The Loveless take on love

© 2014 Christy K Robinson

Yesterday, Sept. 15, 2014, Dr. William Loveless—Bill—passed from this life and into his Sabbath in Christ. He was born in 1928, about 10 years before I would have guessed for his birthdate, from his energy and temperament.
Click this link for an article remembering him.

Dr William Loveless, 1928-2014

 

I first met Pastor Loveless when he was the guest speaker for a Week of Prayer at my Christian high school in the 1970s. The denomination and affiliated Christian schools were extremely legalistic in the fifties through seventies (they wised up in the eighties), and what we had been taught was that we had to perfectly reproduce Christ’s character by keeping the Law, and that although the Lord forgave our sins when we confessed, that if we re-offended, the former sins would be added back to our record (yes, we know now that that’s a false teaching, but we didn’t know it then), so the deal was to continuously search your heart to find that sin you forgot to confess, the sin that could keep you out of heaven. 

But Dr. Loveless's sermons at the Week of Prayer were all about his friend, Jesus Christ. This friend loves us with a love that won’t let us go, who both forgives and forgets sins, and by his death has reconciled us to intimacy with God now—here on earth—and for eternity. 

When I moved back to California in the 90s, I became reacquainted with Dr. Loveless when I interviewed him for a magazine article, and met him around town several times. (It took a lot of courage to call him Bill, as he asked.) I took a master’s class in English from his wife, Dr. Edna Maye Loveless. I always had a mountain of respect for them and their intellect. Bill was doing some consulting for the company I worked for about 9-10 years ago, and when I made a comment in a committee, he jumped up, excited at what I said, and called me brilliant. I don't even remember the subject, but his comment did two things: it made me feel valued and deeply complimented (I mean, coming from him, right??), and it made the boss very angry at me because the boss hadn't thought of it or said it. In that company, I was toast after that. 

During that time, I asked Bill and Edna Maye to write devotional articles for the book I was putting together, We Shall Be Changed. The daily devotionals in February were all about love. Their articles about loving one another still make me cry.

Here are two of the four Loveless devotional articles from We Shall Be Changed. 

Will You Marry Me?

By William Loveless 
Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Ruth 1:17 NEB

My dearest one: 

When we married, I had no idea who you were nor for that matter who I was. And for some strange reason, that never seemed to matter. I have always known you love and respect me. Without much outside coaching, except for the models our parents were, we have been in unity together. 

Providence put us together, because in some ways we are opposite, but over the years it is obvious to me that we share all of the deepest convictions that make life worthwhile. I love the way you comfort me when I’m unreasonable and grumpy. I love the way you “mother hen” our daughters. My family is your family and your family is my family, quite like the oft-repeated sentiments of Ruth: “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” Ruth 1:17 NEB 

You patiently taught me how to listen by listening to me, and we have always been smooth when it comes to the management of money. Edna Maye, your warmth, charm, intellect, and clear Christian commitment have enriched me and my work more than anything else in my life. 

Even though I really didn’t know what I was doing when I saw you, truly a gorgeous vision in wedding white coming toward me that August day, I now know how much I love you. Will you marry me? 

Things I Never Expected

by Edna Maye Loveless 
I hear my lover’s voice. He comes running over the mountains, racing across the hills to me. . . . My lover speaks to me. Song of Songs 2:8-10 TEV

Dear love of my life, 

Happy surprises have added to the “I do’s”: 

Pressing my hand gently in place on your knee before maneuvering a driving function, you seem to say, “Don’t go; stay here with me.”

Your enthusiasm for shopping with me has destroyed all preconceptions about male indifference. Whether we’re seeking a quart of milk, a gallon of paint, a dress for me, some shoes for you, or a new computer, you consistently initiate dual excursions—times for renewal and bonding.

After completing a doctorate, you said it was my turn. Later, when my research project didn’t jell and I wanted to quit; you quietly responded, “You’ll always be sorry you didn’t finish. Now I’m taking you to the library to work on a new research design.” You spurred me on.

I had no idea we’d share so many conversations about what we have been reading or contented periods of quietness as we pursued reading and writing tasks.

Two people in love on their wedding day expect never to argue over money. Today, wiser and more in tune with “life,” I’m surprised those expectations about no money hassles came true. Generous and prudent—you’re an asset on any budget.

When we embarked on the unknown path of parenthood, you supplied strengths to achieve balance—more playful, more energetic, more emphatic. The girls knew where to turn when they needed your specialties.

