Stephanie Rutt

I can still hear the soft southern winds in the live oak trees, Don Williams used to sing. I too as I’ve just returned from walking the old roads where I was raised up as they say. Though, growing up, I was only there in the summers, it was home. Still is. That’s for sure.

There, outside my immediate family, no one knows me as Reverend or has ever heard of the Tree of Life. No, there I am known as something much more integral, familial. That’s Mrs. Bishop’s granddaughter. You know, she’s Dorothy’s daughter. Nothing else needs to be said. And, truth be known, I’ve always felt quite content with it that way.

So, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for what happened within hours of my arrival on my beloved screen porch as I sat there with my two aunts basking in the night sounds of all those katydids.

“Someone’s comin’ up the drive,” my aunt said who now lives in my grandmother’s house. “Shoot!” I thought, not wanting my sweet respite interrupted. But, in they came, two of my aunt’s lifelong friends and pillars of our home town Methodist Church. The conversation was moving along quite familiar lines with talk about all the current church and community news when suddenly my other aunt said, “Well, you know Stephanie is a minister and she’s working on her doctorate.”

My heart seemed to skip a beat and then was held still as I sensed that familiar something that told me hold on for that which I could not have known was coming.

“Really? Are you a Methodist minister?”

“No. I’m an interfaith minister. I serve the Tree of Life Interfaith Temple in Amherst, New Hampshire.”

Silence. And, I waited for the usual, “What is an interfaith minister? Are you Christian?” But, instead, one of our visitors asked, “What are you studying in school?”

Feeling it best, at least initially, to stay on semi-familiar ground, I said, “Well, I’m interested in the teachings of Jesus translated through Aramaic, the language he spoke. I’ve studied the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic and have written a book so I would like to expand on that.”

More silence. And then, a look of curiosity. “Jesus was a Jew. Didn’t he speak Hebrew?”

“Yes, he did but his teachings in the Bible are believed to have been spoken in Aramaic. Hebrew and Aramaic do use the same script so, as a matter of fact, if you want to learn Aramaic they say you should learn Hebrew first.”

A pause.

“Can you speak Hebrew?”

“A little. I am learning. It is a beautiful language. I first encountered it learning the 23^rd Psalm.”

“Oh, I love the 23^rd Psalm. Could you say a few words of it in Hebrew?”

“I could recite the full Psalm if you’d like.”

“We’d love that.”

And, so I did and afterwards there was just a sweet silence that hung in the air. And, then I heard, “Could you say the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic?”

“Of course.”

And, again, afterwards there was that sweet silence.

Oh my, my Beloved. What did you just make happen here?

And then, though I was fully prepared to continue our conversation in whatever direction they might desire, to perhaps discuss interfaith ministry or my broader research interests, this time, they led the conversation back to the more familiar, “My goodness, what a good job that young man did painting your house. You know, I need to get some work done on my house.” And, soon after, they were gone.

The next morning my aunts and I went to church and sat in our special family pew. We rose and sang out in revival fervor, In the sweet by an by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore and Leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms. And, I cried.

Not sure why. Felt something like a window had been opened, gingerly, between my, usually, quite separate worlds. And, just for a moment, on that small screened porch deep in the country, they had breathed together. It gave me a kind of hope.

Then, after a week of fried green tomatoes, grits, collards, southern fried chicken, black eyed peas and more than a few helpings of my aunt’s special banana pudding, it was time to come home.

Home? Where is home?

And, my heart answered…It’s your family pew in a country church down south. It’s a Sparrow’s Nest on the second floor of an old building in a small town up north. It’s leaning on those everlasting arms. It’s being lost in love with Rumi. It’s being Mrs. Bishop’s granddaughter, Dorothy’s daughter. It’s being Rev. Stephanie.

And, maybe, it’s just loving folks right where they are, and offering what we can as the Beloved may invite, that makes us most recognize when we are Home. For, perhaps, in just those moments, we remember, in the sweet silence, just in Whom it is we “all” move, and breath and have our being. (Acts 17:28).

