Paradoxically, I'm working pretty hard this spring at not working so hard. I'm trying to cut back my work hours a bit, particularly in my ministry role, in order to settle back into a healthier and more sustainable rhythm of life after a tough winter.
My spiritual practices these days consist less of intentional study and theological imagining, and more of stillness, solitude, and sabbath keeping. Wonderful disciplines, but they don't yield a whole lot in the way of blog content.
I'm finding great hope this year in Easter, and resurrection, and the way those seasons in the Christian calendar have coincided this year with the arrival of spring. After winter in Manitoba, the grass is slowly becoming green and the buds of leaves are becoming increasingly visible on the trees. The sound of birds singing outside the window drifts in on warm spring breezes, and the Canada geese have returned to the city in droves. The new life of spring is emerging, after a long winter. And with it comes the reminder of a different kind of new life--the resurrection life promised to the people of God.
It's not always clear what resurrection life will look like, when it will arrive, or how much longer we must tough it out before one day we will realize with surprise that hopefulness and joy have replaced fatigue and disillusionment. It's not always clear that our prayers for the future will be answered with exactly the same 'yes' that we were hoping for.
But, as it does every year, spring has arrived in Winnipeg, and I am inviting this rhythm of the natural world in as gift, a reminder that in God's economy life wins over death, and the darkness has not overcome the light.So, a few weeks ago I bought a spring daffodil plant, and watched for a week as tiny new buds grew and turned to blossoms.
And today it is finally warm enough to sit and read out on the balcony, and to notice overhead the tiny green buds showing up on the overhanging tree branches. I look forward to passing time with this particular tree, sitting with my feet up enjoying the simple pleasures of fresh air and sunshine, watching the tree grow, just as it did last year, and the year before that, and the year before that.
This, right now, is prayer for me. Prayer that relieves me of my words, that holds me in God's embrace, that whispers promises of renewal and hope and beauty yet to come.
Words will return, no doubt, but sometimes it's good to step aside from our go-to spiritual practices, and to listen to the Spirit's gentle invitation to come and sit awhile, to explore our spirituality from a different angle. To trust that the heart, too, has something to teach us. To feed our longing for beauty, to acquiesce to the desire for something simple and effortless.
To watch resurrection, and to delight in it, and to know that, for now, that is enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment