Recently, when I was in Illinois for a family event, my brother Jed and I made our way to Graham’s, a favorite chocolate shop about a block from the Episcopalian church we attended when we were young. Priorities sorted, we stopped at St. Mark’s after an ice cream. Walking into the chapel from a sunny day to a familiar silence and the dim dust mote-y light floating through the stained glass, I was thrown back in time. From the cylindrical ruby red light fixture hanging in front of the altar to the pews and kneelers, there was no perceptible change.
Growing up, two of my three brothers were acolytes and were usually paired together when they served. Both were responsible, but one tended to be more punctual than the other. Jed kept us guessing about whether he’d forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere, eventually showing up, but often not before he’d raised our father’s ire. Ken was always punctual.
Jed shared a memory; the vestry where my brothers got ready for Sunday service was not well lit. One Sunday, Jed walked into the dark vestry in the nick of time to find Ken talking to the mirror, “There you are! I thought I was going to have to do this whole thing by myself!” Jed said, “Who are you talking to?” Startled, Ken turned to him and repeated, “There you are! I thought I was going to have to do this whole thing by myself!” We had a good laugh about that.
When you look in the mirror, who do you see? Is it a good encounter? Do you wince or exchange smiles? Have you grown so accustomed to the person you see that you barely look at her or him anymore? Are there harsh judgments about new lines and perceived imperfections, or do you meet eyes that light up with the joy of seeing an old friend?
What we tell the person in the mirror is what we bring into our bodies, into our days, into our lives and into our world. Can you look long and lovingly enough to catch a flicker of the light you carry, a light that would astonish you if you could see how bright and beautiful you are? There you are!
Divine Ready 