Words from Ordinary Time

Some days ago I picked a word from a little pile of words to write about, think about, notice it’s presence in my life … you know, the thing you do when you are inevitably and perpetually drawn to the practice of contemplation and exploration of all things spiritual. 

That word was “light.”

Perfect, I thought. Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem” came to mind:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

The light of God? The light of our better nature? The light that comes when we give up our tightly managed control?

I don’t question that allowing for the cracks in life and letting the light in is a good thing. For me. For anyone.

But I’m a person of privilege. I am not enslaved nor impoverished. I am white, well-educated, gifted in many ways with confidence, intelligence, creativity. A woman, yes. Which in the eyes of the Southern Baptist leadership is a lesser being. But really, being a white Southern man can be its own kind of prison. 

Still, the concept of “light” remains ethereal. Elusive. Not of this world.

This morning I drew another word. 

“Solid.”

Perfect, I thought. The ground beneath my feet. The place I come back to, again and again. The place I can rely on.

And still, I wander in the realms of what it means to stand on solid ground. My faith in what I cannot see? That stepping into the unknown where I can trust I will be held? Found? Carried?

Maybe a little less ethereal. Still somewhat elusive. And probably falls into the category of “Be in the world but not of it.”

I have a faith that serves me, grounds me. I have a great therapist. I’ve been growing, evolving, transforming, becoming a person of depth, resilience, presence.

Still, I like the balance between “light” and “solid.”

Maybe that’s another word for me to consider: balance.

I can find the light, even “be” the light sometimes. For myself, for others. I can also stand on principle, on what is “real,” on the certitude of hope.

I can be in sorrow, even suffering, without drowning. I can be in joy without losing sight of the brokenness of the world. 

So, yes. I’ll ring the bells, laugh at my imperfection, and embrace the cracks of life.

******

What is the balance
Between the ground and the light?
Become ringing bells.