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News and Ideas from around the Anglican World |
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September 2005
A profound lesson from an unlikely classroom
Jerry Salloam
At times, life delights. At other times it sucks. We applaud the former experience. We work hard to avoid the latter. The undeniable fact is that life is no perpetual picnic for anyone. Life’s rude habit of periodically inserting both the unwanted and the unexpected into our lives inevitably ends all picnics. And each time this happens, we are reminded of a truth, so easily forgotten, that nobody has much control over those elements within life that really matter.
Not seldom do we learn life’s lessons through long and circuitous wanderings. Some wanderings take us through dark and murky waters. Others take us through bright flowering fields. Our tendency is to believe God is present more in the former place than in the latter. But experience teaches that He frequently shows up in unexpected places, especially in places of uncertainty and fear. During times of adversity, more than during times of ease and prosperity, God’s precious whispers seem more audible to the human heart.
The night following my release from hospital was different from all previous nights. Unable to sleep, I opened the curtains to look out at the heavens. Thick clouds that had brought rain and poor visibility to our region for many days had parted to reveal a wide band of clear sky and a rich heavenly tapestry. Low in the northeast, a waning crescent moon had recently risen over the ocean, its light displaying a clearly readable letter “C”. Throughout the cloudless band of blackness, myriads of stars set in place by God’s fingers and given distinctive names by Him testified to the Creator’s extravagance, meticulous care and interest in all things.
But all elements of the scene framed by that window appeared to be but background for a single central element within my field of vision. It was a clearly discernible grouping of stars whose precise positions formed the shape of a giant celestial cup. Given the month and the time of observation, the cup was upright. As the night progressed, the cup rotated slowly. In fact, the whole of the celestial canopy was pivoting such that the entire stellar world would be upside-down in 12 hours. Nothing in my field of vision would remain upright. Nothing was fixed. Nothing, that is, except one single star about which all other stars appeared to pivot. It was the North Star. Within a world that turns upside-down every day, there is a single point of light whose position is central, fixed and certain, and from whose position I am able to determine my place.
And so it was on that night, when, for a brief moment, the heavens became my classroom. The lessons gleaned from them became God’s whispers to me. These whispers conveyed the consoling message that foundational to all reality are elements of order, power, extravagance, design and beauty, elements which all reflect the very nature of the One who brought all things into existence. Peering into the heavens was a glimpse into a Glory far greater than the heavens. And so, deep within my spirit, though but for a moment, I sensed that ultimately, ALL is well.
All is well because what I cannot control, namely the fundamental fabric of creation, is under the full control and watchful eye of One far greater than I. All is well because that meticulous care so lavishly applied to the heavens is also applied to all who occupy the Cosmos. All is well because central to a world that regularly turns itself upside down is a reliable fixed point of Light whose position enables me to determine mine. All is well, even when circumstances nudge us to believe all is NOT well, when our world turns upside down, when suicide bombers spread carnage through a crowded bus or when a catastrophic tsunami wave causes unimaginable human misery. And all is well, even when a necrotic appendage tucked deep within my body suddenly chooses to misbehave during a romantic vacation trip to Ireland.
Not because I am well, but rather because GOD is alive and well, ALL is well!
at St. George’s Lowville in Ontario. He is also a part-time lecturer in Geography at Wilfrid Laurier University. Jerry and his wife Nancy live in West Montrose, Ontario. |
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It
was to be our anniversary celebration. This special occasion
demanded a special place. And so, my wife and I traveled to County
Kerry on Ireland’s beautiful west coast. For one week, our vacation
went as planned. But on the very day of our anniversary, an
unexpected medical emergency converted me in hours from an
enthusiastic tourist to a reluctant patient. A snappy pair of Tommy
Hilfiger designer shorts were exchanged for one of those infamous
wrap-around, not-so-well-designed hospital gowns (which never fully
wrap around) and, for the next 6 days, I abandoned gourmet meals for
mountains of green Jell-O.
Jerry
Salloum is Associate Priest |
Copyright The Anglican Planet © 2005 |