1 Corinthians 3: 7-9,
16
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| Field of Soul, Mary Ann Wakeley |
7 So neither the one who plants nor
the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. 8 The
one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be
rewarded according to their own labor. 9 For we are
co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building…
16 Don’t you know that you yourselves
are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst?
Today I labored, but it was not work. Today I labored, but
nothing tangible can be seen. Today I labored, but in love. I labored to be a
vessel of the Divine expression of love and peace in this world. It was not
work. It was graced. It felt like a well of gratitude into which the felt
presence of others invited the Spirit to flow from the depths of my “Yes” back out
to their hearts.
This morning I was honored to join a friends family, as
Chaplain, for the committal of their beloved father and husband. We shared the
Spirit of Ervin under the bright morning sun on a quiet hill, with Ervin’s
breath all around us, whispering assurance on the breeze and singing alleluias
with birdsong. This was not work. It was grace in action. It was all the receivers
open and receiving the blessing and magnitude of Life: chaos and order, sorrow
and joy, all present in the moment of Ervin.
Do you know that one meaning for the latin, “labore” is to
plow? This morning we showed up. We let the silence of nature and the penetrating
ritual of the flag folding remind us of all that was planted and watered
through Ervin’s being. And as we opened our hearts to God’s grace, the rain
filled our deep wells of gratitude and we shared Life and Love.
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| Field of Love, Mary Ann Wakeley |
This afternoon I lead meditation. It was quiet time to relax
and attune the mind to the body, to open us to peace and invite the Spirit to
sculpt us in ways yet to be realized. It’s not work. Its surrender. It’s more
receptive than active. It’s the waiting part of the planting and watering. It’s
the art of becoming present to the process of grace and gratitude; learning to access
to the underground spring from which blessing flows. It’s the way we invoke
grace, even if we use clinical language like, integrating the mind-body. Make
no mistake, meditation is the age-old method of offering up our labor, our
planting and watering, to communion with the Holy. The body and the blood, in
such posture of consent, remember they are the temple.
This day is Labor
Day. It’s set aside for us to celebrate the fruits of our faithfulness to
something. Some are faithful to projects and processes, others to leading, still
others to loved ones. Most of us put our faith in many things. But none that are not wondrously overshadowed by our faithfulness to this day: the rising sun, the turning
earth, blowing winds and flowing tides. Before we even put a foot on the floor,
we labor without work. We plow the field of Divine communion within, by
acknowledging the wonder of Life. In this way, we can consciously invoke the
grace that grows all our daily expressions into plowshares of gratitude,
openness to the needs of others, and generous care. These behind the scenes
labors of love, “the eucharists of the ordinary” create each sacred day.
No one says this better than Irish poet, John O’Donohue: The Inner History of a Day
No one says this better than Irish poet, John O’Donohue: The Inner History of a Day
No one knew
the name of this day;
Born quietly
from deepest night,
It hid its
face in light,
Demanded
nothing for itself,
Opened out
to offer each of us
A field of
brightness that traveled ahead,
Providing in
time, ground to hold our footsteps
And the
light of thought to show the way.
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| Mary Ann Wakeley |
The mind of
the day draws no attention;
It dwells
within the silence with elegance
To create a
space for all our words,
Drawing us
to listen inward and outward.
We seldom
notice how each day is a holy place
Where the
eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming
our broken fragments
Into an
eternal continuity that keeps us.
Somewhere in
us a dignity presides
That is more
gracious than the smallness
That fuels
us with fear and force,
A dignity
that trusts the form a day takes.
So at the
end of this day, we give thanks
For being
betrothed to the unknown
And for the
secret work
Through
which the mind of the day
And wisdom
of the soul become one.As you labor through this sacred life, may you remember to plow the field of your soul, early and often. And water frequently with self-care, that workless labor of love that invokes the Divine mystery of who you are, and wonderously grows you into a loving being of peace and compassion, whose fragrance drifts over the day inviting all souls to communion.
Peace, Peggy
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