And, if we are still enough, perhaps we just might also be able to hear the Beloved whispering…whispering ever so softly in our ear…

Welcome…Welcome Home.

This past June, I took the first course on my journey down the old roads. I began my doctoral studies. On the second day, our professor asked for a volunteer to lead the morning devotional the next day and I heard myself say, “I will.”

This is what arose from my heart and, of course (smiling now), would come to have quite an effect…completely unforeseen…

I am the One called by many names.

Be Still.

Listen.

I am as close as your breath and as dear as your heartbeat.

Be Still.

Listen.

You will hear Me on the wind, echoing through all faith traditions.

In Hinduism…

You will hear me in the great OM

For, here, all My sounds reside.

In Buddhism…

You will hear me in OM MANI PADMI HUNG

For I am the jewel in the heart of the lotus.

It is because of Me you blossom, not in spite of, but because of.

In Judaism…

You will hear me in SHEMA YISRAEL ADONAI ELOHEINU ADONAI EHAD

For I AM the Lord Thy God and we are One.

In Sikhism…

You will hear me in EK ONG KAR SAT NAM SIRI WAHE GURU

For I am the True Wisdom bringing you from darkness to light.

In Islam & Sufism…

You will hear me in LA IL LA HA IL LA ALLAH

For when you know Me, you know there is nothing but God.

In Christianity…

You will hear me in A’BWOON D’BWASHMAYA

For I am the Formless One bringing form to all creation.

I am the One called by many names.

Be Still.

Listen.

I am as close as your breath and as dear as your heartbeat.

Be Still.

Listen.

You will hear Me on the wind, echoing through all faith traditions.

The next day, we were each asked to present our project idea. How excited I was as this I was quite sure of (smiling again). But, my professor had already heard something else. To my heart’s utterly unexpected surprise and delight, she thoughtfully reflected that what she suspected I was really interested in was the sound current (her words) of which the Aramaic words of Jesus were one example. She then suggested I focus my project on this sound current and offer the Aramaic words of Jesus as a case study within the project.

I think I forgot to breathe. Suddenly, I could see the old roads leading me exactly to the place my heart knew best.

Now, in the stillness of my meditations, I can hear the sound current whispering…

Come…and I will lead you to where ‘all’ the old roads meet. The place from where I first loved you into birth and to where you will return at the journey’s end.

To My Alpha and My Omega…to My world without end…

Be still…listen…you will hear Me on the wind, echoing through all faith traditions…

Be still…listen…and you will know that I am God.

[For those of you who do not know, I will soon start doctoral studies at Andover Newton Theological School with the express purpose to continue the work I began in Living the Prayer of Jesus: A Study of the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic. I will be exploring other key teachings of Jesus through the Aramaic lens. The study of Hebrew, a living language, provides an important foundation to learning the ancient tongue of Jesus, Aramaic, as both languages share the same script. Aramaic, today, lives largely only in the shadows of memory. This post is being shared just days before this journey begins.]

You can still see traces of them winding around the old, sleepy towns down south. The old roads they call them. The ones replaced by the “super” highways in the fifties. When I go home to visit, I always look for them. They call to me and I have yearned to follow, right down those cracked, bulging, heat baked, overgrown and unmanicured roadways. To follow, slowly, so I could hear what they would have to say to me. Sometimes, there are old wooden or rusty wrought iron farm gates standing watch. But, still the roads call, call out on whispers, barely audible, yet lingering on the moist hot air. I’ve been thinking a lot about those old roads lately and wondered why. Then, this week, I found out.

