Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Teaching the Silence to Talk

A man once found a key while walking along the beach at dusk. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Immediately, he recognized that it had been forged from solid gold and inlaid with precious stones. He imagined it had great significance and value. Even so, he said to himself, it serves no useful purpose. What could it possibly open here, on this deserted beach?

Again he turned the key in his palm, toying with the setting sun as it reflected on the precious stones. Then, noting that the sun was low on the horizon and night was fast approaching, the man pitched the key into the waves and turned to hurry off. What he failed to notice was that before him stood a massive doorway in the darkening sky.

* * * * *

There is another world, a parallel reality, a spiritual realm beyond the reach of our limited physical senses. For most of us, perhaps all of us, there is a critical moment when those spiritual realities are close. A hand stretched out in faith could take the key, treasure it, fit it into the lock, turn the latch, and open the door. A that crisis point of decision or awareness, faith would carry us over the threshold, if only we would allow it.

At this turning point, some look forward into that other realm, and the spiritual reality they see suddenly appears to be all that truly matters in life. Standing at that doorway, they look in and see life for what it can be. How could anything that had gone before hold value now, compared to this? At this same decisive juncture, others, in denial, look away, because they are only capable of seeing life as they imagine that it is or has been. They trust their physical senses alone and so turn away, their backs to all that will someday matter.

I used to think there was this one critical, life-changing moment only, when we either embraced spiritual reality or turned away from it. I now see that all of our moments offer such crucial choice, such perspective-altering potential. Spiritual reality calls me to live every experience, each moment, with the heavens in view. To make every decision in faith, governed by the unseen. To see every chance encounter as a holy moment. To face the mystery of pain, and find somewhere traces of the compassion and purpose of God. To confront the contradictions and incongruities that perplex my limited mind, and humbly trust God's greater wisdom. To create stillness amid the distractions of life and will myself to hear the voice of God.

To do this is to live.

© 2005