often, to talk and share. Even when he is physically absent, I can find him through scripture and prayer.

She asks me to open my eyes. She tells me that it is a good thing that I am comfortable being that close to Him. Many cannot be in His presence. I am comforted and soothed by her words.

I leave to go and continue my exploration of my life with Jesus.


linking up with Just Write

On Meditation

Coming to God: First Days

by Mary Oliver

Lord, what shall I do that I

can't quiet myself?

Here is the bread, and

here is the cup,  

I can't quiet myself.

To enter the language of transformation!

To learn the importance of stillness,

with one's hands folded!

When will my eyes of rejoicing turn peaceful?

When will my joyful feet grow still?

When will my heart stop it's prancing

as over the summer grass?

Lord, I would run for you, loving the miles for your sake.

I would climb the highest tree

to be that much closer.

Lord, I will also learn to kneel down

into the world of the invisible,

the inscrutable and the everlasting.

Then I will move no more than the leaves of a tree

on a day of no wind,

bathed in light,

like the wanderer who has come at last,

and kneels in peace, done with all unnecessary things:

even motion, even words.

I went to a seminar this past weekend. "The Armchair Mystic". I learned and experienced so very much, but I need to sit with it for awhile before I can share it with you. May I recommend a few places if you're looking for more information on meditation and contemplation?

The Armchair Mystic by Fr. Mark Thibodeaux

Thirst by Mary Oliver

Dovehouse Ministries

Peace and blessings to all of you on this day.