Recently I’ve taken up the study of Hebrew which captured me in Psalm 23 and, in ways unanticipated, nafshi y’shoveiv, restored my soul. Each morning, I devote a part of my spiritual practice to tracing, feeling and sounding the life of each living letter. I quite proudly dote over my colored pencils: regular for the script, blue for letters changed by a dot, red for letters that change form at the end of a word and green for verbs. Just in the past few weeks, I’ve started to sound out words and have been taken utterly by surprise by how much glee escapes me each time I hear those living sounds, suddenly, make a word. Just amazing.

But, back to those old roads. This week, at the end of my Hebrew lesson, my teacher suddenly said, “Before you go I want you to do something.” Then, she opened a copy of the Torah and put it in front of me saying, “Read the first line. Go for it!”

What?? My heart gasped, yelled, screamed, cried, laughed all at the same time. And, instantly, I heard my two year old grandbaby say, “Let’s do this!” which has become her favorite saying when trying to learn something new. Fearless, she is. And, with a deep breath, so was I. Letter by letter, then word by word, I read until the first line was complete.

And then, oh my, what did just happen?

On the way home, I suddenly pictured one of those old rusty farm gates take leave of standing watch to, breathlessly, fly open leaving my heart exposed, raw, yet somehow revived by a jolt of memory long forgotten. “Shema, listen,” I heard the old road say, and this time, I stopped…to linger and to hear…

Follow me. I will lead you to Moses whom you have long held dear. And, along the way, should you feel unable to meet the task before you, remember what the Lord said to Moses when Moses protested, “Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth and teach thee what to say.” And, as you travel on, look closely for the faded markers, the shadows of those letters you are now living. They will lead you to the end of the road where you will discover the teachings of the one called Jesus, teachings still living in those shadows, the language he spoke. And, just like Moses, God will tell you what to say to bring the Word out from those shadows to shine upon all and help illuminate the world.

And, so, I leave the “super” highway, the familiar, to start down an old road into the sacred unfamiliar for the shadows of those letters call me. And I must follow.

Just one more look back. Then, as I turn to begin suddenly I see, in my mind’s eye, my grandbaby already scampering ahead of me, “Let’s do this, Grandma!” she exclaims, grinning back at me.

And so I will…for her…

And for all who hear the call of the old roads…

 

This past Easter morning, a small group of us gathered around pink and white tulips, stretching up with gladness, candlelight flickering and, just as we began, the sun rising up over the horizon. I wondered if my heart could hold any more and, then, was quite sure it couldn’t. We each lit a candle, Ye are the Light of the world (Matthew 5:14),were baptized, Create in me a clean heart O God (Psalm 51:10),and received the gift of flowers, The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. (Song of Solomon 2:12).

And, we were glad.

Easter awakens us to rebirth, new life and beginnings. Still, at one point during our celebration, I was suddenly surprised to feel the presence of my new space there with us – a smaller studio space I’ll officially be moving to this summer. I instinctively knew that the Beloved had something special to share with me. So, when we returned home, I knew I was to go over to my new space to do my spiritual practice. It felt important that this be the very first activity to occur in the space, a kind of special welcome, as well as a necessary preparation for what was to come.

But the space is not even cleaned up yet, my mind protested. But, my heart said, go. And, so I did. Off I went with my cushion, mala, rosary, music and shawl. As I sat there in the center of the room, I scarcely noticed the dirty floors and paint peeling off the walls. No, instead, I found myself looking out the two long windows at the clear blue sky enjoying just the faint sound of cars and activity outside. And, my heart smiled. Don’t know exactly what You have in mind for this space Beloved, but I know it’s going to be good. Feels right and important to have come back to “the oval”, back to town, like somehow it means Your ministry will be closer to the people. Is this what You had in mind, Beloved? Thank you for my little sparrow’s nest up here on the second floor. Feels perfect…like a kind of launching pad for flight…of Your sparrows singing…and of Your work beaming, beaming out, unencumbered, to light the world, far and near. Yes, how perfect.

