becoming friends with time...

This weekend I walked within my family's three generations keenly aware of my age. I wasn't at my prime. My back ached and I was still recovering from a bout of vertigo. Not that these things were grievous or debilitating, far from it. I still pulled grandson Louie through the fields in a pumpkin wagon. And knelt with him as he milked the model cow or played fetch with our dog Lucie. We even got to ride behind the tractor on a tour of Ioka Valley Farms. It was a grand birthday celebration. I simply had to take more time being a part of it and make peace with my low grade aches. An insight based upon Jean Vanier's book, Becoming Human, came to mind as I sat down to pray and write this morning. 

For me (there) is another profound truth: understanding, as well as truth, comes not only from the intellect but also from the body. When we begin to listen to our bodies, we begin to listen to reality through our own experiences; we begin to trust our intuition, our hearts. The truth is also in the “earth” of our own bodies. So it is a question of moving from theories we have learned to listening to the reality that is in and around us. Truth flows from the earth. This is not to deny the truth that flows from teachers, from books, from tradition, from our ancestors, and from religious faith. But the two must come together. Truth from the sky must be confirmed and strengthened by truth from the earth. We must learn to listen and then to communicate.

Autumn is in full swing in these parts. The trees are rapidly turning bright red and orange. Our backyard wetlands is now a festival of deep browns, scarlet grape vines and various shades of gold. The earth is telling us about transitions and in my own season of contemplation I hear her wisdom loud and clear in my flesh. "Slow down you movin' too fast," sang Paul Simon, "you got to make the morning last." I had to pull the plug on a trip to Ottawa tomorrow because I knew six hours one way would be more than I needed to encounter right now. I hate missing my connection with L'Arche - and I'll be able to partially participate in our meeting electronically - but as Vanier notes, "truth from the sky must be confirmed and strengthened by truth from the earth." So, I'll take it slow and let time work its healing. In Community and Growth, his master work, Vanier writes:

Members of a community have to be friends of time. They have to learn that many things will resolve themselves if they are given enough time. It can be a great mistake to want, in the name of clarity and truth, to push things too quickly to a resolution. Some people enjoy confrontation and highlighting divisions. This is not always healthy. It is better to be a friend of time.

I like those words: "become a friend of time." Very counter-cultural. They suggest trust and tenderness. Vanier, of course, writes from what he has learned experientially. He knows it has taken a life-time of ripening to be patient and open. He candidly confesses how his own inner wounds and weaknesses only became a source of wisdom when he owned them in humble acceptance. "It is a long haul to transform our emotional makeup so that we can really start loving our enemy." 

We have to be patient with our feelings and fears; we have to be merciful to ourselves. If we are to make the passage to acceptance and love of the other - all the others - we must start very simply, by recognizing our own blocks, jealousies, ways of comparing ourselves to others, prejudices and hatreds. We have to recognize that we are poor creatures, that we are what we are. And we have to ask our Father to forgive and purify us. It is good, then, to speak to a spiritual guide, who perhaps can help us to understand what is happening, strengthen us in our efforts and help us discover God's pardon.

Experience and confession, patience and grace, trust and honesty, becoming a friend of time and seeking love. Like the Psalmist once sang in ancient Israel:"Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Faithfulness will spring up from the ground, and righteousness will look down from the sky." (Psalm 85) Playing with my grandson this weekend, listening to his wild and woolly stories, having him climb into my lap and say "I don't want to leave here ever," or simply take my hand for a long walk through fields of corn and pumpkin, put me in touch with the importance of being patient with my aging self. Or the wisdom shared in autumn. This is a time for being slow - for listening more and talking less - or being present without any other goal except to be fully present in love. Vanier writes that "old age is the most precious time in life" because it is the one nearest eternity. That is brilliant and encouraging. It is now my deepest prayer.

Old age is the most precious time of life, the one nearest eternity. There are two ways of growing old. There are old people who are anxious and bitter, living in the past and illusion, who criticize everything that goes on around them. Young people are repulsed by them; they are shut away in their sadness and loneliness, shriveled up in themselves. But there are also old people with a child's heart, who have used their freedom from function and responsibility to find a new youth. They have the wonder of a child, but the wisdom of maturity as well. They have integrated their years of activity and so can live without being attached to power. Their freedom of heart and their acceptance of their limitations and weakness makes them people whose radiance illuminates the whole community. They are gentle and merciful, symbols of compassion and forgiveness. They become a community's hidden treasures, sources of unity and life. They are true contemplatives at the heart of community.

This weekend I consciously feasted upon the blessings of this glorious season of life even when I had to savor them ever more slowly.