(Advent Reflection on December 11, 2004 at La Casa de Maria in Montecito, California)
As I sit quietly on a bench, listening and looking to be aware of God’s presence, I gaze out in front of me, awed by the immeasurable layers of depth between me and the mountains in the distance. If I were to move from this bench just slightly left here on the lawn, or somewhat to the right into the forest, forward to the retreat house patio, backward onto the driveway, beyond to the foothills, a bit higher, or lower, just a tad diagonally… I can see there are an infinite number of perspectives. In each position, I’d have a different vista, a changed view, another angle on God’s creation. Each would reveal a new insight into God’s unfathomable self. And yet, this is only one scene in a world of countless places. I am invited to spend eternity “changing benches,”—enjoying God’s creation and beauty, listening and looking, gaining greater understanding of who the Spirit is, and developing more acute consciousness of the Divine presence.
There is an amazing diversity in this sacred space: multiple colors of green in the plant life, many types of plants and flowers and trees, a butterfly flitting by on this winter day (only in California?!), at least a dozen types of birds flying above me in only a few minutes’ time. I am awestruck by the variety of colors and sights, leaf shapes and blossom styles, forms of life in this small span of vision, in this one habitat. God’s creativity is incredible and praiseworthy. My breath is taken away by it, and in that moment of wordless worship, God invites me: “Be a co-creator with me. Join me as a co-collaborator. The possibilities are endless!”
Even the voices of the birds are diverse. Behind me in the oak that forms a semi-circular embrace of my bench, there is the soft cooing of doves. Two large crows fly overhead rapidly, cawing cacophonously, chasing and agitating each other. Across the lawn, high on the trunk of a sycamore tree, there is the constant, persistent tapping of a woodpecker. In the bushes around the lawn, there are sweet melodies of songbirds hidden by foliage. Jays add loud, jarring voices and robins sing beautifully. So many sounds and volumes—each calls for a different response.
God, too, speaks in varied ways, sometimes persistently, repetitively tapping for our attention. At other times there is the comforting voice of the Holy Spirit dove, cooing to remind us He is holding us in the strength of an oak’s rooted, timeless embrace. Occasionally we find ourselves in the unpleasant, conflicted dialog of chasing and being chased, agitated and arguing, disagreeing with God and not wanting to hear the irritating crow-cawing voice that cannot be avoided or ignored. God’s voice may be jarring like the Jay, surprising us with the dissonance of beautiful blue feathers and less attractive sounds; the Holy Spirit may bring great joy with the soft words or loud tunes that mirror the songbirds and robins, visible or invisible, but irresistibly present nonetheless. I am invited to listen. Which voice today? What volume? How does it communicate God’s message of the moment to me? Am I paying attention and distinguishing God’s song from the polyphony around me? Am I hearing? The Creator is composing a piece for two, a duet, initiating musical dialog. The Divine Composer and Lyricist is ever calling, “Respond, whether descant or harmony. Pay attention, listen, take note, and answer.”
In the final moments here on the bench, I look down and am startled to see the perfect carving of a star on the inside of an uncapped acorn. Who knew it was there, hidden away? The Creator’s twinkle is stamped in this unlikely spot, the inside of a seed pod. Casting a wider gaze across the ground at my feet, I notice others. Some have imprinted X’s rather than stars, and a few have only the hint of a dark silhouetted star shape, no indentation at all. Why? What makes the difference? In comparing the three images I note that they are on acorns of different sizes. The largest, most mature acorns have already “popped” the seeds and so have a deeply carved, fully developed, cut-out star stamped on the inner surface. Medium-sized acorns have the “X” partially imprinted. Immature, small acorns have a simple, shadowy hint of a star painted on the surface. What a wonderful 3-D, time-lapse snapshot series of the growth process.
God’s care in designing the development of the inner star of the acorn, the sign of generativity and completion of purpose, is a reminder of the divine plan for each of us. We, too, are in process, on a developmental journey, moving through stages that have been designed by the Creator of the Universe. The Designer is creating a star inside each of us. As we grow and become more like Christ according to the Artist’s timing, the covering, the “cap,” the mask, will be removed and the inner self will be revealed. The beauty—the completed star inside—will no longer be hidden or incomplete or simply a shadowy hint of a shape, but will be visible from the outside. The seed will be released to produce new life. That new life provides shelter for the birds that sing praises to God and remind us of the many ways the Holy One speaks to us. It also offers refreshing shade over the bench on which travelers may rest, reflect, and pay attention to God’s presence in the world, seeing (a) the creation—an infinite variety which reflects the character of God, (b) the Creator—with whom we may join in dialog, collaboration, and creativity, and (c) self—from a new perspective, a different vantage point, a moment in time along the developmental journey to wholeness.
