THE THREAD | Ways of time and the Feast of Saint Francis
There are many ways to move through time. We have agency. We have options.
You can be ruled by the calendar of the consumer economy, rushing from one sale to the next and spending your minutes in search of a great deal. You can follow the 24-hour news cycle as a way to mark time, always waiting for that next headline that just might change everything. You can hitch your days to the current election cycle, or the work week, or the next vacation. We can -- and oftentimes must -- live according to any or all of these calendars. That's just modern life, and the speed and novelty are intoxicating. Yet don't they often seem to be running on fumes, rushing toward exhaustion?
I don't know about you, but I can so easily get caught up in it, captivated by it, drunk on it all. This year in particular, I've often been on fumes. I've been exhausted.
I realize that nothing I am writing carries the same crucial urgency as this week's headlines.
In the midst of it all, there's a small part of me that quietly insists that I seek something better. When I encounter the rhythms of the seasons and rituals of the liturgical year, I begin to remember (re-member, put back together) some semblance of the being that exists more fully, more wholly (I almost typed "holy") beneath the surface of news cycles and bargains and work weeks and elections. So I attempt the practice of leaning into the liturgical, this cycle of seasons that offers an alternative -- or at least a counterpoint -- to the ceaseless cycle of intoxication and exhaustion. I attempt. I try. I try again.
And yet, we can't help but live amidst the economic and the political, the intoxicating and the sobering, the harmonious and the dissonant, the peaceful and the rage-filled. It's the whole world, all beautiful and busted up. And most of us can't help but vote, not only on election day, but also daily at the ballot box of our habit-shaped hearts.
So what's penciled in on your ballot? What gets your vote? How are you moving through these days?
As for me, I often return to Saint Francis, his attention to birds, his joyful singing and dancing, his vow of simplicity, his relating to fellow creatures as brother and sister. Last Sunday marked the Feast of Saint Francis on the liturgical calendar. Today I offer this poem in celebration, and as a reminder to seek beneath the skim of time.
~ ~ ~
A PRAYER ON THE FEAST OF SAINT FRANCIS
Pray for us you holy fool
you sister-moon dancer
you almond tree bloomer
you sparrow romancer
Pray for us who stray from the earth
who cut off our heart roots
who graft ourselves to gadgets
and spend our days caught
thrumming in a counterfeit web
Pray for us you instrument of peace
you odd old drum
you flitting warbler song
you silent rhythm across the prairie
Pray for us who need a new song
who need less to want
who have not yet learned
how to rise daily and dress
in garments of petal and feather
~ ~ ~
What I'm re-reading: Christian Bobin's The Very Lowly
What I'm listening to: Chris Thile's Bach Trios, Jonsi's Shiver
What I'm listening to all over again: George Harrison's All Things Must Pass
What's informing me ahead of Election Day: Kansas City's sample ballot
What's bringing me joy right now: Brandi Carlile's Campfire Sing-Along
What's carrying me through: Book of Common Prayer #28 - In Times of Conflict
~ ~ ~
Next week: Something completely different.
Until then,
Andrew
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