Living Waters

When waters cease to flow, they can easily become stagnant. Not only an environmental challenge, stagnant waters are a danger to people and animals, as they are easily contaminated and can become a breeding ground for bacteria and disease. Likewise, when waters move too quickly, they also become a hazard, with erosion and flooding; at times poisoning land with hypersalination (near oceans).

Our hydro-cycle is truly amazing, as it continually renews, refreshes, and re-filters our water to keep it healthy.

It’s why our scriptures speak of living waters; the sweet or fresh water (not salty) that is essential for life. To find a natural source of flowing water was to be in a place that could sustain community; it is why places were named after wells, and cities and trade routes established on waterways.

Our traditions depend on water; our rituals and rites expect access to living water: from the waters of baptism to the Eucharistic ablutions, water is presenting to us a reminder of miracle.
In our modern culture where so many of us have access to clean and safe water – at the casual flip of a tap inside our homes – it can be easy to forget how dependent we are on living water.

So we return again and again to the source of the living water: the God of the psalms who leads us to the still waters to be refreshed; the Christ by the well who extends salvation as he requests a cool drink; the spirit who hovers over and touches all of creation as it emerges from the cosmic waters.

The same water that has blessed all of our ancestors continues to bless us; and will continue to bless generations to come. So we embrace the invitation of stewardship of water: not just the chemical elements and the systems and structures that support us (for our attention with our hydrocycle is imperative for all life); but also with the spiritual waters in our lives.

Are we drinking deeply of the waters that are offered? Are we appreciating the freshness of this life-giving resource? In areas where we are stagnant, how might we restore and reform our ways? Do we recognise and respect our seasons of drought, and those of abundance?

Wherever we are in our spiritual journey, let us be assured of the invitation to come and drink, to champion acts of justice that flow like waters, to receive the cleansing properties of this basic God-given gift. May we come to the still waters and drink by our shepherd, so that we do not become stagnant in our expressions of faith. 

Emissions

Just as the leaves are falling from the trees, so too is the ‘fall shed’ happening for pet owners everywhere. With some 200 pounds of canine floofiness, I am regularly cleaning up the soft undercoat that has become décor, seasoning, attire… the defloofage reminds me of a meme that showed a dog’s face and read:
I don’t shed – I emit magical fibres of love.

Emit indeed – and love: indeed!

With people, too, if we are careful about noticing them, we can see what folks are emitting.
Like the pervasive dog hair that seems to multiply and appear unexpectedly, we as humans are constantly sending out parts of ourselves. Our hair, yes; but I refer more to our hearts.

If we are holding anger in our hearts, we are likely to emit a sourness or animosity.
If we are dwelling in a place of hurt, we will be more likely to act in ways that inflict pain.
If we are trapped by a sense of fear, we will emit vibes of anxiety.

Contrarily, when we are comforted in faith, we show the world the power of community.
When we are abiding in love, we are extending the peace of Christ to others.
When we carry joy in our hearts, we emit an invitation for others to join us in happiness.

What we have within is what we have normalised: and it takes reflection and intention to recognise what we are sending into the world; then to consider if that is what we want to be emitting. Should we decide that we want to be sending out some other reality into the world, we can take the initiative and make the effort to do the interior work so that our exterior emissions are aligned.

It's not easy; and it can take trusted relationships and time and the knowledge that we are loved: but we can all come to a place where we know the healing love of God – and emit the love that has been given to us… even as abundantly as my dogs emit their magical fibres of love.

 

Prayer: as basic as basil

Despite some unseasonably gorgeous weather this week, the time of year is here – when the garden’s harvest comes to an end. Fighting against this inevitability (and protecting from overnight frost advisories) I moved my modest herb garden into the sunroom about 2 weeks ago; it has meant that grabbing some chives or mint has become even easier. It also means that my cooking is enjoying a little bit more pizzaz!

Friday, the herbe du jour was basil – into a saucy tomato dish went several fresh leaves. I had picked them by hand, and inadvertently got some basil oil into my skin.

For the rest of the day, I could smell basil. At first I thought the aroma was wafting from the kitchen, until I realised that it was not stronger in there, and in fact the tomato scent was dominant; and despite several hand-washings, the basil scent was emanating from my fingers.

This year, my Epiphany ‘star word’ was fragrance – which I found ironic, as I don’t have a very good sense of smell. However, when I notice a fragrance, I give it particular attention and reflection.

