The Bay area where I live in northern California has recently experienced many mini-earthquakes, startling moments where the earth shifts almost imperceptibly. But it’s still an unsettling reminder that the ground beneath our feet may not be so solid. It sparks terror for a second: we’ve all seen photos of terrible disasters, and the largest magnitude of the 50 quakes scientists recorded was 4.2, a seismic shock. This week, an unusual synchronicity: the tremblors occurred as I was reflecting on the readings for the Feast of the Presentation, or Candlemas day.
I’ve always liked the image of that custom which goes back centuries: people who lived long before electricity bringing the year’s supply of candles to church for a blessing, then processing home afterwards, light spilling into dark, narrow, medieval pathways. They brought not only the light of Christ, but the powerful reminder: “you are the light of the world.” So too, life resumes after a quake swarm, stability and routine returning. People hug their kids slightly tighter, drop them at school, go to work, keep the day’s commitments. Quiet, dim lights perhaps, but lights nonetheless. People carry their candles within, splintering the darkness of whatever home or workplace they enter. Perhaps it’s habit, or one would like to think, a deeper trust.
What convictions can’t be shaken? I find these in re-reading Gregory Boyle’s Cherished Belonging, about his work with the homies of dangerous gang territory in Los Angeles.Father Boyle sees these tattooed, once violent people, many with long prison records, as precious. He is sensitive to the terrible trauma of their childhoods. After all, he reasons, all God can see is beloved children. The implication is fairly clear: if he can do that with them, then maybe we can handle our annoying colleague or grimly sulking teenager. I like to put his profound insights into 7-syllable mantras—easier that way to carry them through the day and remember in a moment of quiet or screaming need. I hope he won’t mind my condensing his style (eliminating “the” or “a”) but these are the portable versions, the moveable feasts.
We belong to Beloved.
Walk in constant reminder.
Who knows what people carry?
Tender container: kindness.
Connective tissue of wounds.
We’re offered joy, not judgment.
Hold, welcome pain: to teach us.
Live always in forever.
Gratitude practice shifts brain.
Goodness: house we never left.
God wants us to be joyful.
With such core beliefs, we have strong anchors, even in trembling. A brief reminder of life’s fragility may help us cherish every breath even more.
Kathy Coffey 