Lectio:
“The entire universe is a hymn of praise to God.”
— St. Basil the Great, Homily on Psalm 33
Meditatio
Every moment we are experiencing God, but more often than not, we are too caught up in ourselves to notice.
Instead of seeing God in each experience we have, each relationship we are in, and each breath we take, we drift into our petty fears, selfish desires, and short-sighted plans, losing sight of the beauty, the miracle, and the mystery that is God’s ever-sustaining presence, constantly pouring itself out in and as our very lives.
Like Martha, we are too distracted by what we think is important to notice what is actually important — that God Himself is right here with us now (Luke 10:41–42).
But there are moments when we are forced to pause and pay attention. Moments when something stops us in our tracks, as if a bell is rung and our eyes are opened for the first time and, as James Finley says, “we are quickened from within” (The Healing Path, p. 165), and we realize that we are sitting at the feet of the Lord (Luke 10:41–42).
“When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Bashō, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash — at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the ‘newness,’ the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.”
— Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, pp. 296–97
This doesn’t mean we won’t return to our distractions. Most assuredly we will. But if we surrender to this grace, it will change us. It will call us back to itself. We will develop an appetite for such moments, a longing for reunion, an aching to be recollected into Godself over and over again until, in death, the separation between Godself and ourself ceases to exist altogether.
Grace cannot be forced. Grace is a gift.
We cannot, therefore, make these moments of unveiled grace occur at will, but we can set up the conditions within which they are more likely to happen. We can make ourselves available for grace, and we can practice being present to God’s quiet voice and subtle movements within us (Matthew 7:7-8).
As Thomas Keating says, we can practice “consenting to God’s presence and action within,” remembering that ten thousand distractions are merely “ten thousand opportunities to return to God” (Psalm 46:10).
In the end, it is not really a question of whether or not God is present to us, but whether or not we are present to God’s presence (Acts 17:27–28).
Oratio:
A bird’s song in the distance
cuts through my doubt,
halts my rumination,
draws my attention
into a moment.
A few lilting notes
lingering in the air
pull me out of myself,
into stillness.
This is grace.
This is love speaking:
“Are you not much more valuable than they?”
And yet I wonder —
As the song becomes me,
and I, the song —
Am I?
Are we not one —
in love?
For, in this moment,
we are being sung
by God.
Contemplatio:
Where in my ordinary life might God already be present, waiting not to arrive, but to be noticed?
Related Scripture:
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” (Psalm 19:1)
For Further Reading:
If you enjoyed this post, you may also like Oratio: With Love And Mercy
~Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity.
Wrestling With God.
Returning To Love.
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