AN EPIPHANY OF PRAISE
Isaiah 40:1: Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 64: 8: "Yet, O Lord, you are our Parent. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand".
"Turn around slowly, dear." Alice awoke from her daydream to hear her grandmother speak gently to her. She turned obediently while grandmother pinned the hem of this new frock. "Right, now you can climb down," she suggested, "and take off your frock so that I can finish the adjustments." Alice looked at the dress with joy; soon she would be wearing it to her first formal party. She tenderly touched the flowing material as she dreamed of how she would look. It was such a vision of craftsmanship that it really did not matter that it had been purchased from a "pre-loved" shop and made over to fit her youthful figure.
Into the room cluttered with documents and lined by bookcases, he walked. His hair was peppered with white, his clothes were neatly pressed, but the style and the cut were far from new. He seemed to be enveloped by a cloud of exhaustion and defeat as he was ushered into this almost rarefied domain of the law. His shoulders were stooped, his face lined by years of toil, and his eyes were devoid of any spark of life. It was as if this summons could only bring more trouble into his already crowded life. The solicitor, inviting him to sit on the lone chair across the massive desk, pushed a document toward him. "Here, you will see, is a deed of gift. It appears that many years ago you transformed an unkempt wilderness into a terraced garden with sweeping lawns and fountains for my client. Though at the time you received your wages, and I believe they were quite generous, it appears my client has believed all this time that such a transformation would not have been possible without your love of the property. Therefore, together with a considerable sum set aside for its upkeep, this property has been made over - transferred - to your name. If you will sign these papers, I'm sure we can finalize this transfer today."
Lights hung in the trees, and music filled the air, drowned out at times by shrieks of laughter. The smell of cooking drifted from laden tables as people made their way to celebrate the evening together. It was really such a small thing, yet because of the effort this community had shared, it was right that they celebrate together. There it stood, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, a completely remodelled home. It was hard to believe only four months earlier this house had been set alight by vandals while its elderly owner was in hospital. For weeks it had stood, blackened and scarred, a witness to a senseless act and an aching testimony of loss. Yet its starkness had touched the heartstrings of some passers-by, and a concerned murmur was born that took substance and became action. Strangers stopped to talk, shopkeepers offered products to assist, trucks delivered timber, vans brought fittings and slowly the transformation began. This motley new community began the task of constructing a house. Some dropped off lunches as their contribution, builders dropped by to advise; electricians and plumbers gave their weekends and their love to the project. Slowly and carefully the changes were wrought, until now it was done, and the house had become a home again.
Just as the blackened ruins of a house were transformed almost as if by a miracle, so our lives are transformed by the gentle and loving hand of God. It is God who loves us beyond all our understanding of love, who takes our shabby, damaged lives and begins the task of restoring them to full beauty. All God needs from us is our permission, our awareness that we do need change in our lives and our willingness to allow God to transform us. We have always been loved and valued by God, even in those times when we had no sense of our own worth. Even now, God awaits the opportunity to transform us into vibrant, healed and forgiven creations.
Prayer: Master Potter, take our lives and reshape them today into vessels of grace for your use, so that we may serve you as perfect creations of your hands. Amen.
`````````````
February 11. The Animal Shelter
John 15:16: You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit.
1Corinthians 1: 27: "But God choose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."
He walked slowly down the row of cat cages, allowing the full impact to speak its message to his companion. Some cats stretched against the mesh, as if the wire could stroke their fur, while others extended their paws into the passageway almost imploring him to notice them. Some had coats that glistened with health; others had fur that was matted and dull, matching the lifelessness of their eyes. Some reinvestigated their plates on the off chance that somehow a morsel had been overlooked while others washed themselves assiduously. There were cats disdainfully aloof, others pathetically eager to be noticed; while some mothers were busily grooming their kittens who sucked hungrily at distended teats.
As they came to the end of the last row, they turned toward the passage marked Dogs' Kennels in silence. Down the rows of dogs they moved, looking at dogs who had been surrendered simply because they had outgrown their cuteness, or because another breed had become more fashionable this year. There were dogs that had been released from the veterinary ward, those who had needed surgery or other treatment as a priority. There were cages containing puppies recently weaned from their mothers. These pups were now waiting to be wormed and vaccinated before they would be available for inspection and adoption. There were old dogs, some of them with failing sight, whose owners had moved into units that would not allow pets. And some who had simply outlived the folk who had loved them.