And, of course, it is April as those blessed mountains of Yours have been waking, dancing, bursting, splashing around pure glory all month. Yes, we sparrows know, from the great poem by ee cummings, how the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly…for it is we who quiver so you and so i…and sing as we dive to the heart of the sky…Yes, we sparrows know when all Your blessed mountains are dancing; are dancing…

And, just when I couldn’t fathom any more unbridled delight…

Your presence touches me beyond my understanding…and I feel your Grace settle over me…and I know Your eye is on me…

Your lil’ sparrow…

And, oh, how my heart sings!

 Happy Spring, Everyone!

 

Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect…Matthew 5:48

This morning I heard that whisper, slumbering in the soothing darkness just before dawn. I love the dark. Somehow everything is so much clearer then. Even my fears. And then I feel Psalm 23 roll off my quiet lips and I remember I am not alone.  Soon my beloved and unrelenting guide, Brihaspati, appears and we consort to tune my inner Jupiter, the vibration of equanimity, for there is work to be done.  And then, as the first sun rays pierce my sweet darkness, I am complete with my Lord’s Prayer.  Could it be? Yes, I too am the malkutha, the kingdom within, the wahayla, the power birthed by love, and the wateshbukhta, the glory in constant praise of You, my Beloved.

Kosi Ravaya. I overflow.

Awake now.  I have remembered.

Already full…so I can be empty. 

Already enough…so I can be nothing.

And just as night becomes day, I too yield all my imperfections into Your hands.

Kindly reshape them into something more beautiful for You…so that maybe, just maybe, in some Grace-filled, unexpected, unforeseen moment, I may find myself perfect even as You are perfect…

Amen

Blessed is he who is so firmly established here

that he does not spill out what God has poured into him.

Mechthild of Magdeburg

A couple of weeks ago I had the unexpected opportunity to watch a program featuring a reenactment of an exorcism.  The young boy who was possessed by the demon spirit was about ten and the experience had unfolded when the family had just recently moved into a new home.  The program detailed all the events leading up to the family finally approaching a local Catholic Church for guidance and through the actual exorcism that followed.

A critical turning point had been when the boy’s father had decided to challenge the demon and, as a result, had been immediately injured. It was interesting to me that the Church investigators said that this was the worst thing the father could have done.  Shortly after, an initial rite of exorcism was scheduled.

This initial session continued on for several days.  What was so striking to me was how the priests, particularly the one in the key role, were completely unemotional.  As the spirit continued to rage through the boy, the priest just kept sprinkling the boy with holy water and affirming, calmly and persistently, the presence of “Our Lord Jesus Christ is here.” Over and over.  No reaction.  No resistance.  Just affirming the Truth.  And, finally, the spirit left.

To me this spoke of the importance of seeing the darkness that may show up around us as, for example, Mother Teresa saw the deep poverty and suffering, and Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. saw political and racial injustice.  In each case, they responded with the same intention as the priests in the exorcism with unwavering action, not reaction, to restore harmony as only the strength, resolve and clarity of Love, or Truth, can.  We immediately recognize this Love as it, in the language of the Bhagavad Gita, creates dharma, not karma, freedom not bondage.  In the Bible, we hear it as the truth that sets us free.  Emmet Fox in The Sermon on the Mount: The Keys to Success in Life reminds us that goodness, love and truth are eternal and, when offered, go on forever whereas the energies of darkness, error and fear need resolution to be returned to Love.  Same principle.

While it is our duty, as well, to acknowledge and show up to any darkness that may appear on our doorstep, it is not advisable, as the father of the boy discovered, to challenge or resist as it is then we can often find ourselves in the playpen, so to speak, weakened and struggling against.  But if we can hold the Truth, the Love in such a situation, we are better able to rise strong and untangled and become single-pointed lazars for good.  Now, we are able to turn the other cheek, to demonstrate another way, the way of Love.

Let’s not spill out what God has poured into us.

Let’s fight for not against.

And set ourselves, and others, free.