At home, it’s a duet when we make the bed, when we entertain guests. Chalking up vast vacuuming hours, you also amaze me with your cheery whistling while mopping the floor or washing the dishes. It’s the sound of my love; I cherish it.

I’m a woman in love, who joins the love song: I hear my lover’s voice. He comes running over the mountains, racing across the hills to me. . . . My lover speaks to me. Song of Songs 2:8-10 TEV

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We Shall Be Changed was published in 2010, and is now officially out of print, but you can buy new or almost-new copies of it on Amazon. I have received no royalties from sales, but I’m proud of the five-star reviews and hundreds of compliments on it.

Some Children See Him

   

"... 'tis love that's born this night."

Light--A Christmas/ Midwinter Meditation

Guest post by Trudy J. Morgan-Cole

I don’t recall how old I was when someone first told me we shouldn’t put up Christmas trees or otherwise celebrate Christmas because the holiday had pagan origins and anyway, Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th. If you grow up Adventist, you get exposed to opinions like these fairly early, even though such views were by no means mainstream in my church and were dismissed as foolishness by my very sensible Adventist family.

Even as a young person, it seemed to me that the timing of Christmas was far from an evil pagan plot or even an unhappy accident. True, nobody considered the date of Jesus’ birth important enough to record in Scripture, but I think the early church did exactly the right thing in holding their celebration of the Nativity at the end of December, and I think it was more than just an attempt to co-opt pagan midwinter holidays.

The image of light coming in the midst of our darkness is one of the most powerful spiritual pictures we humans have. Whether we’re lighting candles on the Advent wreath or the Hanukkah menorah, or burning a Yule log, or simply stringing up some coloured LEDs on the front of the house, we’re responding to a deep human urge to celebrate light — which is hope, and faith, and joy — when times are dark.

For those of us in northern climates this is especially true at midwinter.  Now, to be honest, I don’t think of the winter solstice, or Christmas, or anytime around the end of December as “midwinter.” Because of our climate, where Christmases are often green but Easters are frequently white, I feel winter is barely beginning in December. My worst “midwinter blues” hit around mid-February when I think how far we’ve slogged through the ice and snow and how far we have yet to go. 

But even in our late-starting, long-lasting Newfoundland winter, in a world illuminated by electric lights, I feel the burden of those dark early evenings, coming home from work with the sky already dark, waking up in morning darkness to get ready to do it all again.  I understand why our ancestors, less shielded from the rhythms of the natural world, felt the need to light candles and celebrate at the turning of the year, when the days began, imperceptibly, to lengthen again.  When the light returned.

God’s promise of light in darkness is for everyone, everywhere, all the time.  And of course it’s true that as a Christian, unlike a Jewish friend lighting Hanukkah candles or my pagan friend burning her Yule log (or a Hindu friend celebrating Diwali, at a different time of the year in a different corner of the world), I believe the truest and fullest expression of God’s light came into the world on whatever night Jesus was born in Bethlehem. Son of God, love’s pure light.  Whether He was born in the bleak midwinter or in spring or fall, He was the light that lights everyone as He comes into the world.

But the fact that I believe this and others don’t, doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m right and everyone else is wrong when they light their candles and logs and fireworks and LED lights, wherever and whenever and whyever they do it.  If we close the stable door and say that only in that one room, on that one night, was the Light of the World fully present and incarnate … well, light will still leak out under and around the stable door.  Light is like that. Grace is like that.  God’s presence is everywhere, no matter how we try to shut Him away or box Him up.  He is present in every light that shines in darkness. The humblest candle burning on a midwinter night speaks of the hope He brings … and so, in a faint and faraway fashion, does even the light-up, blow-up, tacky glowing Santa on the lawn of a neighbour who professes no faith in any god but the God of Shopping, and worships nowhere but at the mall.

We light lights because we believe, or because we want to believe.  And light calls forth what’s best in us — hope, faith, joy — giving us hints of the true Light, that shines in darkness and can never be put out.

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Giving Up Everything for Love

Guest post by Elvia Miller

 They are a small group of three- to five-year-old children that I teach every Wednesday. There are about eight of them, six who come consistently. We usually cover the same stories. Jesus was born of a virgin. Jesus is God. I learned the stories myself as someone who loved the Lord told of the story… and yet the magnitude of it never really sank in until much later.

