Catch Every Rainbow

Catch Every Rainbow

Guest Writer: Isabel Anders

“The heav’ns are not too high,

God’s praise may thither fly;

the earth is not too low,

God’s praises there may grow.”—George Herbert (1593—1633).

shannon seibert

We don’t get direct sun in our windows every day in the Pacific Northwest. But on days that it streams brilliantly through my den window, my crystal snowflake-shaped suncatcher turns it into multiple rainbows on my walls. Each one, to me, is a harbinger of hope.

Both sun and rain come to us free of charge—from forces, and perhaps beings—beyond our immediate perception (Matthew 5:45). We are, as humans, not “too low” to receive their bounty (and sometimes their onslaught)—regardless of our deservingness. 

Even though we know there is no “high” or “low” in space as we now perceive it—it is all relational—the ancient images of light and darkness, sun and shadow (and many others) still speak to us on multiple levels. So it troubles me when popular trends co-opt these primordial, long-shared symbols and use them to keep others in or out of favor. We are better off allowing them to reveal to us our inner state of response to Spirit.

In my ongoing informal study of metaphor and religious language (following my graduate school thesis on the subject), I have consistently observed how stumbling upon just the right image, analogy, or picture reveals something about how we perceive reality. Perhaps also, there is the depth at which a metaphor reaches us.

Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote that metaphor aids us in the “before unapprehended relations of things” and can enhance our understanding of them. But sometimes, metaphor, the language of the parables, falls on deaf ears, as it did to many in Jesus’ audience. He explained to his disciples, his serious followers: “It has been given to you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 13:11)—thus implying that people would take his relatable illustrations on whatever level they could. 

We don’t need to consciously bring our philosophy with us to catch every rainbow, to feel the cleansing wash of summer rain, or to dance to whatever music fills our ears with delight. Even as we think we “get” the meaning of the forces around us on earth, there may be surprises when light “dawns” in our hearts—or rainbows reveal to us shades of meaning and response that earth itself endorses in receiving from the generous Sun.

“In our world,” said Eustace, “a star is a 

huge ball of flaming gas.” 

“Even in your world, my son, that is not 

what a star is, 

but only what it is made of.”

―C. S. Lewis in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Isabel Anders is the author of Becoming Flame, Spinning Straw, Weaving Gold, and Sing a Song of Six Birds (Mother Bilbee Tales). https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D53LDWQ8?psc=1

Isabel Anders

Joanna joannaseibert.com

Dolphins and Going Deeper

 Dolphins and Going Deeper

“This challenging time we are living through now may actually be a spiritual gift for us. Maybe the invitation from the Spirit within us is to see this time as a precious opportunity to go deeper, to discover a rich and wondrous world within us to be explored, with the Spirit as our guide.”—Br. Geoffrey Tristram SSJE. Society of St. John the Evangelist.

We rise early to get a good view of the pageantry of the sea, waking up at the Gulf of Mexico. We are not disappointed. The ocean is almost motionless, like a sheet of blue-green glass stretching as far as we can see in every direction. Only a few dolphins have been visible since we arrived. They come out in droves this morning. Finally, a huge dolphin from the pod comes too near the water’s edge. We worry he will beach on the sand, but he knows what he is doing. My husband first thinks he is a shark, but alas, he is the majestic black creature from the deep with sonar vision that we now see up close.

Why do I love dolphins so? They live predominantly beneath the surface and then rhythmically glide above the water in a circular dance movement, returning back down. They are the water ballet of the sea. We see them best when the waves are stilled, not choppy, as they are this early morning. 

As I read this morning’s words from Brother Tristram, I realize that the dolphins may be a metaphor for the journey of our soul, our path to the unconscious, the ground of our being, as the Spirit leads us to the Christ deep within us. Our journey is easier to observe if the waters of our lives are calm and still. When the waves are too high and the weather is stormy, the parts of ourselves that show us the path may be less visible.

 We must find a sacred place each day away from the choppy waters of our lives, where the sea is stilled. We do not necessarily have to be alone. We can find this place in community with spiritual friends. There, we are renewed and then return to the sea for new adventures. We also need to return to this place intermittently, even for brief moments, for renewal throughout the day. We can delve deeper each time, but we must always return to the surface to breathe.

Joanna Seibert  https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Lighting Candles and Saying Prayers in the Darkness Together

Lighting Candles and Saying Prayers in the Darkness Together

“If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me turn to night,’ darkness is not dark to you, O Lord; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.”—Psalm 139:11-12.

At the five o’clock contemporary service every Sunday night at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, the darkened nave is illuminated only by tealight candles on the altar in front of a large icon. After the usual Prayers of the People with a Leader and a Congregational response, the celebrant invites members of the congregation to come forward and light a candle in front of the altar as they offer a silent prayer of intercession. Tonight’s pianist plays music from the Taizé community or Celtic tradition, as almost all the members of the congregation come forward. 

While I remain seated behind my harp, I experience the scene as a Spirit-filled synthesis of corporate and individual intercessory prayer. I watch men and women, and sometimes children, walk silently up to light their taper and put it in an enormous earthenware bowl filled with sand. I know a few prayers that may be on some hearts. There are many people I do not know, much less what they are praying for, but I see faces displaying heartfelt emotion and sometimes silent tears. Even when I do not perceive their prayers, I can feel their power and maybe even their connection. There is a stream of people connecting to God in prayers for others, and sometimes for themselves.

The light from the many candles now brings brighter light to the church’s nave. The scene has become its own icon for teaching us what happens when we pray. Prayers germinate from the darkened nave and are born to transform the darkness into light. I remember that C. S. Lewis once wrote he “prayed not to change God, but to change himself.” These silent prayers being transported by candlelight are changing the appearance of the church and the pray-ers, and indeed, they are changing me.

Joanna  https://www.joannaseibert.com/