Psalm 37, 2nd
reflection.
“If you find your delight in the
Lord,
he will grant your heart’s
desire.” v.4
Not only does this verse offer a
great promise; it also issues a challenge. Do you (or us) take delight
in the Lord? The Hebrew word here doesn’t imply “joy,” but rather a certain
delicateness, daintiness even, in the things of God. Might I suggest that it
has something to do with our ability to savor what is sacred and
therefore precious (assuming that we do savor these things).
Our Abbey Church, which also
serves at the chapel for our college, is spectacularly beautiful and
awe-inspiring. I remember the first time I walked into the church—it took my
breath away. This particular house of God speaks to me of love, craftsmanship
(some of which is no longer available in the world), simple elegance. Stand in
silence and contemplate it for a while and it is possible to get in touch with
the extraordinary care that was put into its construction. There isn’t a single
corner or hidden space where things were allowed to get sloppy. Even the
stairwells exhibit the same care and painstaking craftsmanship that is in
evidence in any of the more public parts of the building. All of this gives
glory to God and tries to present to Him the very best that the builders had to
offer.
It saddens me, day after day,
when tours are given of the church by the Department of Admission to
prospective students for the college. Tour guides walk into the church with
their charges and immediately begin speaking. They give them no time at all to
simply stand and let the church speak to them, or to savor the beauty that is
all around them. And I’ve noticed over the years that very few people in the
groups seem to be moved by what is around them. As for the tour guides, well,
for many of them this is just another building that is being taken for granted.
They might as well be walking into the cafeteria or the coffee shop, or the
bookstore or the ice arena. (Hold that thought! The ice arena might possibly
arouse more awe than the church).
Last year I wrote a reflection
about a man who had come to savor the things of God in a special way. I think
he is the type person this psalm verse is speaking about. I’ll copy the whole
reflection for you here. I entitled it “the gift of capacity.”
God bless you.
from June 18, 2015:
The gift of capacity
He settled into his pew. The wood was old and creaky
and actually felt softened by use. Nestled is a good word to describe the
feeling. No one was within touching distance. Ah, it is so good worshipping in
huge old cathedrals where this sort of “privacy” is possible. “Just you and
me,” he said to the Deity. Suddenly, the organ chimes began tolling the melody to
a favorite old hymn of his, a bit out-of-season but nonetheless very, very
welcome--and appropriate: “Come Holy Ghost, Creator blest and in our hearts
take up Thy rest.”
This was indeed a time of rest and refreshment. He
thanked God for having given him the capacity to savor so many things:
an ancient melody, the sound of the carillon, the text of an old prayer, the
blessed time of private solitude, the beauty of an old church. He thanked God
that his heart was so disposed that the meaning of those words brought him a
very real sense of Presence, and peace, and giftedness.
What do you savor? How great is your capacity, the
capacity to savor simple things which lift the heart and spirit beyond the
limits imposed by daily existence? Would you like more? It wouldn’t hurt to
ask, you know.
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