“The dog is the most faithful of animals and would be much esteemed were it not so common. Our Lord God has made His greatest gifts the commonest.”
Martin Luther, theologian and instigator of the Reformation, born on this day in 1483

“I wonder why space and emptiness are almost always seen as loss, as missed opportunity, as the unknown in need of labelling. Yet nothing much can ever happen without them. Rather are they the necessary conditions and context for imagination and understanding. Without the blank margins on this page, or the spaces between the letters of each word, you could not read it. Without the small silences between the notes, we would never hear a melody. Space is not a vacuum. Dark space, like mystery, is where the tomb becomes the womb, where the light is let in.

I remembered a conversation I had with Vincente, the architect who built our most beautiful Church of St Benedict in East Leeds a few years ago. Behind the altar and the presidential chair we created a huge, totally empty wall. Parishioners thought we had forgotten something. Everyone wanted to pin a meaning on it – a figure, a banner, a text, a cross. Vincente talked to me about the potential for worship in the concept of space; about creating a building in which all that was unnecessary was excluded; about simplifying a church so that the emptiness could be made meaningful only by the infinite. The invisible has the strongest presence of all..
When it comes to understanding the essence of the Gracious Mystery, silent space and empty nothingness have long been at the heart of the Church’s apophatic tradition – a non-negotiable reminder that all our descriptions of God will forever be well wide of the mark. The Gracious Mystery can never be confined in small places, in small images, in small liturgies. We are always tempted to lock God away in windowless tabernacles with low ceilings and high security; to pinpoint the divine presence with fallible compasses and dogmatic navigation systems. The Spirit of God will always need space to blow and dance where she will.”

Father Daniel O’Leary (1937 – 2019)

What the Day Gives by Quaker poet Jeanne Lohmann (1923 – 2016),

“Suddenly, sun. Over my shoulder
in the middle of gray November
what I hoped to do comes back,
asking.

Across the street the fiery trees
hold onto their leaves,
red and gold in the final months
of this unfinished year,
they offer blazing riddles..

In the frozen fields of my life
there are no shortcuts to spring,
but stories of great birds in migration
carrying small ones on their backs,
predators flying next to warblers
they would, in a different season, eat.

Stunned by the astonishing mix in this uneasy world
that plunges in a single day from despair
to hope and back again, I commend my life
to Ruskin’s difficult duty of delight,
and to that most beautiful form of courage,
to be happy.”

“As long as coal miners die young and in agony so that we can have cheap electricity; so long as farm workers and their children become desperately ill because of exposure to deadly chemicals that help make our food cheaper; as long as workers at our favourite ‘big box’ store can be forced to work overtime without pay and to skip lunch breaks so that we can consume cheap consumer goods, goods which are manufactured by people whose working conditions are even more horrible – we are complicit, whether actively or passively. As Abraham Heschel, the great Jewish thinker and scholar, observed, we live in a world where “few are guilty, but all are responsible.” I am not free until you are free; and an injury to one is really an injury to all. This is what ‘community’ really means.”
Unitarian Universalist minister Aaron McEmrys

“The people never got used to Egypt. They never felt they belonged there.
They never said, “They are the masters and we are the slaves and that’s the way it is.”
So when Moses came and told them that they were going to leave, they believed him.
Everyone has their Egypt. You’ve got to know who you are and what are your limitations. But heaven forbid to make peace with them.
The soul within you knows no limits.”
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

From Earth Pilgrim by Satish Kumar,
“My life is an unending pilgrimage – I have no destination. Touching the earth – being connected to the soil, being mindful of every step – is how I practice eco-spirituality. Walking in the wild is my meditation. Walking in nature is my prayer, my peace and my solitude. Breathing, I inhale the air, which sustains me and connects me to all life.
Dartmoor is my temple and my church – a glorious cathedral of nature – that is millions of years old. It was formed by the powers of geological time and the generosity of nature. I come here for the breath of fresh air, the smell of the wet grass, the coolness of water and the purity of rocks.
I often make my pilgrimage to Wistman’s Wood, high up on the eastern moor. It’s an ancient oak grove that Druids made their place of worship thousands of years ago – the name Wistman’s Wood means ‘Wise man’s Wood’. The trees here hold firm to the earth to show us the resilience of life at high altitude, six hundred metres above sea level on the windy moors. They grow through massive slabs of granite.
Local myths and legends speak of ‘nature spirits’ inhabiting these woods. When everything looks dry and dormant, lichen and moss thrive. Life is vibrant here. One species of lichen that lives in this wood can be found nowhere else on earth. It is exquisite, a vital link in the interconnectedness of all living things.
These woods are sparse now. Once, much of the moor was covered in oak. Now there are only remnants of the ancient forest – the wood’s aura of light and shade. It is a place of mystery, memory and meaning, and I feel at one with this primeval paradise.
I find these trees loving, compassionate, still, unambitious and enlightened. In eternal meditation they give pleasure to a pilgrim, shade to a deer, berries to a bird, beauty to their surroundings, health to their neighbours, branches for fire and leaves to the soil. They ask nothing in return, in total harmony with the wind and the rain. The trees are my mantra, my poem and my prayer. Through them, I learn about unconditional love and generosity.
Mistletoe – a sacred plant – grows high on the trees when everything else is dormant. It is a celestial gift, the marvel of life in the darkness of winter. There is a symbiosis between the thrush and this plant. The mistle thrush’s song signals love as a biological imperative. Give the gift of kisses under mistletoe and your love will be eternal.
The Buddha would sit under a tree for hours in his renowned posture, touching the earth with the fingertips of his right hand. This symbolizes reverence for the earth and recognition that everything – our body, our knowledge and wisdom – comes from and returns to the earth. Someone once asked the Buddha from whom he learnt the virtue of forgiveness. The Buddha pointed towards the earth. That became his famous posture and gesture.
The oak wood below, lightning above and thunder all around, are part of the great mystery of nature. All the science, philosophy and poetry of the world put together cannot explain the ultimate meaning of existence. And I am happy to live with this mystery.”

