Holy Presence

Swimming, One Day in August

by Mary Oliver

It is time now, I said,
for the deepening and quieting of the spirit
among the flux of happenings.

Something had pestered me so much
I thought my heart would break.
I mean, the mechanical part.

I went down in the afternoon
to the sea
which held me, until I grew easy.

About tomorrow, who knows anything.
Except that it will be time, again,
for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.

I discovered this poem after an editor sent an image of a handmade card with a partial quote. This poem, at this time, is perfect for me

Like Mary Oliver, many things have been “pestering my heart” to the point of breaking. Most have to do with the current political scene in this country and its repercussions for democracy here and abroad, for all Americans, but especially for the poor and marginalized. I call my senators and representatives. When their voice message mailbox is full, I write emails. I donate to organizations that will help people directly or by filing lawsuits against unconstitutional or illegal actions taken by the current administration.

But the most difficult thing for me to do is just what I need and what Mary Oliver says: “… the deepening and quieting of the spirit.” Unlike Oliver, I don’t live close to the sea. But when I have a chance, a long walk along the beach calms my spirit. It’s the rhythm, the timelessness of the ebb and flow. It’s the awareness of the immensity of creation, earth and beyond, that helps me settle into a sense of being a small part of something unimaginably larger than myself and of the Holy Presence that holds all. It helps me take a long view.

But as I say, I don’t live close to the ocean, so I try to do what I can do where I am. I have varying degrees of success.

When I sit in quiet prayer, my mind fills with worry and concerns. No matter how often I acknowledge them and let them go, they return. Far from quieting my spirit, the time often agitates it. Instead, I read the New Testament and focus on Jesus’s actions and those of the women and men who followed him. Jesus didn’t “win” in our common understanding of the word, at least in the short run. The oppressors did, crucifying him and persecuting his followers. Jesus didn’t promise an easy way, but in the big picture, Love overcomes all. The prayerful reading engages my mind and heart.

I walk and pay attention to what is around me. The gift of the season. The birdsong. The sun and clouds. Stepping outside on a clear night, I take in sky. The stars and planets are breathtaking, even in the city.

I read poetry, novels, and spirituality and virtually gather with friends to share what spoke to us. Gathering is important and helps remind me that I am not alone facing these times.

This week, my daughter visited, and we went to the theater to watch A Complete Unknown about Bob Dylan. A 60’s folk singer, I loved the music and remembered the events and musicians. We came home and listened to Joan Baez while making and eating dinner. Then, at my daughter’s insistence, we pulled out my two guitars and sang the old songs. She washed dishes and I continued to play.

Doing things that feed my spirit and bring joy helped me connect with my deeper self. We baked cinnamon rolls, brioche bread, and banana muffins. We cleared the table and painted. And sat up late into the night drinking tea, talking, and watching favorite reruns.

“Centering down,” as Howard Thurman said, can happen in other ways than sitting quietly in a chair or walking the beach. I have found that when I do enough of these things, I am better able to be quietly without becoming distraught. Without living in fear of a future that is not yet. However we do it, it is time for “… for the deepening and quieting of the spirit” and living as best we can in the present.

Source

“Swimming, One Day in August”: First published in Red Bird: Poems by Mary Oliver, Beacon Press, 2008

A Contemplative Lent

While Lent is sometimes thought of as a season to give up something, this Lent comes after a year of pandemic and unrest that has many feeling like they’ve already given up a lot. For some it has meant no in-person visits with family or friends for close to a year. Some have lost jobs. Some suffered from serious cases of COVID-19 while others lost loved ones to the virus. Life has changed for just about everyone. The sense of loss is real.

While Zooming with a group of friends shortly before Ash Wednesday, one said she thought she’d have a “passive” Lent. Further conversation revealed she didn’t mean she would do nothing, but that she wasn’t going to pile on extra activities or give up anything particular. She simply was going to try to be open to receive grace offered in her ordinary routines.

That requires paying attention. “I know I’ve missed God’s Presence with me in the past,” she said, and thought she might make a list or keep a journal, reflecting on places and times in her life, recognizing God’s presence while looking back.

“Contemplative” might be a more accurate word to describe her approach to the season.

In his book The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth, Gerald May wondered if John of the Cross’s much quoted sentence Contemplacion pura consite en recibir (often translated “Pure contemplation consists of receiving” – which sounds pretty passive) might be better understood if translated with what May considered a more accurate rendering of recibir – “Pure contemplation consists of welcoming with open arms!” (p 78).

I remember my Grandma Van Balen, who waited at the top of the steps, arms outstretched, when we arrived at her home for a visit. We scrambled up the staircase, wanting to be the first one she gathered up in her embrace and pulled onto her welcoming lap.

When someone showed up at my parents’ house, they stopped whatever they were doing and welcomed the visitor. After offering tea, coffee, or something to eat, they’d sit and visit, enjoying their company and listening to their stories.

Mr. Rogers was said to have been good at that. When he engaged with someone, he was so attentive that they felt as if they were the only person in the world. That’s deep listening. That’s receptivity. That’s openness at its best.

Practicing such deep listening to the Holy Presence in our lives could be a fruitful way to observe Lent. We could ask ourselves “What gets in the way?” The tendency to multi-task through the day? Worry about the future? Regrets over the past? A hectic schedule? Pressing family responsibilities?

Sometimes much of what fills the day is beyond our control. Welcoming God “with arms open wide” might mean focusing on the person or task in front of us and trusting, with a lift in the heart, that God is in us and around us as we work as well as when we take some quiet, reflective time.

We can also remember that such openness to receive isn’t a one-way street. God is always welcoming us to share in Divine Life. But we forget. Then something – a moment, words, a song, a sight or sound or feeling reminds us that we indeed exist in God’s embrace.

Poet George Herbert (1593-1633) provides an image of this Divine hospitality in his poem, “Love (III).” In the first two stanzas the speaker, aware of his sin, draws back from the space into which Love invites him. He lists what makes him unworthy to be Love’s guest, but Love persists, wanting only to welcome and to serve. The poem ends: You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat./So I did sit and eat.

This Lent, instead of “giving up” or “adding on,” how about doing whatever it takes to open our heart-arms wide? Sit down at Love’s table and enjoy what is offered every moment of every day.

Unless credited otherwise, photos by Mary van Balen

Quieting the Spirit

A Contemplative Lent