The words hit me hard and planted themselves on a merry-go-round in my memory: Only in your love do we exist. The phrase had been wrapped into a simple, striking melody that was part of the responsorial psalm a cantor and I were rehearsing for Sunday mass. The text was Tim Schoenbachler's adaptation of Ps. 89: ("Forever Will I Sing," © 1979, 1991, Oregon Catholic Press), and it has stayed with me for weeks.
Think about it: God's love enables me to get up in the morning, get dressed, brush my teeth, and eat breakfast. It is my foundation as I work or relax, sit alone or with others. It propels my very breath. Every moment I exist happens only because God is loving me. It is literally unfathomable.
How can anyone absorb this? It is above and beyond us, yet at the same time it is closer than we are to ourselves.In scripture God asked a whining Job "Where were you when I laid earth's foundation?" (38:4) If ever a question could jolt someone into seeing a new reality, this is it. ”Only in your love do we exist" does a similar thing but more softly, in the way a mother might speak to her child.
More than 40 years ago I wrote a setting for Psalm 139. In it, like the fugitive in Francis Thompson's poem The Hound of Heaven, the psalmist cries out, "Where can I flee from your sight? To the sunrise or the sea your hand would still guide me, your love would hold me."
It seems to me that my encounter with Ps. 139, Schoenbachler's with Ps. 89, and Thompson's poem are all examples of human beings struggling with the reality of God's presence in their lives. How can we begin to come to grips with this profundity? The fact God made the infinite approachable by sending the Son to become flesh and bone tells me God doesn’t want to hide from us. In fact, I think God hides in plain sight. It's our task to learn how to see.
In the Hebrew scripture God sent signs – the cloud, fire, manna, impossible victories. Today, after the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, we don't have just a few scattered, overwhelming signs. No, through the Incarnation God made every thing and every person a sacred, visible hiding place for God. Because of Christ, everything now shares in the divine; everywhere we turn it is possible to experience a visitation of God. If so, why doesn't it seem to impact us more often?
What if we try learning how to see, hear, touch, intuit, or in any other way sense the glory of the holy that surrounds us? Would we begin to know God as an intimate, loving companion through each day? What if we heeded the sage advice to "Stop and smell the roses" or "Be still and know that I am God" (Ps. 46:10). Would the God who obviously wants to come out of hiding in our world actually become a conscious part of each day's journey? If so, in darkness or light, in storm or calm, we would be able to glimpse, at least now and then, a deeper reality. Then we would be able to pray with new understanding: "God, only in your love do we exist." Blessings on all of us as we journey more deeply into the Mystery who is God.
Sr. Colleen Winston, OSB
Think about it: God's love enables me to get up in the morning, get dressed, brush my teeth, and eat breakfast. It is my foundation as I work or relax, sit alone or with others. It propels my very breath. Every moment I exist happens only because God is loving me. It is literally unfathomable.
How can anyone absorb this? It is above and beyond us, yet at the same time it is closer than we are to ourselves.In scripture God asked a whining Job "Where were you when I laid earth's foundation?" (38:4) If ever a question could jolt someone into seeing a new reality, this is it. ”Only in your love do we exist" does a similar thing but more softly, in the way a mother might speak to her child.More than 40 years ago I wrote a setting for Psalm 139. In it, like the fugitive in Francis Thompson's poem The Hound of Heaven, the psalmist cries out, "Where can I flee from your sight? To the sunrise or the sea your hand would still guide me, your love would hold me."
It seems to me that my encounter with Ps. 139, Schoenbachler's with Ps. 89, and Thompson's poem are all examples of human beings struggling with the reality of God's presence in their lives. How can we begin to come to grips with this profundity? The fact God made the infinite approachable by sending the Son to become flesh and bone tells me God doesn’t want to hide from us. In fact, I think God hides in plain sight. It's our task to learn how to see.
In the Hebrew scripture God sent signs – the cloud, fire, manna, impossible victories. Today, after the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, we don't have just a few scattered, overwhelming signs. No, through the Incarnation God made every thing and every person a sacred, visible hiding place for God. Because of Christ, everything now shares in the divine; everywhere we turn it is possible to experience a visitation of God. If so, why doesn't it seem to impact us more often? What if we try learning how to see, hear, touch, intuit, or in any other way sense the glory of the holy that surrounds us? Would we begin to know God as an intimate, loving companion through each day? What if we heeded the sage advice to "Stop and smell the roses" or "Be still and know that I am God" (Ps. 46:10). Would the God who obviously wants to come out of hiding in our world actually become a conscious part of each day's journey? If so, in darkness or light, in storm or calm, we would be able to glimpse, at least now and then, a deeper reality. Then we would be able to pray with new understanding: "God, only in your love do we exist." Blessings on all of us as we journey more deeply into the Mystery who is God.
Sr. Colleen Winston, OSB
