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Ferry Beach, Maine
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And the Word became flesh and pitched its tent (tabernacled; resided, lived) among us... .
*Gospel of John 1.14
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August 2006 - Greenbough House of Prayer, Scott, GA
This morning at the retreat center, the lighted candle on the Eucharist table spoke afresh to me. There was the living flame sitting in a little metal vase. Rising up from a wick, it danced back and forth, up and down, unpredictable and wildly free. It was in constant motion, a motion inherent to itself. It lived out from its own nature. Its dance was not choreographed by another. There was no authority saying, "Do this. Do it this way." There were no "Thou Shalts" demanding submission to an alien and unnatural unfolding. Fawning servitude was foreign to the flame. It was freely itself, uniquely itself, itself by the grace and goodness of Life. It shared common traits with all fire. But it was unlike any fire that has ever been or will be, totally unique.
I looked prayerfully on the skipping flame, making its way into the receptive arms of the air. I waited. What will the flame teach me? What living Word will the dancing colors share? The fire became a sacred text.
What does it mean for something not written to be sacred scripture? What unwritten has become a sacred text to you - even if for one moment? Is there someone from your past or present who, by presence, action, or speech expresses for you the Word? How might you be more receptive to the most ordinary times, places, persons, and things sharing spiritual insight with you? How might you be a word of the Word for others?
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*©Brian K. Wilcox, 2022.
*Use of photography is allowed accompanied by credit given to Brian K. Wilcox and notation of title and place of the photograph.
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse.
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