Next they walked to an area that was never accessible to the public. Here crouched in fear, with trembling limbs and eyes flashing white, were animals that had been severely abused. Some were so gaunt every bone in their rib cage and pelvis pushed hard against taut skin. Some were covered in sores, others carried scars of old wounds. Some had been so entangled in wire that toes had been amputated to prevent the spread of gangrene. Many huddled far back in their cages, having learned nothing but pain from their contacts with humanity. Here were also kept the larger animals, horses, cattle and donkeys that had been taken forcibly from owners whose neglect had become a criminal offence.
Lastly they walked between rows of cages marked with differently coloured tags - each bearing a different day of the week. Death row housed animals spending their last week at the shelter, animals that would be destroyed on the appointed day. Some of them seemed to sense their impending doom; they reached out frantically to gain attention. They wanted to be allowed to live, to romp or doze in the sunlight with a person who loved them. While still in the public area they were left behind by people who chose other animals, never realising that those not chosen would be killed. The two men stopped outside the door for a moment. "Still think you can handle working here," one asked, "in spite of all the distress you will witness day by day?" "Only if I remember the joy that comes when one is chosen," replied the other.
Each of us needs to know we are loved, and to be able to love in return, in order to be whole. Yet often we live with memories of past events clouding our eyes and cluttering up our minds. We are as damaged as the animals to be found every day at animal shelters across the world. Like animals recovering from abuse, many of us have closed off from interaction with the world, no longer concerned with events outside our own lives and needs. Such people have yet to discover that God has indeed chosen them to live their lives fully, and to celebrate the joy that love brings in its wake. They have not yet heard the words "Fear not, for I have chosen you, I have called you by your name", nor understood just how much God loves them.
Prayer: Loving God, often when we are as distressed as injured animals we withdraw from others. Remind us that we are indeed chosen, and that you will never forsake us. Amen.
`````````````
Isaiah 43: 1: I have called you by your name; you are mine.
Jeremiah 1: 5: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.
Take a peek through the windows of the maternity ward. Few babies look absolutely beautiful when they are born, yet to their delighted parents they are perfect, the most beautiful and most wonderful babies ever created. In fact all through our lives - to quote Oblio, hero of the story The Point -" we hear what we want to hear and we see what we want to see". Show a small child a cardboard box, and with the slight application of imagination it is transformed into a plane, a train or a car. Just a couple of nails hammered into a chunk of wood and you have a steamer or an aircraft carrier. A bedraggled doll in a tattered gown becomes a princess, a transformed kitchen maid who has been granted her heart's desire by a fairy godmother. A shoebox becomes a bed, while meals are created from a wishful mind that perceives coloured stones, off-cuts of wood, and pictures torn from a magazine as an endless variety of dishes.
There are also adventures to be tackled for those with enough imagination - perhaps a journey through the desert under a scorching sun searching for a lost oasis. There we discover our intrepid explorers swaying on camels that totally disregard the discomfort they cause. Then there are those times young people may imagine themselves to be paddling down a river, surrounded by dense rainforest. Who can guess what perils may be awaiting just around the next bend in the river? Life would be a very dull place if imagination were somehow fettered and none of us had the chance to see further than the totally logical place we call the earth.
The musical, Cabaret, which is set in Germany just prior to the commencement of World War 2, features a song, "If you could see her." Knowing what history has revealed of the holocaust and the systematic destruction of Jewish people, the final line of this song brings a poignant and intuitive note with the words, "If you could see her through my eyes, she doesn't look Jewish at all." It is true that lovers find in each other qualities that it appears no-one else has discovered, and faults that are obvious to others are somehow not recognised by the eyes of love. And yet, doesn't it do our heart good when the one we love seems intuitively to find us irresistible? In fact it is the confidence we gain from the love and respect others demonstrate towards us that provides the courage and determination to tackle those things we previously thought impossible. Untidy young people are suddenly transformed into houseproud adults, those that were once considered spendthrifts are now aware that they must be responsible.