“God has a plan” and “Everything happens for a reason” are platitudes we use to comfort or explain. I marvel at the plans of God and how everything fits together. I had known that I was going to teach of Christmas because what else was I going to teach…Easter? That was a no-brainer.

It was in another class that God started to work on my heart. The pastor taught the Cruciform Marriage class. My husband and I made the sacrifice to wake up early on Sundays for this class. I had missed the Sunday School class the week before. I had counted myself lucky that I missed the wives-submit-to-your-husbands lecture. I wasn’t left totally unscathed. This particular Sunday, we learned the second part of the passage, Ephesians 5:22-33, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” The pastor painted a picture of the church as a woman. The poor thing never seemed to get it right. She was a Cinderella or Snow White who needed to be rescued. Along came the Prince who would rescue her and elevate her. But the Prince never gave up his kingdom for her. He never pretended to be a pauper to rescue her. I thought of this. It burned within me and cleansed. Jesus came for his church, his bride and it wasn’t easy—it was a sacrifice.

That night I lay in bed and cried. My husband could not console me. I just kept repeating the verse over and over. There was no explanation. The verse said it all. I pictured Hosea, the prophet who was commanded to love a harlot. He was the example of how God loved us even before Jesus made His appearance. We are a fickle bunch, loving everything and everyone except the One we were created to love; God, who saves us even when we are wrong. He is God who saves us even though we are harlots to this world.

As I prepared to begin the children’s Bible lesson, I glanced down at their faces. Their sweet innocence was marked and their eyes were open wide, awaiting the message. I prayed. I prayed that they be like the good soil and understand the story that they will hear so many times. I prayed that it would not just be a story for them but an understanding.

I asked them, “Who is your favorite superhero?” The answers varied: Bob the Builder, Green Lantern, Hulk. I threw in Superman and Batman. They got excited talking about those they considered heroes. We talked about their super powers and what they could do. We talked about how they save people. Then I asked, “What if they had to give up all their special powers in order to save us?” The children looked confused. Why ever would a superhero give up their powers? Why ever would someone give up what made them special and be normal, and be humbled. I told them it was a sacrifice. Who would you give up your super power for? Most of them answered with family members, but it would have to be for a really good reason. What if you had to give up your super power for someone who had wronged you? It was beyond their comprehension. I left it hanging there and hoped the seed would grow in their hearts.

Christmas is about the Son of God, the Prince of Peace giving up more than his super powers, giving up his God-ness, to save us, a people who can’t seem to get anything right.

I learned about Christmas through teaching little ones about Christmas. I wonder about Jesus now. How much harder was it to know that he was God stuffed into the body of an infant? How much harder was it to know that he was King and to be rejected by his own people, his church, his bride? To know, even though he was young, that he was like a lamb sent to the slaughter? This truth is the essence of the Gospel. It’s such a privilege to teach this truth to young minds. It is through teaching that we teach ourselves sometimes. Praise the Lord!

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Elvia Miller is a wife, mom, elementary school educator, Bible teacher, choir soprano, jogger, friend, and daughter of God.

Your best love, every day

Guest post by Jo Ann Butler

 A few years ago I crossed the Great Divide. If you are a woman, you know the one I’m talking about. My eggs have passed their ‘use-by’ date, and I no longer need birth control. I faced that aspect of aging with great delight, for many decades ago I decided to remain childless. Perhaps that decision was never mine to make.

I think that personal biology made the choice for me. When you look at our family photos, my sister was holding a baby doll from the moment her arms could wrap around it. I wanted to be a cowboy. One Christmas I got a rocking horse, and also a doll of my own. Photos show a beaming Jo Ann in cowboy hat on her noble steed. My parents insisted that I play with the doll too. After they convinced me that I carry it ‘right’ instead of by one foot, I mounted the horse with my passenger, and stuck the doll’s bottle in my holster.

Years went by and I became interested in boys, and then in men, but not in motherhood. Don’t get me wrong. I like children. Other people’s children. I earned spending money by babysitting, and played happily with relatives’ offspring. But I wasn’t driven to bear a child of my own, and my biological clock never rang its alarm as I grew older.

Now, at the ripe old age of almost-58, I am facing the prospect of becoming a mother. My own mom was diagnosed a couple of years ago with the first stage of dementia. She didn’t tell us, though we’ve noticed that she’s more forgetful. But this summer, when she took 18 hours for what was normally a 6-hour drive from Pennsylvania to New York, we heard the diagnosis from her doctor.