“Emptiness. How unnerving emptiness can be when we see it as a lack. Empty time, empty space: our instinct is to fill them. Accepting emptiness, resting in it, we can see that emptiness is just another word for potential. In an empty place, there is room for growth. The first step is to accept the emptiness, just as it is.” Liz Proctor

From The Prophet by Khalil Gibran,
“Beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes
and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.”

Ancestral Wisdom, Present Guidance by Rozella Haydee White,

“Have you ever struggled with knowing who you are? Have you ever wondered what steps to take next in life or in love? Have you ever felt like you were stumbling around in the dark, trying to figure out which way to go? Have you ever felt disconnected from yourself and others?

There have been so many times in my life that I’ve experienced these things. Going through a divorce, battling depression, failing out of college, losing loved ones, watching plans I made disintegrate before my very eyes. All of these things left me reeling. I lost my sense of who I was (or who I thought I was) and felt like my ability to make any good decision was destroyed.

During these moments and others like it, I found myself in need of guidance. At one point I would have said that I needed someone to tell me what to do next. Just give me the right answer or show me the pathway and order my steps.

However, I soon realized that this was not what I truly needed. I didn’t need guidance that told me just what decision to make or what steps to take.

I needed guidance that led me into the depths of my soul and my body. I needed guidance that was otherworldly, leading me on a journey that revealed the wisdom I was seeking. Much like the journey that George Bailey took in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, I needed guidance that showed me the truth of who I was, the reality of who I am, and the power of who I could be.

For much of my life, I tried the guidance of this world; guidance that came from intellect and from well-meaning folks who did not embody my lived reality. I found myself shifting and sifting through the advice and the information, struggling to make a connection with the guidance that I was given or pointed towards. None of it fit or seemed relevant to who I was or what I needed. I came to understand that the guidance I was seeking was one that tapped into the spirits of my ancestors: guidance that flowed from the women who came before me – Black and Brown women who were descendants of the Atlantic slave trade. Women whose bodies ended up in the Caribbean and on the southeastern shores of what came to be known as the United States of America. Women who faced every form of violence against their minds, hearts, bodies, and souls. Women who understood that life was more than what the eye could see. Women who refused to believe that their identities, experiences, and bodies were less than human, less than love, less than divine.

I needed and am continually in need of guidance that flows out of the embodied experiences of these women, guidance that taps into supernatural energy and reminds me of the power, wisdom, and love that are imprinted in the code of my DNA.

This world would have us believe that guidance and wisdom are rooted in the intellect and mind. However, our ancestral stories – if we take the time to listen and learn from them – show us that guidance and wisdom are rooted in our bodies: in our hearts and guts and limbs. This guidance is encoded in every nook and cranny of our physical beings and wants to make its way into our beliefs and behaviours.

Tapping into this guidance is a form of prayer. It requires stillness and deep listening. It requires care and attention to be paid to one’s physical form. It asks the question, “How is it with your soul?” and waits for the answer. It leads you to bear witness to your whole self – to your mind, body, heart, and soul.

Prayer is not about what you offer. It’s about what you receive. Prayer invites us into Holy space and time that transcends this space and time. Prayer has the power to access deep wisdom and life-giving guidance that the Divine wants to share with us; wisdom and guidance that is informed by the long line of people who have come before us. Their experiences, their struggles, their joys, their faith all teach us something about ourselves. When we don’t take the time to listen and reflect, we miss a part of our story.

I invite you to tap into the guidance that awaits us all.

Who are the women in your life who have come before you?
What are their stories?
How did they embody their truth?
Where in your body do you feel this truth?
What is the Holy One revealing to you when you listen to and learn from this truth?

May you listen and listen deeply to the guidance and wisdom that is aching to be made known, guidance and wisdom that you carry in your body.
May this guidance and wisdom remind you of who and whose you are.
May this guidance and wisdom reveal that you are not alone.”

Beannacht by John O’Donohue, written for his mother Josie,
“On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the curach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.”