Somehow through the challenges of life we begin to believe we are the negative, and often unjustified, names other have termed us. Words like "useless", "untidy", "unfit", and even more demeaning terms like "a child of satan", "despicable" and "loathed by God" begin to have an effect on our lives as they impact on our self-respect. Once we begin to carry this burden of self-loathing words, all we do and say is affected. Sometimes, though we keep on making mistakes, it is enough that just one person believes in us. When we become aware we are perceived as worthwhile, loveable and valued people we are able to start shedding the rubbish we have carried. God who has always loved us with an everlasting love perceives us as perfect souls, capable of living full, interesting lives that reflect this same love. We have unlimited opportunities while ever we know and believe that in God's eyes we are simply wonderful - full of wonder.
Prayer: I do not understand how you can love me so much, God, and yet I know you do. Help me to be all you ever planned for me. May I grow like a perfect tree in your garden of love. Amen.
`````````````
February 13. Sifting Through The Embers of the Boxing Day Fires
John 14:18: I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you.
Hebrews 13: 5: God has said: "I will in no way fail you, nor will I in any way forsake you."
Fire fighters with red-rimmed eyes and smoke smudged faces, though tired beyond human endurance, lined the roadside as residents returned to what had been a street lined with houses, set along a bushland ridge. They had spent the previous night in the old School of Arts, with the Red Cross and local churches providing clothing, bedding and warm food. There was nothing more the bush brigade could do here. It appeared that the fire, which only yesterday had threatened to join the major inferno across the ridge, had been defeated. Today they witnessed the grief and heartache as families gazed in disbelief at the ruin that had once been their homes.
The air was hung with wisps of escaping smoke as feet moved through the ashes, while here and there the acrid stench of electrical fires still lingered. Skeletons formed by half-collapsed chimneys and the remains of a brick "windbreak" framed the street. Trees, once forest giants, stood starkly against the horizon, blackened and still emitting the occasional wisp of smoke. Of the possums and koalas, once the inhabitants of the hollow logs that now lay scattered across the ground, there was no trace. Perhaps they had fled to safety, but more likely they had been blinded and asphyxiated by the smoke, and had perished in the heat of the blaze.
Like sleepwalkers they came, men, women and children searching through the piles of ashes that now marked their homes. Black mounds that had once been pillows lay sodden near metal frames that had once held comfortable beds for these families, while rivers of black-soiled debris meandered through the once spotless kitchens. What was left that could be salvaged? At the place where the last house had stood, a woman reached down and pulled from the debris a twisted piece of metal, all that remained of her wedding photo. The fire had moved so fast she was able only to snatch up the packed suitcase that stood by the front door, her small dog in its cage and her car keys as she fled. Just a suitcase of mementos and legal documents, all that remained of the years of scrimping and dreaming to buy their home.
Closer to the fire fighters one man searched under a heap of debris, but of his tank of tropical fish there was no evidence. Yet as he dropped to his knees, there under the charred boards he found a basin that somehow had managed to catch some of the water as the fish tank exploded, and swimming forlornly was one rainbow hued prize. To his left, searching among the ruins of their home were three children with their parents. In their desire to pack their favourite possessions, most of their Christmas presents had been left behind in favour of those items that had provided love for many years. Yet, search as they would, only charred pages of books and the charred metal of the new train set were all they could identify. Hopefully they hunted, until they uncovered, a little the worse for wear, their mother's prized cutlery set, a gift from their grandparents.
Sitting quietly among the ruins, as she overlooked the valley below, one woman wept silently. How could she rebuild? Everything she and her partner had loved had been lost in the fire. All their dreams, all her memories, were lost among the fallen beams, bricks and ash. Now alone, how could she begin life again, with nothing to touch that they both had loved? How could fate be so cruel as to have taken every thing she loved in just three months? Where would she go, could she live in any other area that this, the place they had chosen together? In her arms nestled their Persian cat, carried so carefully to her car as she evacuated. Perhaps this warm creature would be enough to allow her to dream again.
Prayer: God of miracles, even in the worst disasters in our lives, when we think we have lost everything and there is no one to care, you are there. We thank you that, as the source of all life, you remain the source of all our dreams, and provide the courage for us to go on. Amen.
