A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark
As we approach our second pandemic winter here in the Northern hemisphere, I am trying to make peace with the quiet dark. Gone is the extravagance of spring, flinging seeds far and wide. And the colorful, fragrant summer with abundance of fruit and lingering of days. The crispness of autumn and the slow draining of color have brought us to this point, with bare trees, grey skies and the darkness that descends each day long before I’m ready for it.
Like much of the natural world around us, I too, feel a slowing down, a taking stock, a focusing on the most important things. Of course, the pandemic continues to batter and to winnow away things that used to seem foundational. (Restaurants, remember those?) The urge to slow down, to hunker down, to rest feels almost primal. And as I talk with many of you, I hear the weariness in your voices, too.
Of course, we are not bears. We are not made to sleep for months. The world keeps spinning and the need for what we have to offer it grows and grows. Students keep coming to ministry, to CPE (did you read this Washington Post article about rising seminary enrollments?). Patients keep coming to hospitals, and people keep seeking meaning in their lives and relationships. Here at ACPE, our work continues as we envision new possibilities for our lives together. In the last month, we have had some invigorating conversation with CoP leaders and members of the Professional Well-Being committee to imagine how we might strengthen the model of learning together and supporting one another.
Holding these two things (the slowing down and the evolving need) in tension a necessary challenge for us in these days. Many of our religious traditions hold this paradox by marking both the growing dark and the hopeful anticipation of what’s to come. Jan Richardson is an artist, writer, and United Methodist minister whose blessings captivate and inspire. Here is a blessing for you, in the paradox of this season.
A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark[1]
Go slow
if you can.
Slower.
More slowly still.
Friendly dark
or fearsome,
this is no place
to break your neck
by rushing,
by running,
by crashing into
what you cannot see.
Then again,
it is true:
different darks
have different tasks,
and if you
have arrived here unawares,
if you have come
in peril
or in pain,
this might be no place
you should dawdle.
I do not know
what these shadows
ask of you,
what they might hold
that means you good
or ill.
It is not for me
to reckon
whether you should linger
or you should leave.
But this is what
I can ask for you:
That in the darkness
there be a blessing.
that in the shadows
there be a welcome.
that in the night
you be encompassed
by the Love that knows
your name.
[1] Richardson, J. (2015). Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons. Wanton Gospeller Press.
Katherine Higgins is the Director of Communities of Practice. She may be contacted at katherine.higgins@acpe.edu