The Still Point

A Time of Meditation and Reflection

The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper Fifteen

 

... At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance...

 

T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton

            Peace on each one who comes in need; 

            Peace on each one who comes in joy. 

            Peace on each one who offers prayers; 

            Peace on each one who offers song. 

            Peace of the Maker, Peace of the Son, 

            Peace of the Spirit, the Triune One.

Opening Prayer

Praise to you, God, for all your work among us. Yours is the vigor in creation, yours is the impulse in our new discoveries. Make us adventurous, yet reverent and hopeful in all we do. Amen.

The Gospel  John 6:51-58

Jesus said, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”

Poem: “Love Song”                                      by  Carol Muske-Dukes (b. 1945)

Love comes hungry to anyone's hand.

I found the newborn sparrow next to

the tumbled nest on the grass. Bravely

 

opening its beak.  Cats circled, squirrels.

I tried to set the nest right but the wild

birds had fled. The knot of pinfeathers

sat in my hand and spoke.  Just because

I've raised it by touch, doesn't mean it

follows. All day it pecks at the tin image of 

 

a faceless bird. It refuses to fly,

though I've opened the door. What 

sends us to each other? He and I

had a blue landscape, a village street,

some poems, bread on a plate. Love

was a camera in a doorway, love was

 

a script, a tin bird. Love was faceless,

even when we'd memorized each other's 

lines. Love was hungry, love was faceless,

the sparrow sings, famished, in my hand.

                                                                                   

Meditation

Carol Muske-Dukes writes beautifully about a eucharistic moment with a baby sparrow who has been left without a home and without its parents.  The sensorial connection (touch, taste, sight) between human and bird becomes an intimate metaphor for the soul and the divine.  The sparrow, like our own souls, yearns for love, and yet pecks away at cheap imitations of what it is really hungering for.  At the end, the sparrow is still left famished, and many of us probably have firsthand experiences of failing to keep a rescued animal alive.  And yet, for the speaker, something has changed, and we can imagine her continuing to care for this sparrow, and to seek other opportunities for nurturing and feeding God's creatures.

Bird crumbs and eucharistic wafers can seem like unsubstantial ways of satisfying literal or spiritual hunger, and yet the simplicity of these forms can sometimes do more than, say, artisan loaves of bread.  Lauren Winner has written about how poetry changed her mind about the form of the simple wafer, and you can read her essay here. 

Today's Gospel reading continues Jesus's "Bread of Life" speech, this time establishing for his all-too-literal listeners the symbols and meaning of the Eucharist.  

Questions for Reflection

• Who do you most identify with in Carol Muske-Dukes's poem? The sparrow or the speaker?  

• In her essay (linked above), Lauren Winner talks about the eucharistic host as a full moon.  What other metaphors or images help you explain what the Eucharist means to you?

• In our ongoing efforts to seek opportunities to care for our unsheltered neighbors, how does this poem give you direction or inspiration?

Prayers (add personal intersessions as you pray)

For your love and goodness,

we give you thanks, O God.

Let us bless the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

Give thanks to our God, who is gracious,

whose mercy endures for ever.

 God of love,

grant our prayer.

God of grace,

you hear our prayer.

Lord, in your mercy,

hear our prayer.

Lord, hear our prayer

and let our cry come to you.

Now to God who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or conceive, by the power which is at work among us, be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all ages. Amen.         

Accept our thanks for all you have done, O God. Our hands were empty, and you filled them.

 May Christ’s holy, healing, enabling Spirit be with us every step of the way and be our guide as our road changes and turns, and the blessing of God our Creator, Redeemer, and Giver of life be among us now and remain with us forever. Amen.

 Reflections this month offered by: Matt Bentley

Artwork Cover: Wheat Field on a Summer Day, Aleko