We have often talked in these meditations about the presence of God. We have given blessings that asked God to be present to you. “God with us” has been a constant refrain through these days of Christmas. Are we really talking about a heavenly visitation, like the angel who appeared to Mary, or when Abraham heard God’s voice in the wilderness? By way of reply, let me tell you about an incident that inspired the title of this year’s online journey, “Through the eyes of a child:”
On the Gulf coast of Florida, there is a long barrier island called Estero Island, better known as the tourist destination of Ft. Myers Beach. The north end of the island is a nature preserve, and we often walk there at sunset, when ever we visit my mother there. One evening last November, Almut, Hannah, and I went to Estero Island to introduce her into one of our beloved traditions, our traditional sunset walk. We arrived as the sunset crowd was gathering and setting up their chairs, and as the adults building sand castles were enjoying a drink alongside their days (re)creation. From the moment Hannah smelled the Gulf air she was curious and excited – hanging on Chuck’s chest in a fabric harness, she looked out eagerly from behind the straps, an open-mouthed grin with two bottom teeth showing, arms and legs wagging. The sunset was its usual spectacular self and we were at peace, even in the presence of several hundred fellow onlookers. But Hannah was not looking at the sunset. Instead, from the security of her carrier on my breast, she was gazing deeply into Almut’s eyes. “She looks right into my heart,” said Almut, moved to tears.
Later, after the crowd had folded their chairs and strolled back to their hotel rooms or cars, we stayed to use the gloaming time to contemplate what had just happened. Hanna’s gaze at her, their shared gaze, was a special, a holy moment. Almut described it later as “transcendence breaking in.” This is a thing more to be experienced than to be explained – something that usually requires practice to see, even though it always feels like a gift. And some places and people, and almost all babies, make it easier to experience.
Why does it happen through the eyes of a child? Every child’s immediacy is an open, welcoming, intense attention, that when met can draw us in to experience the Divine spark in every created being. We are more likely to be drawn in when we practice that same attention. This is a very simple truth: in order to become adult, we must lose the immediacy that children have. But we can regain a “second immediacy”, as my philosopher wife Almut puts it, through practicing an open, welcoming attention. We must not stay children, but must become like children again.
If we have eyes to see, or can practice having them, we can see that transcendence breaking in with every moment, welcoming, heart-rending, and awesome. Over the waters at sunset, in the rising of the moon, as well as in the sorrows of the world and those around us, in the brokenness of our ecology, in the joys of labor and success, in the ordinary washing of dishes, transcendence is waiting, seeking for us.
Make no mistake, whether or not we have eyes to see, the Christ child is being born, God is with us, the Divine is seeking shelter, all around us. The holy birth is not reserved for Christmas Eve. It happens for us every time again, when we open our heart to a sacred encounter.
Reflection
When have you last felt the Divine gaze upon you? Maybe in the smile of a baby child, or the setting sun? In the vulnerability of creation? Remember being in that moment and tell yourself the story of it. Welcome the moment and its impressions and emotions, and sit quietly with them. This is the beginning of practice.