☕️ Moments

A Saturday Caesura

I’ve not been very consistent with Saturday Caesura’s over the summer months, partly, I suppose, because as a teacher, the entire summer feels like a pause, a chance to slow down and breathe differently. The rhythms shift to something less structured, less demanding, and in that shift, my thoughts and words have floated along, loitering somewhere in the shallow backwaters away from the currents that are actually going somewhere. In short, I’ve felt unproductive.

I want to write something profound, something that has dug deep into my thoughts and soul and won’t let go until I’ve word-wrestled it onto paper, but I have only mundane thoughts — nothing that seems even remotely important in the grande scheme of the world and of life. How do I write faithfully without being trite? What if my words are as empty as they feel?

The reality is that my thoughts and words are often trite and empty because I can be so focused on productivity that I lose the value of rest and reflection and observation and lengthy pondering. Our propensity to equate success with productivity has actually robbed us of meaning, purpose, and relationship.

Last week I joined a few other hikers to attempt to summit two significant mountains in four days. Once we were up high enough to assess the first peak, we realized that it was not feasible within the time frame we had allotted. It was hard to walk away from that goal because something within us wanted to say that we had climbed both peaks. That would have been productive, successful, noteworthy.

What we did instead was climb the second mountain and spend the majority of the day wandering open alpine spaces with time to sit at the peak and simply revel in the expansive view. There was time to notice rocks and lichen and resilient alpine plants. There was time to pause and breathe differently. I didn’t leave that mountaintop with any profound thoughts or wizened words, but I did leave knowing that those moments mattered.

“All we have is this moment, but what we do with each of these slow, present moments will add up to something.” (Shawn Smucker*)

May you live this day, this week, knowing that each moment is a gift, whether it is one spent “getting things done” or spent resting, reflecting, healing, grieving, rejoicing, praying, learning, leaning…

*This quote is from Shawn’s August 5, 2021 newsletter. You can read more of his writing at shawnsmucker.com

☕️ Small Things that Matter

A Saturday Caesura

Totally random and completely unrelated to anything else in my day, I went to bed last night thinking about cotter pins. Weird, right? I mean, who thinks about cotter pins when you aren’t in immediate need of one? I do, apparently.

Whether large or small, split, hairpin or bowtie, cotter pins perform a purpose more significant than a simple piece of bent metal might indicate. They hold things in place, keep things connected, provide a final measure to prevent things from flying apart, coming undone, falling off. I doubt that any farm could function well without a few cotter pins involved somewhere.

What if we used our words like cotter pins?

Image: http://www.thomasnet.com

☕️ When Words are More Than Just Words

A Saturday Caesura

What if words were more than sounds strung together, more than marks neatly divided into varying units on a page, more than a means to an end.

What if they became fully animate, took on substance and form like miniature people who could rally their synonyms and join hands and encircle you in a gentle embrace.

What if they invited all their like-minded relatives and pieced together a quilt of protection and comfort for just that moment when you most needed it.

Perhaps a few wise, discerning words would forge themselves in a sword capable of cutting through thickly matted lies, of slicing cords of fear and hacking away shackles of shame. They wouldn’t be fickle words, these defenders of truth, but words tried and tested, refined and strong.

Some words would be playful, like clowns, and dance and tickle and entertain. Gentle, warm words could soothe like a cup of hot tea on a cold day.

No doubt there would be those words bent towards dissention and malevolence. Rough, shabby and too arrogant to notice or care, they scold and scald — or snap, bite, slash and stab. Gaping wounds, deep scars, and wearied hearts are evidence that they’ve either passed by or still lurk, hungry, in the shadows.

Thankfully, more words come marching along, grim-faced and determined. They assemble a triage team and set to work bandaging, repairing, relieving, healing. Their work never ends and they never stop. They are faithful words.

Words are actions. They are causes with real effects. They carry weight far greater than nanograms of ink or graphite on a page. They may seem devoid of mass when they leave a person’s mouth, but they can slam into a life and completely destroy it, or they can huddle shoulder-to-shoulder and somehow form a solid foundation on which to stand when the ground is sinking sand. Words have strengh and power.

So when I think about words, as I have this week, I marvel that God chose to identify himself as the Word. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” writes the apostle John. “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” The incarnate Word is the epitomy of action.

Since we are created in the image of God, it seems to me that our ability to use words is embedded in that image. To speak and write words as if there is not a greater Word is to be but a sounding gong or clanging symbol — noise without meaning or purpose. If God can animate his Word in flesh and blood to show the depth of his love and commitment to the creation he spoke into existence, then my words, in his hands, can be an extension of the incarnation.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart, (which often end up as words on a page), be pleasing in your sight (and in your ears), Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer, the Word of Life.

☀️ The Silent One

A Sunday Doxology

Praise to you, the Word,

whose words are full of life

and healing, wisdom and

truth.

You speak words that cannot

be destroyed by lies or censorship

or even by time.

How amazing it is then,

that before your accusers,

you chose silence.

Not because you were guilty

with no adequate words of defence,

but because you were simply

exercising restraint,

a silent surrender

to fulfilling words already spoken.

Thank you.