I was reading on my Kindle this morning, which meant I didn’t have to sit under the lamp at one end of the sofa since the words are lit from behind. I settled on the other end facing out toward the windows. As soon as I looked up I realized that with that small change, I was in a whole different space. The sun hadn’t yet come up, but the sky was dazzling. A pattern of dark and light filled the window on the southeast side of the house, the thick black clouds creating a pattern and a breathtaking beauty that is usually reserved for sunrise. I just stared. It wasn’t long before the darkness began to be edged in pink and the dramatic design dissolved. Yes, it was a lovely sunrise, but it was the dark drama of the predawn sky that remained with me. If I could have taken a picture, I would have named it “Mystery”.
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and for the first time in a quarter century I am not preparing a church service. But the seasons of the liturgical year have been an essential part of my spiritual practice for longer than that. The first thing I did before sitting down this morning was replace the candle in my candlestick with a purple one. It will serve to keep me aware of where I am in time, which is even more important these days because retirement has the effect of making me forget what day it is!
The second thing was to move to the other side of the couch (after making my coffee whch has always been part of my writing practice). The third was to look up. Then God took over. God is the one who works wonders – in creation and in me, streching my awareness beynd what is was before. This morning’s revelation was the recognition that the dark and mysterious pre-dawn sky can be as arresting and as gorgeous as the most brilliant sunrise. An apt Lenten learning.
Even more sriking than that was the fact that it only took one shift on the sofa, one tiny change in perspective, that brought it to me. Ths Lent I will not be giving up anything. Instead I will stay attentive for the opportunities I am offered to shift perspective. Even in little ways. Perhaps when these forty days are done, the world will look a whole lot different. And I will be seeing it anew.
Dwelling in Presence 