My mother and I have always been very close, and I’ve told her many times that I’d care for her when she needs it. She cared for her childless aunt, who had cared for her own relatives. It is a loving task that I want to do for my Mom. I’ve even had a dress rehearsal, so I know what I’m in for.

For several years my partner and I lived with his aging parents as they needed more help. His mother was an uncontrolled diabetic, and his father had had his first heart attack when he was 39. Modern medicine is capable of wonderful things, and bypasses and stents kept Burt alive until he was nearly 87. However, heart failure made his last few months an ordeal. Using my experience working with severely handicapped children, I nursed Burt until he took his final breath. I would have cared for Virginia, but a fall put her in a nursing home, and infections from diabetes killed her a few months later.

I loved Burt far more than I ever loved my own father, who was a caustic and critical man. Caring for Burt was a sacred experience, and I do not use that word lightly. Watching him weaken, fighting the inevitable, and trying to hearten the rest of his family was gut-wrenching, and an extremely moving experience. Soon I’m going to do it again.

Hopefully Mom’s problems will not go beyond forgetfulness, for her type of dementia is slow to progress. Perhaps it will grow no worse, but perhaps it will. We are preparing now. She is leaving committee seats at church which she has held for years, and I am familiarizing myself with her accounts and papers.

I am also preparing myself to become a mother. Mom’s sister is 95 now, and a stroke has brought her to childlike dependency. I’ve watched my cousin take on the task of ‘raising’ one more child, and the love and respect she brought to the task is inspiring.

When Christy asked me to write this, I said that we were still working everything out. I can’t think of better words to end than what Christy told me: “Nothing is ever perfect or settled. You do your best and love your best with what you've got.” And so I will.

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress. James 1:27 

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Enlightened

By Christy K Robinson

If you know of Mary Barrett Dyer, perhaps it’s the memorial statue at the Massachusetts State House; or that she was the Quaker woman hanged in Boston in 1660.

Mary was born in London at the time the King James Bible was published, and was admired for her intellectual, spiritual, and physical beauty. She and William Dyer were married under Anglican liturgy at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, but in 1635, they emigrated to ultra-Puritan Boston in Massachusetts Bay Colony, and were immediately admitted to membership in the First Church. (Some people committed suicide because their membership was denied.) The Dyers had to conform to Puritan ways to be accepted so quickly. However, Governor Winthrop observed in 1637 that Mary was “addicted to revelations.”

Mary became a disciple of Anne Hutchinson, a religious dissident who claimed that God revealed insights about scripture to her—a “weak-minded” (but highly-educated) woman. She pointed out that instead of trying in vain to earn salvation by perfectly keeping the law, believers were set free from eternal damnation by God’s grace. They could trust divine leading in their conscience, with no need for intercessors or interpreters.

But the Puritan theocracy believed if every man did as he pleased, all would be anarchy. After several ecclesiastical trials, the Hutchinsons and Dyers and about 75 Massachusetts families were exiled for sedition and heresy. They purchased Rhode Island from the Indians, and founded a new colony in 1638.

Mary visited England in early 1652, where she observed several new religious movements, including the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers). In some respects similarly to Anne Hutchinson, the Friends believed that Old Testament laws were obsolete, and had been replaced by God’s voice in the individual’s conscience, which was revealed during times of silent reflection and worship. They experienced God as Light and overwhelming love, in contrast to the vengeful Judge who predestined only certain people for eternal life. Some of the scripture they quoted included:

• God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. … If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. 1 John 1:5-7.
• Believe in the light while you have the light, so that you may become children of light. ~Jesus. John 12:36.
• “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” Ephesians 5:8

In 1657, Mary returned to America, was accused of being a Quaker, and was cast into Boston’s prison for weeks before William Dyer learned of it and rescued her. Thus began three years of Mary’s repeatedly defying religious oppression to gain relief and freedom for the violently persecuted.

Quakers in New England were fined, beaten, branded, whipped with a knotted cord, banished, tied to carts and dragged from town to town, imprisoned without food or heat in winter, and banished “on pain of death” for their efforts and beliefs.

