Gratitude: Seeing the Holy Amidst the Ordinary

              I believe living lives marked by gratefulness is an essential quality to develop in one’s Christian life. We are abundantly blessed. First and foremost, we are loved and forgiven by the eternal King and Creator of the world. However, in a world like ours, cultivating grateful lives and hearts can be an arduous, difficult and seemingly impossible task. We, instead, are so easily tempted to live lives of grasping, a constant "chasing after the wind" (Ecclesiastes 1:14: “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind”). Especially, for those of us in North America,  who call ourselves Christ-followers, we can become seduced into thinking as our wider North American culture thinks, wanting more and more. We need to get certain things: popularity, material possessions, or, for those of us in schooling, certain grades. This insidious desire for more necessitates that we become vigilant cultivators of gratefulness. Christ’s sacrifice calls and equips us to live differently. I would like to explore how gratefulness can be gardened and cultivated in our lives.
            The novel, Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, is a novel whose characters simply radiate gratefulness: In other words, Gilead oozes with gratefulness. This novel follows an elderly pastor as he prepares to die. He does so, by writing a book-length letter to his young son. Throughout this novel, its main character and speaker, the Reverend John Ames expresses gratefulness. For example, John Ames will often conclude ordinary and simple experiences about preparing dinner or watching his son play outdoors with the cat, Soapy, with the exclamation: “Ah, this world, this life.” This expression is as if to say “Thank you, Lord for this experience. For this, too, is a gift.”
          In one of these scenes, John Ames finds himself able to appreciate the holy within the ordinary task of construction. A local church in Gilead has been struck by lightning. John Ames and his father go to repair this church. Recounting this story later, John Ames is able to see holiness in the midst of an ordinary moment of repairing and constructing: “I remember my father down on his heels in the rain, water dripping from his hat, feeding me a biscuit from his scorched hand, with the old blackened wreck of a church behind him..........I took communion from my father’s hand. I remember it as communion, and I believe that’s what it was.” Because John Ames knows and appreciates the cost of Christ’s sacrifice, he is able to see a moment filled with brokenness (repairing the burned down church) as a beautiful, even holy moment. John Ames receives the ashy, broken morsel of bread from his father, himself a blackened and soot-covered man helping repair a broken church. In Gilead we are taught to see the world with John Ames’ eyes of gratefulness, able to see beauty in the broken.
          These eyes of gratefulness are the eyes with which we must learn to see the world. Gilead reads, in many ways, like a narrative prayer. In much the same way, Christians must live lives which amount to narrative prayers, filled with gratefulness. Practically, speaking I have found keeping a journal to be very helpful in fostering a spirit that is able to see one’s experiences with a grateful, even prayerful, spirit.

Awed Contentment:  A Poem and Reflection

                                             Here, There Are Blueberries 

                                                       by: Mary Szybist 

When I see the bright clouds, a sky empty of moon and stars, 

I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me. 

Here there are blueberries, what should I fear? 

Here there is bread in thick slices, of whom should I be afraid? 

Under the swelling clouds, we spread our blankets 

Here in this meadow, we open our baskets 

to unpack blueberries, whole bowls of them, 

berries not by the work of our hands, berries not by the work of our fingers. 

What taste the bright world has, whole fields 

without wires, the blackened moss, the clouds 

swelling at the edges of the meadow, and for this, 

I did nothing, not even wonder. 

You must live for something, they say. 

People don’t live just to keep on living 

But here in the quince tree, a sky bright and empty. 

Here there are blueberries, 

                   

Mary Szybist is an American poet and author of a fabulous book of religious poetry entitled Incarndine. The poem posted above “Here, there are blueberries” perfectly captures the awed contentment we humans ought to feel. It’s emphasis of Here in the poem’s title (and elsewhere) specifically captures the poet’s recollection of sharing blueberries whist enjoying the outdoors with a friend. The reason I like this particular poem so greatly is because it reads much like a modern-day psalm of praise and celebration. This poem focuses on a rather simple topic: food, blueberries specifically.  

I also love this poem for its fitting linkage with the Psalms of praise and celebration. By using the particular Psalms’ language, this poem beautifully echoes a myriad of different Psalms. The Psalms which I have taken notice of in this particular poem are: Psalm 8, Psalm 27 and Psalm 90. 
Psalm 8, for example, joyfully exclaims: "when I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” Likewise, in Mary Szybist’s poem “Here, there are blueberries,” the poet exclaims: “When I see the bright clouds, a sky empty of moon and stars/I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me.” The poet is filled with complete awe that in addition to an exquisite world (“bright clouds”), the Creator has created her, even noting her enough to bequeath to her an  experience of sharing fresh blueberries with a friend! Just as it links exquisitely with Psalm 8, it also contains echoes of Psalm 27. Psalm 27 begins with the words, “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life-of whom shall I be afraid?” So too, the poet says "Here there are blueberries, what should I fear? Here, there is bread in thick slices, of whom should I be afraid?" In this line, the poet is saying: "When I see all the bright clouds and sky. I am amazed that someone has made me. What am I? Whom shall I fear?" The poet, in these lines, reflects on the fact that someone has made her and allowed her to see and enjoy this reverencing world. Because the poet feels so well provided for physically, she feels that she ought to fear no one. Finally, the poet uses language similar to the language of Psalm 90. Psalm 90 ends with a blessing: "May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands." In a similar way, this poem repeats the utter astonishment of enjoying blueberries but yet not creating them: "berries not by the work of our fingers."

