The Path to Contentment

This week's quote, by Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher, Marcus Aurelius, really speaks to my condition, as the Quakers say. It reads, "Think of what you have, rather than of what you lack! Of the things you have, select the best, and then reflect how eagerly you would have sought them if you did not have them."

The basic idea is about appreciating what we have, rather than continually chasing after what we don't. To appreciate what we have, we need to be awake and aware of the multiplicity of good things all around us. For example, I just (a couple of minutes ago) took the above photo of this week's postcard using my iPhone and sent it to myself via e-mail. A few seconds later, it was in my inbox and I was able to download it to my laptop, then select it and put it into this blogpost.

Which today, it is tempting to take completely for granted. But honestly - wow! At times like this, I am stunned by the miracle of modern computer technology. That I am able to take a photo of a physical object using my phone, and can then edit said photo, before sending it instantly to my inbox, download it, and use it. I am old enough to appreciate what a miracle this is. To realise how completely impossible it would have been in the days before the IT revolution. 

And that is one small and fairly frivolous example. I could offer a multitude of others - the instant connectivity that mobile phones bring us; the blue sky, white clouds and large and magnificent tree outside my window; the fact that I will be going to visit my two beautiful grandsons later this morning; that my husband has made a wonderful recovery from major surgery. There is so very much to appreciate. So very much to be grateful for. I realise how very blessed, how very privileged I am, to be me.

A wise Unitarian, John Naish, once wrote, "Enoughness is the path to contentment." And I think that is the nub of Marcus Aurelius's message. At times like this, I remember a prayer quoted by Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, My Grandfather's Blessings, which I have shared on here before:

Days pass and the years vanish

and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing 

and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence,

like lightning, illuminates

the darkness in which we walk. 

Help us to see, wherever we gaze,

that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God,

will reach out for holiness and

exclaim in wonder,

"How filled with awe is this place

and we did not know it."

May we all have the sight to perceive and appreciate the everyday miracles in our lives. Amen

Miracles in the Silence

 The 19th century German novelist Wilhelm Raabe wrote, "The greatest miracles take place in great silence." 

Hmm. Not so sure I agree with that, especially at this time of year. I am one hundred per cent sure that the miracle that was the birth of Jesus did not take place in "great silence".  Mary was an ordinary human woman, and would have felt all the pain and travail of labour - I'm sure she would not have suffered in silence. And Joseph would have breathed awkward words, intended to be of comfort. The animals would have been moving around in their stable and outside, perhaps the sounds of distant Bethlehem would have been heard, or the calls of night birds and animals.

The birth of every child is a miracle. I have been through it twice and I have never lost my sense of awe and wonder. That a single act of love can lead to the growth of another human being over nine months, changing from a few cells into a fully-functioning human baby. That my body provided everything the growing foetus needed to nourish it. That I was able to endure the pain of labour because I knew (hoped desperately) that in the end, I would have a living, healthy baby. That miracle happened twice for me.

Our world is full of miracles, if we have eyes to see. As many of you know, I walk regularly in Salcey Forest and am able to observe at first hand the miracle that is the annual cycle of the seasons. At the moment, most of the trees are bare of leaves, which have formed a wet slush underfoot and the bushes have been nearly denuded of berries by the hungry birds. But after Christmas I will soon see shoots of new green, the annual miracle of renewal. By March, the Forest will have transformed into a burgeoning green miracle. Then in the Autumn, the trees will remember the necessity of a season of dormancy and will begin to shed their leaves once more.

Miracles do not only happen in nature. How we interact with each other can result in changes of heart and mind - surely a minor miracle in itself.

But I do believe that *appreciation* of each miracle, as it happens, does take place in "great silence" - that moment of awe and wonder when we take in the miracle that it taking, has taken place.

I love the prayer, quoted by Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, My Grandfather's Blessings:

Days pass and the years vanish

and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing 

and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence,

like lightning, illuminates

the darkness in which we walk. 

Help us to see, wherever we gaze,

that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God,

will reach out for holiness and

exclaim in wonder,

"How filled with awe is this place

and we did not know it."

May we all have the sight to perceive the everyday miracles in our lives. Amen