Everyone loves a secret. But ahhhh, there’s a secret known as the greatest of all secrets–indeed so profound that it’s capable of unlocking within each of us the full awareness of our place in the cosmos, our place in the divine plan. Spoiler alert! Stop reading now if you’re not ready to Know! For once you Know, you can’t not Know. There’s no going back. There’ll be no more reasons not to create a life of beauty–to truly become a living prayer.

This greatest of all secrets is that God does not live in you…but, rather, you live in God. (BG 9:6) Pause for a moment and allow this secret to settle within you. These were the words of Krishna to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, when He, divine personified, was guiding Arjuna on the path to his greatest service and toward full emersion with Him, eternal bliss. Yet, Truth, being universal, is not contained within any one faith tradition. Saint Therese of Lisieux said it this way in her poem, The Atom of Jesus–Host, I am the atom of Jesus…for I have the Host as my support. 

 I find something so very comforting, embracing, supporting, that I can do nothing but exhale into some deep place of slumber when imagining it, even as I also feel myself inhale, stirring awake, stretching into ahhh–liveness. Can it really be? I too am an atom in the body of the Beloved? I too am a living pulse of the greatest of all secrets? Just the ever so faint imagining of it leaves me still and silent, yet bursting, frolicking in some childlike exuberance, as Grace has its way with me.    

And how does this blessed awareness birth each of us into becoming a living prayer?  Well, for example, you may have wondered, with literally millions of people praying to God, or to Jesus, Shiva, Quan Yin, or another representative on a regular basis, how all of these prayers could be held equally by any one entity? The mind struggles with this if we think of God, or the representative, as outside of our self. Once we remember the great secret, that we live in God, a fundamental shift happens. Recognizing, just like Saint Therese or Arjuna, that we too are an atom in the body of Jesus, or Christ Consciousness, as we too live in the heart of God, we start to get that it’s our job, as an atom, to attune ourselves to the body of our blessed creator, our Host. Now, we do not pray to but, rather, as one who recognizes that it’s our birthright to become, as Jesus said, perfect even as our Father in heaven is perfect. (Mat 5:48)

Perfect, you say. And, why not? Perfection as an instrument of Grace has nothing to do with perfection as our ego might imagine it. In fact, it’s exactly in such moments of Grace or pure attunement, with the One within whom we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28), we instantly get that it’s not about us at all. As Krishna reminds Arjuna, we too are just here to fulfill a purpose, to play a part, to get something done, and to, along the way, fully experience that we too are, graciously, a spark of the light of all lights forever beyond darkness (BG 13:17), birthing all of creation.     

 Jesus said the same by reminding us, Ye are the light of the world (Mat 5:14). Realizing this, our lives naturally become a living prayer, sparking, serving with delight some greater purpose of which we are, often, only partially aware. And, how perfectly so. It is not our job, after all, to focus on the destination or outcome. It is our job to attune our heartbeat to the One heartbeat, our breath to the One breath, our will to Divine Will. In this way, we bring our light out from hiding, out from under that bushel of ours, as the great song This Little Light of Mine sings, to let it shine, shine, shine. And the whole world becomes ablaze with our light as we step into our birthright to spark with the light of all lights and answer the charge of Jesus, Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works (Mat 5:16). It’s the intention and purpose of all spiritual practice.

 Attune.

Dare to imagine yourself an atom in the body of all creation.

Dare to ignite your spark to shine, shine, shine!

Dare to imagine your DNA contains a unique role to play in the vital functioning of our Host, the Host of all Hosts.

Dare…and create a life of beauty far beyond your imagination…

Dare…and become a living prayer.

 

I sing because I am happy.

I sing because I am free.

His eye is on the sparrow.

And I know He watches me.

(Chorus to the Hymn “His Eye is on the Sparrow”)

The tiny sparrow. Ordinary. Not particularly noticed or especially revered as, say, the eagle or hawk. Two for a penny the Bible tells us. And, yet, the beloved sparrow is held fast in the eye of God.

Just like us.

