After the Wednesday evening contemplative service at Saint Andrew’s this week…

Instead of going up to the balcony, today I went down.  I started on the chair but it didn’t feel right.  Too…what? Perch-y.  To ‘on’ and not ‘within’ the space of the sanctuary.  It was like I needed to touch down.  To ground myself in the big warm quiet.  So I moved to the floor with a pillar for support and my stuff piled on the chair and I waited until I arrived…Until my insides settled and I could, as the second reading by Howard Thurman proclaimed, ‘lift up mine eyes.’

“I will lift up mine eyes. I will lift up mine eyes to life, that I may read the guideposts along my way and not miss the important turning in the road. I will lift mine eyes to love, that I may not close the door of my heart to the knocking hand, the tender cry, the anxious reach. I will lift mine eyes to God, that I may meet Spirit not only in the high place, the great moment, the penetrating call, but also in the byways, the little duties, the stinging irritations, and the sad and bottomless renunciations.” –Howard Thurman, Meditations of the Heart (Beacon Press, 1999), p. 160-161.

I will lift up mine eyes trying to follow the whirl and focus on the daffodil; I will lift them to see the spring green unfolding at the furthest reach of the trees where the crow proclaims to the congregation of living things.  I will lift them because with mine eyes come the rest of my senses…I lift them to hear the voice of God in seagull and neighbour and the receding tides.  I lift them to feel the wind straight on and feel the fog when it steeps in my days.  Mine eyes rise to the grace of tasting the new day moment and nuance by moment and nuance, filled with the scent and promise of the wild Everlasting.  This Everlasting that draws me on and draws me in and draws me down to Centre, deeper, Centre again. The Everlasting that loves, wholly and completely, and says always and says everywhere, and says yes, here; yes, there; As it was, is, and ever shall be. Now, rise.

And I do rise and find my chair and my place and my peace, among others who have also gathered under the wing of this sanctuary, this grounding and restorative embrace of both welcome and sending forth.