Continuously Creating Spirit

YOU BE GLAD AT THAT STAR Several years ago and shortly after twilight our 3 ½ year old tried to gain his parent’s attention to a shining star. The parents were busy with time and schedules, the irritabilities of the day and other worthy pre-occupations. “Yes, yes, we see the star—now I’m busy, don’t bother me.” On hearing this the young one launched through the porch door, fixed us with a fiery gaze and said, “You be glad at that star!” I will not forget the incident or his perfect words. It was one of those rare moments when you get everything you need for the good of your soul—reprimand, disclosure and blessing. It was especially good for me, that surprising moment, because I am one who responds automatically and negatively to the usual exhortations to pause-and-be-more-appreciative-of-life unquote. Fortunately I was caught grandly off guard. There is a notion, with some truth in it, that we cannot command joy, happiness, appreciation, fulfillment. We do not engineer the seasons of the soul or enjoin the quality of mood in another, and yet, I do believe there is right and wisdom in that imperative declaration—you be glad at that star! If we cannot compel ourselves into a stellar gladness, we can at least clean the dust from the lens of our perception; if we cannot dictate our own fulfillment, we can at least steer in the right direction; if we cannot exact a guarantee for a more appreciative awareness of our world—for persons and stars and breathing and tastes and the in calculable gift of every day—we can at least prescribe some of the conditions through which an increased awareness is more likely to open up the skies, for us and for our children. It is not always the great evils of the world that obstruct and waylay our joy. It is our unnecessary and undignified surrender to the petty enemies: and I suggest it is our duty to scheme against them and make them subservient to human decrees—time and schedules, our irritabilities of the day, and other worthy preoccupations. Matters more subtle and humane should command our lives. You be glad at that star. WHAT IS A SACRAMENT? What is a sacrament? A sacrament is anything you believe to be holy. Whatever for you is set apart, solemn, breathtakingly special—that is a sacrament. Sacraments are old and new. They occur inside churches and out. Weddings and their joys are not confined to place, nor is a funeral and its grief. We christen (name, welcome, dedicate) a baby in a ceremony, but in less formal ways, too—in our laughter, in touching our palms over a quickening life within, in our prayers, in kissing the newborn. These moments also are consecrating, dedicatory, celebrative. Sacramental. A sacrament can be traversing the bridge at Golden Gate, walking at Gettysburg, viewing earth from the Canadian Rockies, strolling near crashing waves on sunlit coasts, or in the silence of sequoias; wading the brook in Minnesota where the Father of Waters begins its journey to the Gulf. A sacrament is reading the Second Inaugural at the Lincoln Memorial or listening there to Martin Luther King, or working a garden, or praying in our Gethsemanes. Sacraments hover around the essentials of life, in such things as sexual intercourse and other deep reunions of flesh and spirit, in meals together, a last supper, at an altar rail with bread and wine or a picnic with strawberries and milk. Sacraments occur when the depth of life is disclosed. Sometimes all life becomes sacramental. We walk on holy ground, the divine is present, interfused. We celebrate it, call it Thou. These moments of sacred recognition flee and the world retreats to dreariness, as do we. But men and women and artists remember—to give liturgical shape, ceremonial form, some permanent hallowing to the sacredness we do meet in life. We recall, reclaim and transmit our times of sacred memory, the holy events and places of our lives, history and traditions. Sacraments are very special because through them we enter the mystery and holiness of our common life, and see a vision of God.