And who was it that sang I sing because I am happy with such untethered faith and assurance? Probably not who you might think. Listen to the story, as told by Sylvia Martin:

Early in the spring of 1905 my husband and I were in Elmira, New York. We contracted a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle. True saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nearly 20 years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheelchair. Despite their afflictions, they lived happy lives bringing inspiration and comfort to all those who knew them. One day while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it. And Mrs. Doolittle replied simply, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.” The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped our hearts and fired the imagination of my husband and me. The hymn, “His Eye is on the Sparrow”, was the outcome of that experience.

We pray for wealth, health, happiness, success. We yearn for forgiveness, justice, an end to our suffering. We so believe that if our circumstances could be different then we, life, things would be different. We ache to see so, then, we may believe.

But, perhaps, it is we who must first believe so then, most graciously, we may see.

When I imagine Mrs. Doolittle, bedridden for all those years, I remember that such faith has no conditions. Did she need to get up and walk to feel herself as free as the tiny sparrow in flight just outside her window? Did she need proof that she too, just as the most ordinary of birds, was held fast by the unflinching gaze of her Beloved? Do we?

Now I can also certainly imagine that Mrs. Doolittle had her moments. There must have been times she felt very lost in her own darkness. Wingless. Trapped on her narrow bed. And, yet, she seemed to find flight…to be free.

How can this be?

Perhaps we find a hint in Jesus’ words in the Gnostic Gospel, The Dialogue of the Savior, “You cannot see the light unless you stand in the darkness.” In fact, how is it we can see the light at all without the darkness? How could Mrs. Doolittle have known the freedom of flight without also having felt grounded and helpless? It would seem to me, that such freedom does not come from the release from darkness but, rather, from standing in, for in such moments, we break out to find our freedom not in spite of, but, because of.

Still breaking out requires a choice on our part. As the Psalmist sings, Open my eyes that I may see, we too, like Mrs. Doolittle, must choose to allow our eyes to focus so we may see, right there in the darkness, the beacon of light closest of all to us.

For, in such moments, the most blessed thing happens…Suddenly, we see the very eye of God looking back at us. Watching over us. It’s why Meister Eckhart said, “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.”

And, though wingless in a dark night…we take flight with the sparrows…

Singing…

Happy and free.

I used to hate Christmas.  Well, not Christmas really.  Just what it seemed it had all come to mean, especially after the kids were grown, and there was no more special magic building up to Christmas morning.  What seemed left was a non-negotiable requirement to shop, spend, wrap, mail and oh, by the way, do it all with a spirit of joy, peace and love.  Sure I would think trying hard to hold off the low simmer of resentment brewing just under the surface. Whose idea was this anyway? I would silently complain feeling quite certain someone must be responsible for my checkbook going red, pants bulging from overeating and stress stealing me away into that just get it done zone.  Certainly there were moments that seemed to make it all worthwhile.  But, still, I would silently celebrate when it had all passed, even as I would try to ignore that ever so subtle sense of sadness.  This is not what Christmas should be about!  Something’s off.

It was.  And, it was me.

So, in recent years, my husband and I have made a concerted effort to make Christmas our own again and, with enthusiastic intention, have encouraged our family to join in our revolution to reclaim the mystery or, at least, our sanity.  Along the way, we’ve tried different things.  One year we asked that everyone bring a contribution to our Christmas dinner as an expression of our gift to one another. Worked fine until we discovered that enchiladas did not go so well with pumpkin soup.  Another year we suggested we all give only handmade presents until we remembered that we were the only ones with flexible time, or perhaps even the inclination, to enthusiastically create such gifts complete with all the joyful trimmings.

Then, this Christmas, something happened and I found myself totally caught up in that something.  Maybe it was decorating the tiny jewelry box I was drawn to give my beautiful granddaughter miles away with her favorite Bible saying.  Quite grandma-looking but what fun I had!  Or going on a mission to find that most-special calendar, the one I give my oldest daughter every year.  Yes!  Found it!  Or having to get just the right frames for those special pictures of my younger daughter and son-in-law with my beloved granddaughter.  Mission accomplished!  And, hearing a passing comment by my son-in-law just a week before Christmas.  Could I possibly find it and could it possibly get here on time?  Yes!  Amazing!  How in the world could this get any more fun??

