Suppose we did our work
like the snow, quietly, quietly.
leaving nothing out.
—Wendell Berry from his collection Leavings, (Counterpoint, 2009)
Lent is almost over. This season set aside for an intentional journey into a deeper place with God will come to an end. We know that before Lent is over we will cross through the dark forest of Holy Week, with its horrible shadows and its grace of light. And, yes, we also know that Easter will come, bringing hope, joy, and new life.
But first another deep breath, and a glance around at this snow covered world. Detach from the inconvenience of the snow and see its beauty; its industriousness. It falls everywhere. The snow does not only fall in the soft places. It falls where tires will compress it. It falls where shovels will toss it. It falls where children will pile it. It lands on chimneys and in sewer grates, on eyelashes and the backs of dogs. It lands only to melt, only to be altered or to become part of something so much bigger than itself in the accumulating masses of flakes. Each flake vulnerable; brave. And in the snow’s blanket of indiscriminate coverage, there is great power.
And so, as I shovel, and then as I sit with the steam of my tea in the front window and watch the power of the snow, I wonder if we have covered the ground we are meant to cover. Have we been brave? Have we been resilient and curious and focused? In these last days of Lent, I wonder, in the words of Wendell Berry, “Suppose we did our work like the snow, quietly, quietly. Leaving nothing out.”
Yours in Christ,
The Rev. Becky Gettel, Associate Rector
March 15, 2018 reflection