     Now that we understand the central psalmist links in this poem, let’s move on to picturing the events of the poem. Imagine: the poet is out on a picnic with a friend. As they spread out their blanket and unpack their picnic baskets, they reflect on the wealth of their blueberries. The poet and her friend are filled with gratitude, recognizing the abundance of their blueberries. The poet and her friend unpack “whole bowls of (blueberries).”  Finally, the two picnickers marvel at the fact that they had no part in making the blueberries: The two picnickers  “unpack blueberries, whole bowls of them, berries not by the work of our hands, berries not by the work of our fingers.” Reflecting on the beautiful surroundings, the poet thinks, “I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me.” The poet is utterly humbled:  “what taste the bright world has, whole fields without wires, the blackened moss, the clouds swelling at the edges of the meadow...” With profound wonder, the poet reflects on her lack of involvement, saying “And for this, I did nothing, not even wonder.”  The poet reflects on the fact she has done nothing to even deserve the astounding and lovely world that she is experiencing. The poet then moves into ruminating on the meaning behind this experience. Because she has done nothing to deserve this experience, she can do nothing else but conclude that there must be a purpose to the world, saying, “You must live for something, they say. People don’t live just to keep on living...” By including this little phrase, the poet implies that there certainly is a Creator. She then ends with awe saying, ”But here in the quince tree, a sky bright and empty.” Her last line voices the utter humility with which we humans ought to respond to our Creator: “...there is no need to note me.” 

          To me, this is a poem all about awe and contentment. This poem expresses the utter contentment and awe I feel most of the time. I lead, as I often say, "a wildly and beautifully blessed life." Despite having had a traumatic accident (March 16, 2014), despite being busy going to various therapy appointments (i.e. physiotherapy, voice therapy, rehab therapy, cognitive therapy, psychotherapy, occupational hand therapy) or despite having the odd down day, I often feel very contented. I have an abundance of fabulous people in my life such as family (extended and immediate), friends, former professors, and acquaintances. Moreover, I feel blessed to even be alive. In the hospital (Parkwood Institute), I would (occasionally) have trouble sleeping because I would be filled with gratitude that I was still alive after receiving the kind of injuries I had received (and, not only alive but in such a fantastic hospital like Parkwood)! Now, 1 and a 1/2 years later, I feel Mary Syzbist poem, "Here, there are blueberries" captures my feelings beautifully. In short, I find these words to be tremendously apt for my current situation.

The wedding that I partnered to play prelude songs with was July 11 (a few weekends ago). I was so very honored to play at the ceremony. It was, of course, tons of fun (the wedding , the celebrations and the playing)!

Yohanna and her family are Eritrean. People with an Eritrean cultural background sure know how to celebrate! In Eritrea, wedding celebrations occur for days, literally! Because this wedding was a joining of two cultures (Dutch-Canadian and Eritrean-Canadian), intentional effort was made to include both cultures. For example, we witnessed a really wonderful Eritrean tradition in which a blanket was given to the groom to make the home of Yohanna and Brendan, a warm and welcoming place. At the reception, half an hour of Canadian/English music and then a half hour of Eritrean music was played. I found the joining of the two cultures in this covenant of marriage with prayers and scriptures in both English and Tigrinya to be moving and beautiful!

In case you were curious, the playing went quite well. It is an extra challenge to play with someone else. You both need to count (ex. 1 and, 2 and, 3 and, 4 and) the song carefully to ensure the other person can follow where you are located in the music. Jessica and I practiced together frequently so that we could ensure a lovely prelude for the wedding ceremony. Our prelude song-list combined both classical pieces (Bach/Beethoven/Handel) and praise songs:

1. Prelude (No.1 in Well-Tempered Clavier) by Johann Sebastian Bach
2. Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring by Johann Sebastian Bach
3. Fur Elise by Ludwig van Beethoven
4. Air on a G-String by George Fredrich Handel (from Handel’s Water Music)
5. O Love That Will Not Let Me Go by Indelible Grace/Christopher Miner
6. Psalm 25 by The Psalm Project
7. Sing To The Lord by Matt Crocker and Mike Guglielmucci (more commonly known by Chris Tomlin)

It was an utter joy for Jessica and I to give these songs to Yohanna and Brendan for their wedding ceremony! So, a big thank you to Brendan and Yohanna for asking me to play (when, I fear, I had little faith in my left hand) and to my dear friend Jessica.

