Proper Six 06/16/24
The Still Point
A Time of Meditation and Reflection
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper Six
... 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 Mark 4:26-34
Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.” He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.” With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.
Poem: “The Greatest Grandeur” by Pattiann Rogers
Some say it’s in the reptilian dance
of the purple-tongued sand goanna,
for there the magnificent translation
of tenacity into bone and grace occurs.
And some declare it to be an expansive
desert—solid rust-orange rock
like dusk captured on earth in stone—
simply for the perfect contrast it provides
to the blue-grey ridge of rain
in the distant hills.
Some claim the harmonics of shifting
electron rings to be most rare and some
the complex motion of seven sandpipers
bisecting the arcs and pitches
of come and retreat over the mounting
hayfield.
Others, for grandeur, choose the terror
of lightning peals on prairies or the tall
collapsing cathedrals of stormy seas,
because there they feel dwarfed
and appropriately helpless; others select
the serenity of that ceiling/cellar
of stars they see at night on placid lakes,
because there they feel assured
and universally magnanimous.
But it is the dark emptiness contained
in every next moment that seems to me
the most singularly glorious gift,
that void which one is free to fill
with processions of men bearing burning
cedar knots or with parades of blue horses,
belled and ribboned and stepping sideways,
with tumbling white-faced mimes or companies
of black-robed choristers; to fill simply
with hammered silver teapots or kiln-dried
crockery, tangerine and almond custards,
polonaises, polkas, whittling sticks, wailing
walls; that space large enough to hold all
invented blasphemies and pieties, 10,000
definitions of god and more, never fully
filled, never.
Meditation
One way to approach reading the Gospel for today, particularly in pairing with Pattiann Rogers' poem, is to consider how Jesus is speaking about the spaciousness of the kingdom of God. There is first an awareness that the space the kingdom of God inhabits is expanding outward, growing in all directions the way a plant grows as the earth "produces of itself". Then we get a sense of the intimate vastness of this space, how it is both minute like the mustard seed and all encompassing like the greatest of shrubs that has room enough for all the birds of the woodland; that space that is, as Pattiann Rogers closes her poem, "never fully filled, never."
The juxtaposition of this intimate immensity gives us a still point to gaze and wonder at how we experience God both inwardly and outwardly. It offers us imagery of how God is active in God's Eucharistic intimacy at the cellular level and simultaneously active at the universal level, a power more immense than any worry, or wound, or woe we could conjure.
These readings invite us further into an examination of how we inhabit space in our lives. During this season of LGBTQIA+ Pride and commemoration of the occasion of Juneteenth, Christians have an opportunity to consider how we hold space for ourselves and our neighbors for living into the fullness of authentic holy identities; how those of us who belong to historically privileged groups occupy space in ways that can be violent, burdensome, or otherwise harmful - whether that occupation is conscious or not - and how we can seek justice-centered ways of inhabiting space graciously, faithfully, and humbly in the days to come.
On this day, may we come to know more deeply the immense intimacy of God at work in our selves and our lives, and may we live graciously, humbly, and authentically into the kin-dom that is the just inheritance of all creation. AMEN.
Questions for Reflection
- Consider the intimacy of a tiny mustard seed which contains all that is necessary for a tremendous thriving organism. Where in your life have you sensed the intimacy of God? Where in your life have you sensed the immensity and grandeur of God?
- What is the difference between "occupying" space and "inhabiting" space? What is the difference in direction, in attitude, in intention?
- What does it look like for you to have the space to be fully and authentically yourself? What does it look like for you to hold space for others to be fully and authentically themselves?
Prayers
We bring before God someone whom we have met or remembered today
We bring to God someone who is hurting tonight and needs our prayer
We bring to God a troubled situation in our world
We bring to God, silently, someone whom we find hard to forgive or trust
We bring ourselves to God that we might grow in generosity of spirit, clarity of mind, and warmth of affection
We offer our thanks to God for the blessings in our lives
We name before God those who have died.
Gracious God, you hear all our prayers: those we speak aloud, those we hold in our hearts, and those prayers for which we have no words. Hear the prayers of your people, and grant them as may be best for us, for the sake of your holy name. 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: Katie Schmidt
