Singing Ice

Today is Epiphany, the day we traditionally celebrate the coming of the Magi to present their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to Jesus and to worship him. I read the story from Matthew 2 this morning, and I kept picturing Marji Gunnoe happily heading home ‘by another way’ from this year’s Christmas pageant. I’ve also been doing a bit of reading about the season of Epiphany, in Seeking God’s Face, the Worship Sourcebook and in a reflection from Ruth Haley Barton, and a couple of things caught my attention. Ruth Haley Barton begins her reflection with a quote from Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets. The quote is this:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

 

Phil Reinders, the editor of Seeking God’s Face, begins his introduction to the season of Epiphany with these words: Epiphany. We know the word: a moment of piercing awareness, the jolt of understanding. Imagine, then, that moment stretched out over a period of time. This is the season of Epiphany . . .

 

I am not always the best at paying attention, being present in the moment. I tend to spend a lot of time in my head, replaying past events or anxiously trying to prepare for what’s ahead. But there have been a couple of moments in the last few weeks where God has used the beauty of nature to call me to attention. Last week, when we were on vacation, we spent several days at my parents’ cottage on the shore of Spring Lake, and over those days we got to watch the lake freeze – first parts by the shore and then a few days later, the whole way across. There’s something magical about the sounds of ice forming on a lake – cracking and snapping first, and then singing. Singing! On Friday morning we awoke to find the lake frozen all the way across, with ice about an inch thick. And when we tossed snowballs and smaller pieces of ice out onto it, the sounds were amazing – almost like a synthesizer – you could hear ringing vibrations across the ice. The ice was singing. At one point, having tired of tossing ice, I was standing at the end of the dock, thinking. Actually stewing a bit over unkind words spoken at breakfast. One of the kids came up to me and asked, ‘Mom, are you wondering how the ice formed those patterns?’ Assuming I was paying attention to the beauty in front of me, inviting me back to awareness. Attention.

A few days later it happened again – I was outside, early in the morning before light, waiting to walk one of the kids to school, fretting about how the day might go, worrying about a conversation from the night before, when suddenly a rabbit appeared in our yard, right behind the ‘Christ will hold us together’ yard sign. Another invitation to be present, to pay attention to the world around me, to the wonder of this small, silent creature with me in the dawning light.

 

What would it be like, to receive the moments of my days with the same attention and wonder as the singing ice, or the quiet rabbit? To be present to the familiar rhythms of my days and to experience them and the familiar stories of Jesus this season with attention and astonishment?

 

O God,

By the leading of a star you manifested

Your only Son to the peoples of the earth:

Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence,

Where we may see your glory face to face,

Through Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns

With you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

(from the Worship Sourcebook)