"It was a wonderful place, this Ezenzeleni. For here the blind, that dragged out their days in a world they could not see, here they had eyes given to them. Here they made things that he for all his sight could never make. Baskets stout and strong, in osiers of different colours, coming together in patterns, the red with the red the blue with the blue, under the seeing and sightless hands. He talked with the people, and the blind eyes glowed with something that could only have been fire in the soul. It was white men who did this work of mercy, and some of them spoke English and some spoke Afrikaans. Yes, those who spoke English and those who spoke Afrikaans came together to open the eyes of black men that were blind."(1.13.29) I love this passage from Alan Paton’s “Cry, the Beloved Country” because it seems to connect so meaningfully with my life, at present. For those who have not read “Cry, the Beloved Country,” it is a novel that follows a Zulu pastor’s journey to Johannesburg. It takes place in the mid 1940’s when South Africa’s social structures were setting the stage for apartheid. In this scene, Stephen Kamalo (the Zulu pastor) visits a place called Ezenleni, where blind black men, who at that time would have no hope of making a living for themselves, would partner with white South Africans to make baskets. Blind, black South Africans were joining together with seeing white South Africans to make something beautiful together. I find this passage connects well with certain portions of my life. Currently, I am working hard to recover what I have lost in my car accident (March 16, 2014). In general, there is a lot of partnering that needs to occur as I recover. Of course, I need to partner with my many therapists to do what I would be unable to do alone (or not do well alone). That partnering takes by far most of my time. More specifically, I want to note that special something which makes my eyes glow “with what can only be fire in the soul.” For me, that thing is playing piano, something I have always thoroughly enjoyed. My accident, of course, has left me with only one side of my body working as it normally would. I am unable to get my left hand and leg to cooperate as well as my right hand and leg do. Because of this one-sided weakness, it means that playing piano has become a unique challenge. Normally, one plays piano with two hands (left and right) but for me, my left hand is less responsive. Thankfully, my right hand works just as it did previously, pre-accident. Last August, whilst I was still in the hospital, my newly engaged friends, Yohanna and Brendan, asked me to play at their wedding ceremony, regardless of whatever the future state of my left hand (a request I found to be quite beautiful). So now, as the wedding date approaches my dear friend Jessica wonderfully has agreed to partner with me to create what we hope will be beautiful music. She will play the left hand and I the right. It has been an exceptional joy for me to get together and practice with her. I am delighted at the prospect of playing with Jessica at the wedding. So, what is the thing that makes your eyes glow with fire in the soul? I would encourage you to seek and discern what that thing is for your life is because discovering that will inspire and enliven your daily living. Here is a link to one of the songs we hope to play together (only piano of course): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KS3o_160OhE. I find the ending lyrics of this song particularly moving: “O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee; I trace the rainbow through the rain, and feel the promise is not vain, that morn shall tearless be!” I concur with those words wholeheartedly!

My name is Jenica Groot-Nibbelink. On March 16, 2014, after preaching a sermon* at Westmount Christian Reformed Church in Strathroy, Ontario, I was in a serious car accident and sustained several life-threatening injuries. I was rushed to Strathroy Hospital, intubated and then flown by air ambulance to London, Ontario’s Victoria Hospital’s Critical Care Trauma Centre. On April 23, I was transferred across the street to Parkwood Institute’s Complex Care Unit. By early June, I was moved up to Parkwood’s Acquired Brain Injury Inpatient Unit. After almost three months on this unit, I was discharged from Parkwood Institute on August 29, 2014. All in all, I spent six months in hospital. Since then, with the help of a fabulous rehab team (which includes my family), I have been working extremely hard at my recovery. I’ve had to re-learn quite a number of things such as swallowing, proper breathing, speaking, and walking. A variety of therapists continue to lead me in leg, arm, hand, voice, and cognitive exercises. It has been quite a journey and yet remarkably, I would say I live a wildly and beautifully blessed life. I invite you to follow this blog as I record thoughts along my recovery journey, even as I begin writing now, more than a year later. The blog title is: Involuntary Conversion. Involuntary because this is a path I did not choose and never expected my life to take. After my two-year campus ministry internship, I was planning to head to Calvin Theological Seminary and then, likely, a life in full-time ministry. Conversion because of the language link between rehabilitation, speech language pathology and conversion and, of course, because of its theological overtones. You will notice a semi-regular blog post from my father who is, himself, a local London pastor (and, often, my prime editor). You can listen to this sermon at: http://www.westmountcrc.ca/linked/S20140316.mp3.