For supporting Quakers, Mary was arrested and imprisoned at least five times, and defied banishment. Finally, she was sentenced to death. She wrote a letter to the General Court on the night before her execution date. “I therefore declare that in the fear, peace, and love of God I came … and have found such favor in his sight as to offer up my life freely for his truth and people’s sakes. If this life were freely granted by you, it would not avail me to accept it from you, so long as I shall daily hear or see the suffering of my dear brethren and sisters.”

Mary Dyer's handwriting. Letter to the General Court, October 1659.

She believed that her death would be so shocking to the public that it would bring about the end of the severe tortures and repression of Quakers by the Puritan leaders. Many Puritans sympathized with and helped Quakers, and had begun to turn away from their harsh, vicious government. Fearing political unrest, the court granted a reprieve when she was on the gallows. She was imprisoned in Plymouth two weeks later, spent the winter at Long Island, then deliberately returned to Boston seven months later—to obey God’s command, and commit civil disobedience.

She was again condemned to death, and was hanged on June 1, 1660. Because her vengeful Puritan former pastor offered a cloth to cover her face, I believe that the Light was strong on her countenance.

Mary’s sacrifice was successful. Her letters were presented posthumously to Charles II, who ended executions for religious offenses. Her husband and close friends had significant influence on the 1663 Rhode Island royal charter of liberties that granted freedom of conscience to worship (or not), and retained separation of church and state. The charter was a model for the US Constitution’s Bill of Rights, which has in turn been the beacon of light for constitutions around the world.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5.

Christmas Season: Taking Notice of Important Things

Guest post by Lawrence T. Geraty

The Christmas season has always been special to me, even though it is often a whirlwind of activities: giving and receiving cards, attending concerts and parties, shopping for appropriate gifts, visiting relatives and friends, and attending special services at church.

Because it comes near the conclusion of the calendar year, it is always a time for reflection as well as making sure that the donations for the various non-profit causes we support have been delivered or mailed before the end of December. But primarily, vertically, it is a time for worship, the Babe in the manger, the Savior who goes about doing good, and being grateful to the One who has transformed my life and who I'm expecting one day to return the Second Time, this time to save us from the mess we humans have made in the world He originally created and vouchsafed to us.

Wow, what would I do without Jesus in my life? He brings balance and is my source of hope. Of course, this year, Christmas was immediately preceded by our national political election—and what a dismaying marathon that was. I think it was Pete Seeger's niece, Kate, who observed that "the world is divided into people who think they are right!" For sure they are divided and it seems that the divisions are unwilling to talk or compromise.

Jesus must be very disappointed in the majority of followers who bear His name. What does He really expect of us in this old world of ours this season?

Horizontally, the Christmas season is a time to "spread the love." There are so many people who always need our love, but especially this season of the year. And it is often so easy to overlook the various categories of people who are systematically marginalized in our society—the poor, the undocumented, the mentally and physically challenged, those who are different from us, gays, singles, even women.

It was Cornel West, one of the most thoughtful African-American scholars I know, who once said, "Justice is what love looks like in public."  

So during this Christmas season, I'm trying to do what I can to "fight" for justice in society—putting in the right word at the right place, supporting organizations who foster the same values I endorse, and seeking out for special attention those who may otherwise be missed.

May the Christ of Christmas help us to spread His love around in every corner that needs it! Merry Christmas!

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Advent is not Christmas

Guest post by Patricia O’Sullivan

 The Mayflower Pilgrims disembarked at Plymouth on December 25, 1620 and immediately began building shelters and fortifications. I learned this as a child and always wondered why the Pilgrims didn’t spend that first day celebrating Christmas. When I was older, I learned that the Puritans didn’t celebrate Christmas because they believed it was a pagan festival adopted by a corrupt Roman Catholic Church.

It’s true that Christmas wasn’t a Christian tradition until the fourth century, when the Church was endorsed by the Roman Empire. Romans celebrated the birthday of Sol Invictus, the Invincible Sun, at the winter solstice. The tradition of marking the birth of Jesus on December 25 comes from this Roman tradition. Pope Benedict XVI confirmed this in 2009 when he said, "Christmas acquired its definitive form in the fourth century when it replaced the Roman Feast of the Sol Invictus." According to the official Church calendar, Christmas begins December 25 and lasts for forty days, culminating on the Feast of the Presentation on February 2. 