`````````````
February 14. Come Share A Meal With Me
Summer holidays were times of trips to the mountains, winding our way up Bell's Line of Road, or visits to the seashore accompanied, of course, by a picnic lunch, a thermos of tea, and our swimmers and towels. "Watch out for the sharks" was the constant catch cry no matter which beach we visited, or how well patrolled it was by red and yellow clad lifesavers. Those, like all days of childhood, were a mixture of desperation as we wished to be older and freed of parental restraint, and gratitude that our parents were special people.
Just once in a while, when we'd make the longish train journey to a rich agricultural property worked by family members, we'd be welcomed by aunts inviting us to morning tea. In those days morning tea had been born from years of tradition - hot scones with cream and strawberry jam, cups of milky tea for children, while the adults favoured a more conventional cuppa. Only once or twice in our younger days did we sense the stirrings of otherness - was it perhaps anarchy? - we were treated to pikelets with the traditional jam and cream, and once we were even served fruit cake, though that might have actually been our portion of the family Christmas cake. And morning tea seemed to have an almost sacred atmosphere about it, for it proceeded with the elegance of a long gone era, and lasted, it seemed, for hours.
Almost as though from a different world was the ritual morning break for the family droving cattle down the overland track from the Territory south to the sale yards outside Adelaide. One of the adults watched for a place the cattle would be content to graze for a brief spell, and once located, a shrill whistle would alert everyone else. From saddlebags came a canteen of water, a billy blacked by previous fires, a spill of tea and another of sugar, and soon the billy would be singing over a fire made of eucalyptus twigs. As the water came to the boil, tea was thrown into the billy that was then deftly removed from the fire, and stirred with a clean twig. A knife was produced and pieces of damper, cooked the previous night in the warm ashes of the dinner fire, were sliced off - one for each member of the working team. Sometimes there was a tin of golden syrup passed around with the knife, to provide for the youngsters still succumbing to their need for sweet foods. Each person would stretch out by the fire for about fifteen minutes, after that it was time to mount, having put out the fire and disposed of the tea leaves. Not much talking went on, droving made one satisfied with one's own thoughts. Dinner was the time to discuss the drove, the location of the next water holes, and the condition of the cattle and horses - yet it was a time of contentment, a time of satisfaction.
There at the youth camp, lunch was served. In the tradition of all camps held at that site, each person stood waiting for an invitation to be seated. Each table held a waterglass filled with fruit juice, and glasses glistened in front of every seat. The cook, plump, rosy cheeked and bedecked in her large apron, walked from table to table holding a platter containing freshly baked bread. As she returned to the kitchen all present took their places and sat. The loaves she had brought were handed from one resident to another, inviting each person in turn to tear off enough for the meal. As these loaves were handed from one person to the next the words, "This is my body, share it as often as you think of me" were spoken. The water jugs were then passed around each table, and as they passed from person to person, one could hear distinctly "This is my blood, shed for you. Drink it in memory of me." And in this space, with each person aware of the holiness of this place and the meal, lunch became a sacrament.
Wherever we are, a shared meal is usually viewed with delight. Too often our concept of worship is bound by the fetters of tradition and we see the eucharistic meal solely within a worship service, or at times of crisis. Yet it was an ordinary meal Jesus shared with his friends when he instituted his new covenant. Our meals and all we do may equally become holy while ever we are conscious that we are in the presence of the living God.
Prayer: God of opportunities and pleasures, remind us of all the times you have shared a meal with us. May we be aware of you in all we do and say so that our lives are truly holy. Amen.
`````````````
Rev Vera I Bourne is a multi-award winning short story author. Her spiritual journey is documented in The Fall Upward, published by Little Gem Publications 1996, ISBN: 0 646 28275 1. Living in outback Australia in the 1950s she realized many people did not have access either to churches or spiritual advisors. Licensed in 1984 by Christ's Community Church, Australia's first gay affirming church, and subsequently ordained in 1996, she serves in a world-encompassing ministry to all people, particularly those unable to attend congregational worship. She enjoys a rich family life with her life partner, her three children and their children. She is also a staff writer for the on-line magazine Whosoever - www. whosoever.org She may be contacted at Gods_gnome@yahoo.com
These meditations may not be copied, reformatted or reproduced in any form or manner without the written permission of the author.