I didn’t know last Monday that I would see the Giant Sun Orchid still flowering in the Adelaide Hills. I thought I’d long since missed the chance to see them this spring.
And I didn’t know last Tuesday that I would reconnect with a friend, and have the chance to say sorry. I didn’t know how much I’d been grieving the loss of that connection for the best part of a year.
On Thursday, I didn’t know that I would receive a gracious email from an author giving me permission to use a phrase from one of his books as the title of my upcoming new blogsite.
And on Friday, I didn’t know that I would return home from two long, busy days at Synod, having caught up with friends and colleagues, having received intentional prayer, having received a stack of invitations to coffee or dinner, and having participated fully in the life of the gathered church in that place.
The things I didn’t know – some I couldn’t have imagined – just one week ago!
In the film Big Eden, the character Jim says, “There’s so few nice surprises in life.” I think there’s some truth in that; I know that last week stands out as an unusual week of blessing. Later this week I’ll be heading off on a retreat six hours south of here, and there will be plenty of time to reflect on all of this. Tomorrow’s birthday is approaching, and I can feel the questions already forming in my head: what will the year ahead look like? What do the surprise blessings of this past week teach me?
Already, there’s something about reconciliation, saying sorry for getting it wrong, and healing the past. Already, there’s something about recognising grief and how it colours literally everything. There’s something about gratitude and joy, too. There’s something about being open to the possibility of blessing – about expectancy. And for sure, there’s something in all this about engaging more, not running away, not remaining on the edges. I know that I’ve spent so much of this past year by myself. In some ways, it has been the loneliest year: feeling the distance from home; feeling at times like I’m out of place and failing. Thank God, He is patient with me. After all, God is love, and love is patient.
“I cannot tell why or how…” says the hymnwriter. “I cannot tell why He whom angels worship should set His love upon the sons of men… I cannot tell how silently He suffered, as with His peace He graced this place of tears…” There is so much that we cannot explain. Like Paul says: it’s as if we’re looking through a glass, darkly. And yet, we can confidently say along with the hymnwriter: “But this I [do] know: he heals the brokenhearted, stays our sin, calms our lurking fear, lifts the burden from the heavy-laden… But this I know, all flesh shall see his glory, and he shall reap the harvest he has sown… the great jubilation when every heart with love and joy is filled.” There’s Mystery here, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t hold on to some certainty.
There is so much I don’t know or cannot tell, but what I do know, is that God knows. And I trust that God has His timing and His plan for me. I only have to look at the natural world to get a sense of His handiwork and His strength. To look at the seasons to get a sense of His faithfulness. To look at the smallest of birds to get a sense of His care and provision. I know that all of creation is caught up and eagerly interested in our story – Scripture tells me that. We’re so connected: God has made all life, and all life looks to Him. There’s something about our responsibility and care for the natural world in all this.
I love the poem “Lying in a Hammock…” by James Wright. In twelve lines the poem describes in languorous tones the world of nature, as the author sees and hears the life and colour of the natural world all around him. After being lulled by the charms of nature, the poet’s thirteenth and final line comes as something of a shock: “I have wasted my life,” he says. I like to think the message here is a “coming to his senses” – a response to the wonder of the first twelve lines of the poem. That every day not spent tuning in to nature, and not slowing down enough to be conscious, gracious, and respectful of the world around us, is a missed opportunity.
There is something about the bucolic that draws me in. I think it was St Francis of Assisi who said that the love with which God created everything is the same love that sent Christ to save us. Time away from God’s creation is wasted time when there is an invitation in every birdsong, every tree and flower: an invitation to wonder at the love of God.
St Ambrose said, “Open your door to the One who comes. Open your heart, throw open the depths of your soul.” Ambrose’s words make me think of Jesus at the door knocking. An invitation into relationship and fellowship. And our Creator would be known in His creation. “The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies His craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known.” Open the door to the One who comes – be open to the possibilities that come from new encounters, new revelations, new experiences. The natural world is a kaleidoscope of wonder, if we’d only take notice. “Behold, I am going to do something new, now it will spring up; will you not be aware of it?” go the words of Isaiah. How ready and willing am I to see and embrace the new thing that God is ready to do? Am I ready to be surprised by God? Am I ready for unexpected blessing? Can I expect the unexpected?
There is something here about having open eyes to see, an open heart to feel. There is something, too, about open doors to welcome, and open hands to receive.
And of course, I know last week was not a typical week. I know that some weeks even the idea of blessings seems unlikely and alien. And I know that life can change in an instant, in any direction. It’s true that I don’t know what’s around the corner. But I do know one thing: that I’m not going into this next year on my own. I can’t imagine how anyone manages the ups and downs of life without having first surrendered it all to the God who cares. I don’t know how people navigate this life without friends who check in. I am grateful for the week that has just been. I am grateful for the chance this week to have said sorry. I am grateful that God’s love and power is revealed in all of creation: I’m off to the Grampians in a minute to fall in love with the landscape. I would go into this next year more open to possibilities. More open to wonder. More expectantly. More trusting, whatever the weeks and months ahead bring.
*
Scripture refs. Ex 34:6, 1 Jn 4:16, 1 Cor 13:4, 1 Cor 13:12, Ecc 3:11, Ps 139:16, Mt 6:26, Ro 8:19-22, Ps 104:24-30, 1 Cor 8:6, Lk 15:17, Rev 3:20, Ps 19:1-2, Ro1:20, Is 43:19, 1 Pet 5:7.
Fullerton, William. 1920. “I Cannot Tell why He, whom angels worship.” https://hymnary.org/text/i_cannot_tell_why_he_whom_angels_worship
“Big Eden Quotes.” Quotes.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Oct. 2024. <https://www.quotes.net/movies/big_eden_quotes_1033>.
Wright, James. “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota.” 1990. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47734/lying-in-a-hammock-at-william-duffys-farm-in-pine-island-minnesota
St Ambrose quote. https://anastpaul.com/2023/12/07/quote-s-of-the-day-7-december-st-ambrose-4/