So: olfactory senses engaged, I reflected on the basil. How it was infusing itself into my day; my prayer, my reading, my interactions, my appointments, even my walks with the dogs. It reminded me of the hopeful pervasiveness of prayer: “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.” (Ps 141.2)

And so for the rest of the day, every time I caught a whiff of basil, I took a moment and prayed. Prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of intercession, prayers of petition, prayers of praise. It was an unanticipated benefit of the herbs; to serve as a reminder and invitation to pray. Yet that was the side benefit of the basil that day.

It left me wondering yesterday what other opportunities may come about; what aspects of everyday life can shift our perspective from the busy-ness of our daily routines to the moments of grace-filled prayer. Maybe a fragrance, maybe a sound, maybe a visual cue – the possibilities are literally endless, and can change day to day.

Yet the privilege to recognise the cues – and to respond – is a joy to be found. For when our prayer arise, and infuse the world around us – like incense, or basil oil – our hearts find their rest in the glorious presence of God.

Allo-Aloe!

Many years ago, I was gifted an aloe plant. Aloe is the type of plant that I do well with they do well with a little neglect. Some light, some water, and a lot of being left alone – and suddenly I found myself with an aloe-saurus. You know the type; spikes suddenly everywhere as the greenery tries to climb out of its pot, inserting itself into conversations in the room… Hello aloe!

Aloe is one of those plants that also divides well; a little coaxing and some dirt and voilà; mini plants to give away on the local WeShare group. Which means my aloe is now a reasonable size (likely still too big, but I can do another cull in the future).

Aloe is such a versatile plant. Its gel helps to heal wounds and burns, its juice can help digestion, it has antibiotic qualities, it helps improve air quality – all in all, it’s a wonder plant. And it thrives on neglect. Great!

The thing about aloe: in order to receive all these amazing benefits, it needs to be broken. For new life to grow, the plant needs to be divided; otherwise it becomes stagnant – and without room for roots to grow and seek nourishment, it dies. To access the gel inside, leaves must be broken or cut.

In order to maintain growth and life, a little death needs to occur. Obviously, too much destruction is too much; but the places for cutting or culling can be intentional, and with some time and tending, the brokenness can become a point of strength.

It’s a fitting analogy for life, when things seem to be in a time of heightened challenge: we can forget that well-being isn’t always comfortable. We can lose sight of the verdancy and promise of new growth and new joys if we are limited in focus to the cutting or culling. We can miss out on the healing properties that lie just below the surface if we are too afraid of a cut to seek out the balm that is assured. We can prevent new growth in different areas if we are too afraid to foster new growth; we can forget that a tiny plant next to an aloe-saurus is on its own a full aloe plant, waiting to grow into its full potential.

I’m comforted by my aloe plant; as it is shared, as it is used, as it will continue to be generally neglected in the window by the prayer-chair… for it reminds me of the comfort of hope and the promise of life.

The Happy Place

In a conversation this week, a dear one shared that when she’s having a rough time, her spouse knows how to help: a fluffy coffee treat. Even in the worst of times, the offer of a chai latte brings her to a happy place.

Happy places are important; they bring us out of whatever turmoil we may be feeling. We know they don’t have magical powers, they don’t dissolve pain or make turmoil evaporate.

But they do ground us, bring back happy memories, and remind us that whatever challenges we are going through, there is still goodness in the world.

Finding a happy place is deeply individual, as we journey through life in our own unique ways. They can be a thing, a sensory experience, a place – whatever will speak to our heart of the love that we need, when we need it. The chai latte brings the warmth of aroma and taste, and those convey the happiness of being known and cared for by the people who will bring their listening ears and open hearts and shoulders to be cried on along with the beverage. A paddle in a canoe is the physical exertion and the communing with nature and the memories of countless friends on countless adventures – a cloud of witnesses along for the ride, as it were. A cherished memento brings a visual and tactile connection that can span time and space – and realms, even.

Our happy ‘place’ is always a gift; as a constant and consistent assurance of love in the world.
And of course, as people of faith, we know that all gifts of love originate from the source of love. And we are not surprised that God wants us to be reminded of love and care and support; in fact we recognise the work of God through the actions of God’s people.

So sometimes, a latte can be almost sacramental: a happy place that is an expression of love from God.