 The tradition of Advent was not firmly established by the Church until sometime during the seventh century. Today, Advent occurs between the Feast of Christ the King and Christmas Eve, a period of 23-28 days depending on which day Christmas falls on in the week. Advent marks the end of the liturgical year. For most of its history, Advent was a time of fasting and penance, a time to prepare both for the second coming of Christ and the birth of Christ. Marriages could not take place during the Advent season because fasting included sexual abstinence.

Over the last couple of centuries, Advent has changed from being a time of fasting and penance to a period of joyful anticipation. Though the rituals and spiritual focus of Advent have changed, Advent remains a time before Christmas begins. In cultures focused on gift-buying and holiday parties, where Christmas decorations appear right after Halloween and retail stores and radio stations play Christmas music in November, it’s easy to forget Advent.

What also gets lost in the retail reconfiguration of the Christmas season, is Christmas itself. As people take down their trees and pack up their decorations, the Church is still celebrating the holiday. Some people keep their trees up through the Feast of the Epiphany, marking off the Anglican tradition of twelve days of Christmas. But few people continue to make merry after January 6. The Church observes Christmas another month after that. For retailers, these four weeks are preparation for Valentine’s Day.

When I reflect on how Advent has been consumed by Christmas and how Christmas has been consumed by Valentine’s Day, it occurs to me that the preparation for and expectation of the holiday have become more important than the holiday itself. This shift in focus is significant. It means people are taking joy in the journey, not just the destination.

Sol Invictus was celebrated at the winter solstice because that is when the sun is weakest in the northern hemisphere. The month leading up to the solstice was a time to prepare for winter, the season of death. The original focus of Advent was death as well. Advent was a time to prepare for the physical death that would occur when Jesus returned to earth. Fasting is a means of disciplining the body and suffering physically as a penance for sin. In the Christian tradition, physical death is the path to spiritual life.

Christmas is the Feast of the Nativity, a holiday that merges physical and spiritual birth even as it heralds the season of death. But Advent is not Christmas. Death is certain. Time to prepare for it is not. Advent is the journey, a reminder to live joyfully while anticipating dying. For that reason I don’t mind Christmas decorations in November.

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Patricia O’Sullivan is the author of Hope of Israel, a novel about the readmission of the Jews to England in 1656, and Legend of the Dead, a novel about the transformation of the New World and one young man’s attempt to carve his place within it. Her novels explore religious history and religious conflict in the 17th and 18th centuries. Visit her blog at http://legendofthedead.blogspot.com 

Light as a Choice

Guest post by Christy English

 “The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of all kinds.” ~His Holiness, the Dalai Lama

We get to choose whether or not to be light bringers. In every moment, whatever actions we take, we can bring light or darkness. Of course, it is often easier to focus on ourselves, our petty problems, our losses, our defeats.

The shadows are distracting to the point that we think they’re all there is. But light makes shadow, even if the Source is unseen.

The Light that came into the world on the birth of Christ has always been with us, and will always be. Like the green, verdant, ever-living Viriditas that Hildegard von Bingen wrote of, this light fills the world. We carry it in our hearts, whatever our faith or lack thereof. We are a part of this river of light that is moving through the world, whether we know it or not.

In every moment of every day, we can choose to bring light to a situation, or not. In the quote above, I think His Holiness is asking us to think of our daily lives, and how we can do better in each moment. It is an imperfect world, and we are imperfect, but that does not change our responsibility, to ourselves or to each other.

In order to express this light in our lives, however, we must find it.

Every tradition has its own path into this river of light. Prayer, meditation, a walk in a green wood, facing the ocean, the desert, the sky. Any or all of these might work, or they might not.

Only you can discover your own path into the light that lives within you. Even to look is an act of faith. Even to look is to begin to find it.

Our breath is the simplest way to open ourselves to the possibility that this light exists, that it is not a fairy tale told by fools to quiet the masses. Our breath is an ever-moving river, a mirror of that divine grace that lives within us all. You might choose to sit, to let everything else go, and to follow it.

This perhaps is the hardest thing for us to do in this modern world, to simply sit and follow our breath wherever it leads. But know that this task was hard for every man and woman who did it before you. You are not alone in this. You are a link in a chain of seekers that leads from the beginning of time, to now, and onward into a unknown future that none of us living today will ever see.

So you might find a spot, indoors or out. You might choose to stand in place, or sit, and simply breathe. You will find that the breath is not simple, that the shadows are there as well, but keep following it. The light is there, too, behind this world, supporting it, nurturing it, waiting until we all decide that we want to come home.
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