There is a beauty of barrenness during Lent. Altar décor of
greys, browns, and liturgical season purple. Winter bare branches, no flowers.
A rough cross behind the altar topped with crown of thorns.
Lent is a journey through the desert, a time for
reflection, alone with G-d. It is a time for remembering the One from whom we
come, the One with whom we are always intimately connected even when we forget,
and the One in whose embracing arms our souls are destined. It is a time for
becoming grounded again, everything stripped away but one’s Soul and the One in
whom it arises and rests.
The beauty of our parish during these bare, Lenten days is
accentuated by the sounds of the wind causing our soaring pitched wooden roof
to creak. Candles flicker in the corner beneath the image of the Madonna and
child. And in the time before this early, spoken service using the archaic but
lyrical languages and imagery of the ancient church in Rite I, silence
prevails.
It is a deep, sustaining silence.
It is at moments like these that I realize the deep debt I
have to the liturgical tradition which I adopted as a young undergraduate in
Gainesville, Florida now over 40 years ago. For those of us who are iNtuitive
dominant in our approach to the world, it is the Sensate aspects that
come to us unbidden, unconsciously and whisper in our ears of the Holy. The
smell of candle wax and incense of solemn masses past. The icons through which
one peers to see the Holy looming far beyond the immediate. The vestment and
altar dressing reflecting the colors of the liturgical season. The familiar
language of the Elizabethan era rite (even with its sometimes dreadful
theology).
All of this speaks of the sacred to this child of the
church. And, having recently attended a modern Pentecostal tradition church for
the funeral of my sister-in-law, I must confess that I simply never feel that
in places that look like the Kiwanis Club meets there with the Starbucks clone doing
business in the lobby.
A Holiness Created by Intentionality
It occurs to me this morning as I sit in the silent reverie
of Lent how fortunate I am to have this sacred place to be this sunny, incredibly
beautiful spring day in Central Florida. It is not that the rest of the world
is not holy. Clumsy visions of sacred v. profane – much less draconian
constructs of a “fallen world” - lose sight of the blessedness of all Creation,
often getting entangled in egoistic purity constructs of sinfulness, worthiness
and a primitive good v. evil. The Shadow cast by such purity constructs inevitably
projected onto those unable to defend themselves against them almost always become
the focus of such visions.
Life is too short to waste time on such constructions.
As I see it, the world is, indeed, charged with the
grandeur of G-d, just as the poet Gerald Manley Hopkins observed. What makes
this place different is the intentionality which surrounds it. A friend of
mine in the Liberal Catholic (Theosophical) tradition describes the result of
such devoted, intentionality as having spiritually magnetized the place giving
it a power heretofore unknown.
Perhaps.
It is an interesting way of describing something that
probably defies our description even as we may experience its reality. Definitive
descriptions tend to be largely about control, a perceived human need destined
to be frustrated when speaking of anything spiritual. The Spirit blows where it
will, defying all attempts to capture it whether by ritual, by scripture or by
the end products of tradition (dogma, doctrine, sermons, et al). On a good day, any or all of these things are merely the
finger pointing toward the moon. When we lose sight of that reality and focus
on the finger immediately in front of us, we unconsciously lapse into idolatry.
All of those things seem so far away this morning. I close
my eyes and listen to the words. I feel the mesmerizing chant all around me as
others say the Nicene Creed together. I pray for those in need of prayers and
those who have died. I get up from my seat to join the rest of the congregation at the altar to share in a symbolic eucharistic meal. I am happy to be part of something larger than myself this
morning, grateful to be present for this sacred moment.
“Almighty and everliving God, we most heartily thank thee for
that thou dost feed us, in these holy mysteries….” (Post-Communion Prayer, Rite
I, Book of Common Prayer)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Harry Scott Coverston
Orlando, Florida
If the
unexamined life is not worth living, surely an unexamined belief system, be it
religious or political, is not worth holding.
Most
things worth considering do not come in sound bites.
For
what does G-d require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to
walk humbly with your G-d? (Micah
6:8, Hebrew Scriptures)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
No comments:
Post a Comment