set it aside, and as you simply let it be, it rises all by itself, and you can feel, oh, heaven is just like this . Or he might say, Heaven is like a pearl of great price, something precious and beautiful, a delight or blessing however small—your child’s hand, a kind word spoken to your saddened heart, the color of the evening sky. The instant you feel this simple gift deep in your heart, you could sell everything you had and still be happy. Being in heaven feels just like that .
For Jesus, the gifts and blessings of heaven—happiness, peace, contentment, ease, joy—are the natural fruits of being gratefully awake every day upon the earth. Everything promised about heaven is already here, in our midst—in the bread we bake, the seeds we plant, the small blessings we receive. Still, when the bone-weariness in us runs deep, when we are overwhelmed and discouraged by almost everything, feel pressured on all sides to take on more than we can bear, how can something small or quiet ever relieve such an enormous sense of powerlessness? We need stronger medicine, something enormously powerful, potent, and dramatic to lift us up and rescue us from our weary disappointments. We need to do great things, struggle and strain to achieve tremendousspiritual growth and accomplishment. Then perhaps we might gradually earn our way back into some vague sense of peace.
But Jesus said, If you are faithful in the small things, you will be faithful in the large things . Every parent knows that our most potent interventions are in the small things—the wiped nose, the sweater hastily fastened before a child runs into the cold, the cup of hot chocolate upon her return. Heaven is born in this world, the small world of a good word, a kind touch, a loving glance, a moment of tender understanding. When we think of heaven, it need not be dramatic, grandiose, or even visible. Rather, look for what is small—the gentle rising and falling of the breath, a sip of wine and piece of bread, a prayer uttered quietly without hurry.
Spiritual practice teaches not to look up to find our true wealth, but rather to look here, now, to listen more carefully to the beauty, grace, and priceless value in the smallest of earthly blessings. Our wealth is as close as our breath, as close as our children, as close as the touch of a loved one, as close as the earth beneath our feet, the lilies in the field, the bread in our mouth. Here, we drink fully the blessing of Teresa of Avila: All the way to heaven is heaven .
Sanctuary Is Bearing What We Are Given
J esus, in his Sermon on the Mount, said, Do not worry about tomorrow . In fact, the single phrase most used in the Christian New Testament is “be not afraid.” Why? Because if we are good boys and girls and believe in God and go to church, then nothing bad will happen to us? That is just silly. Look what happened to Jesus, and to his disciples, many of whom were also tortured, crucified, or murdered. The idea that being a good Christian—or a good anything—provides instant spiritual insulation from harm, or guarantees our safety and prosperity, is pure folly, a child’s belief in magic. It has nothing at all to do with the depth of being in faith to which we are being both called and challenged.
Be not afraid . Fear and worry are not life-giving states of mind. They do not make, heal, create, or sustain life or anything like it. Instead they corrode, dissolve, and steal our very strength. We need our spirit to be strong. We need to rely on our capacity to choose wisely, to bear what we are given, to hold courageously, wisely, lovingly, and well each person and event that is offered to us in the course of the days and seasons of our lives.
In moments of genuine fear, we must make a choice. And how we respond to that choice will literally shape the way welive our entire lives. The essential heart of all fear—stripped bare of particulars, catastrophic outcomes, numbers, and details—is simply this: Will
For Jesus, the gifts and blessings of heaven—happiness, peace, contentment, ease, joy—are the natural fruits of being gratefully awake every day upon the earth. Everything promised about heaven is already here, in our midst—in the bread we bake, the seeds we plant, the small blessings we receive. Still, when the bone-weariness in us runs deep, when we are overwhelmed and discouraged by almost everything, feel pressured on all sides to take on more than we can bear, how can something small or quiet ever relieve such an enormous sense of powerlessness? We need stronger medicine, something enormously powerful, potent, and dramatic to lift us up and rescue us from our weary disappointments. We need to do great things, struggle and strain to achieve tremendousspiritual growth and accomplishment. Then perhaps we might gradually earn our way back into some vague sense of peace.
But Jesus said, If you are faithful in the small things, you will be faithful in the large things . Every parent knows that our most potent interventions are in the small things—the wiped nose, the sweater hastily fastened before a child runs into the cold, the cup of hot chocolate upon her return. Heaven is born in this world, the small world of a good word, a kind touch, a loving glance, a moment of tender understanding. When we think of heaven, it need not be dramatic, grandiose, or even visible. Rather, look for what is small—the gentle rising and falling of the breath, a sip of wine and piece of bread, a prayer uttered quietly without hurry.
Spiritual practice teaches not to look up to find our true wealth, but rather to look here, now, to listen more carefully to the beauty, grace, and priceless value in the smallest of earthly blessings. Our wealth is as close as our breath, as close as our children, as close as the touch of a loved one, as close as the earth beneath our feet, the lilies in the field, the bread in our mouth. Here, we drink fully the blessing of Teresa of Avila: All the way to heaven is heaven .
Sanctuary Is Bearing What We Are Given
J esus, in his Sermon on the Mount, said, Do not worry about tomorrow . In fact, the single phrase most used in the Christian New Testament is “be not afraid.” Why? Because if we are good boys and girls and believe in God and go to church, then nothing bad will happen to us? That is just silly. Look what happened to Jesus, and to his disciples, many of whom were also tortured, crucified, or murdered. The idea that being a good Christian—or a good anything—provides instant spiritual insulation from harm, or guarantees our safety and prosperity, is pure folly, a child’s belief in magic. It has nothing at all to do with the depth of being in faith to which we are being both called and challenged.
Be not afraid . Fear and worry are not life-giving states of mind. They do not make, heal, create, or sustain life or anything like it. Instead they corrode, dissolve, and steal our very strength. We need our spirit to be strong. We need to rely on our capacity to choose wisely, to bear what we are given, to hold courageously, wisely, lovingly, and well each person and event that is offered to us in the course of the days and seasons of our lives.
In moments of genuine fear, we must make a choice. And how we respond to that choice will literally shape the way welive our entire lives. The essential heart of all fear—stripped bare of particulars, catastrophic outcomes, numbers, and details—is simply this: Will
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