A Glimpse of the Sacred

(Note: Today, we are fortunate to have Theresa Tensuan-Eli  (Ardmore, PA) back as our guest blogger. Theresa is part of our virtual Spiritus community, and we deeply appreciate the contributions to the blog)

This Lenten season, I’ve been taking part in a series of gatherings and reflections led by Sister Honora Nicholson of the Sisters of Mercy who define their mission as “responding to unmet needs, through direct service as well as seeking ways to change unjust systems.”  At one of our gatherings, Sister Honora shared with us a declaration from American theologian Frederich Buechner: “Listen to our life.  See it for the fathomless mystery it is.  In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, and smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis, all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.” 

Sister Honora then posed the following question: “Can you recall a moment when you were stopped in your tracks and you caught a glimpse of the sacred?  What do you remember about it?”  As we moved from the main gathering to our small discussion groups, I was racking my brain for times when I have felt the presence of the sacred, moments that have happened when I’ve been hiking among redwoods, and when listening to Detroit-based jazz and gospel singer Ange Smith offer her version of “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” 

But the memory that surfaced for me was this:  one night Sam, our first born, who was about a year and a half old, woke up crying at around 2:00 a.m.  My husband and I went to his bedside;  I picked him up and felt that he was feverish, and as I was trying to remember whether we still had a bottle of Children’s Tylenol in the house, Sam threw up on my pajama top.  As I gingerly handed Sam to my husband while trying to bunch up my shirt to keep the vomit from falling on the carpet, Sam promptly threw up all over Quinn as well.  As an amoeba-like collective, we awkwardly made our way across the hall to the bathroom where we all three got under the shower, fully clothed, to try to rinse ourselves off.  Throughout this, Sam was wailing, his cries amplified by the acoustics of the room; I was trying to push aside the hair that was plastered to my face by the shower spray, and Quinn was struggling to keep his grip on our slippery and squirming toddler.  At that moment Quinn said to me, deadpan, “no one ever talks about the glamour of parenting.”

I burst out laughing  because what else could one do in this situation?  And in the midst of the mess, I was struck by the realization that at that moment, it was fully our responsibility to take care of this tiny human being in all of his helplessness, and I felt the full presence of the Divine.  I must admit that this is not how I had ever imagined Matthew 18:20 “Whenever two or three are gathered in my Name, I am with them” but at that point I had a deep and abiding sense of the sacredness of the moment, and now am sitting with Buechner’s reminder that “all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”

In today’s Gospel reading, I get the feeling that Jesus is a bit put out by having to prove himself over and over to those who have been a curious audience to all that he is doing but who do not yet have faith.  I hear a note of exasperation in the line from John 5:36 in which Jesus declares “the witness that I have is…the work that the Father has given me to do, the very work that I am doing is a witness that the Father has sent me.”  Seeing Jesus in his human incarnation having fully human frustrations helps me appreciate that in all his sanctity he wasn’t always saintly; thus maybe we –  as the fallible, messy, mucked up humans that we are – can invite the Divine into our lives  if can keep our hearts open and our senses attuned for the presence of the sacred.  “Listen to our life.”  What are the needs that we can address, through our actions and our collective work to change unjust systems?  As Mike Boucher noted in his reflection this past Monday on what we might learn from the life and example of St. Joseph, perhaps all that we need to do is simply trust “that the work we do, the sacrifices we’re making, the kindnesses we show – matter and might, in fact, be an essential part of a drama whose importance is not easily recognized.”