And, oh my, watching my beautiful grandson, on Christmas Day, wanting to listen to the book I’d recorded for him, over and over, while his other high tech toys lay waiting.  Yes, this was when I absolutely knew I was in heaven – no question – sweetly confirmed a little later by a heart-stopping request from my younger daughter as she cut tomatoes for the Cesar salad.

But, still there was more.  This year I could not pass a Salvation Army jingle without giving, a little surprised by that lump in my throat.  A not serious, yet unavoidable, trip to the doctor let me know that the visit was only for me in a minor way.  I had really been sent on a secret Santa mission.  Oh, thank you Beloved.  I accept!  And, then being told to give something I’ve long had on my altar to an extended relative.  This one gave me pause.  Really?  Are you sure?  And then I could only smile.  Of course, You are sure!  I’m the only one questioning here!  Ok.  Done!

But, perhaps, the most special of all was finding that last minute stocking stuffer for my husband.  Oh, I knew he’d love it.  What I didn’t know was that it would instantly bring him back to a sweet memory from his childhood remembering his mom having the exact same item.  Only two days earlier we had talked of his mom, long passed, over our morning coffee.

Oh no!  Christmas can’t be over!  No!  There must be a way to make this feeling last all year long…

Oh…yes…that is the point isn’t it…

Now, my only last concern.  How will I deck my hammock out with all those boughs of holly?  But wait…I’m remembering…

All things are possible to him who believes.  Amen.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

…and greater works than these shall ye do. John 14:12 

Once there was a little girl who went grocery shopping with her mother.  At the checkout, she impulsively thought she might help bag up some of the groceries.  Seeing her enthusiastic efforts, an older gentleman working there as a bagger smiled at her and handed her a nickel telling her she had done a good job.  Thirty plus years later, the grown woman would say that she had kept the coin in her small jewelry box until well after she had graduated from college.  It was a reminder to her of how the smallest things make the greatest impact.  That it really wasn’t about receiving the money.  It was about having been recognized, seen, and acknowledged.

Now, I can imagine that the incident was quickly forgotten by the grocery store bagger.  But to the little girl it was a gift for a lifetime.  Oh my.  So often when we think of helping or serving others, we may wonder what we have to offer.  We may feel we have little in the way of abilities, time, money, resources.  Yet, what if none of these things really mattered?  In fact, what if our well-conceived concerns were actually getting in the way of our experiencing the Grace of true giving?  Did the bagger in the grocery store need some special talent or extended amount of time?  And, I do believe that all he needed in the way of money was a nickel.  Can we imagine that all we may need is something as un-noteworthy as a nickel to impact another for a life time?  We can when we remember, as the little girl would reflect years later, that the gift was really not about the nickel at all.

What if when Jesus said in John 14:12, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also, and greater works than these shall ye do, he was actually pointing us away from the standard notions of what we may imagine a great deed or miracle to look like and toward the realization that the true miracle may sometimes be just a small coin, given in gratitude and recognition, to a small pair of hands?

And, what if, all that was required of us to see the light of day in God’s holy night, to become such humble instruments of Grace, was to stand empty, silent and still, knowing that at any moment God beyond our understanding might breathe through us some unassuming deed for some unsuspecting heart…perhaps never for us to know the silent miracle left behind?

Do you have a nickel?  In our Temple, there is a small prayer bowl filled with nickels.  Take one or bring one from home and put it in your pocket.  Pray it becomes a small reminder of your covenant with the Beloved, to stand ready to serve in ways you know not.    

For, Graciously, then, without your even knowing, greater works shall ye do. 

Blessings this holiday season and always.