Several years ago and shortly after twilight our 3 1⁄2 year old
tried to gain his parents’ attention to a shining star.
The parents were busy with time and schedules, the
irritabilities of the day and other worthy pre-occupations. “Yes,
yes, we see the star – now I’m busy, don’t bother me.” On hearing
this the young one launched through the porch door, fixed us with
a fiery gaze and said, “You be glad at that star!” -Clarke Dewey Wells
I opened my back door the other night and there, shining through the now-empty branches of the big old maple tree was a bright glowing quarter moon. It had been cloudy all day, so I hadn’t even looked for it but there it was, glowing so brightly you could pick out the craters on its surface, surrounded by a luminous halo and illuminating the fluffy clouds that drifted by. I took an intentional pause, trying to drink it in -- the glow, the beauty, the synchronicity of being in the right place at the right time to see such a sight. Perhaps these ordinary winter moments are why this season feels to me, more than any other, the season of wonder. The stars seem extra bright in the crisp winter air, the sky bigger now that that the trees have lost their leaves, the night long and dark.
When I started my sabbatical program at the University of Creation Spirituality, Matthew Fox spoke that opening night about the importance of awe and wonder as we embarked on our educational journey together. Beginning from a place of awe, he suggested, would be most fruitful for ourselves and for the larger world. Awe-based education, he called it. Consider the young child, how they naturally encounter the world. Each new thing they experience causes them to pause- their little faces and minds open, drinking in a new miracle, which to us adults seems everyday and ordinary. Toes, for example. I remember my son studying the miracle of his own toes for hours on end. Wonder is a frame of mind that allows us to open to new things. A wondering gaze is a curious gaze, open to new experiences and learning.
It is easy for those of us who have lived in this world for a while to become immune to these ordinary and wonderful miracles. That is why sometimes traveling helps us feel wonder. Our own beautiful waterfalls and lakes, our stunning green summer landscape and fall foliage can easily become ordinary, but when we travel someplace new we remember what it is to see something for the first time -- the aliveness and freshness of that new wonder.
But traveling is not necessary for awe and wonder. It can also be cultivated with intention and attention in our everyday places. That moon inspired me the other night precisely because I had taken up the practice way back in June of looking for the moon each day, tracking its changes day after day, month after month. It was precisely because I had been paying attention, search and often failing, that I could see that this moon was special, precious. This glowing winter moon just looked different, and I felt blessed to have caught it. It’s not just sky gazing that opens us to wonder, sometimes it is gazing at your lovely presence these days, those special moments between us when the connection feels alive and vital, the sharing and connection deep and rich.
Perhaps you have had such a moment, gazing deeply at something ordinary, like the moon, like the birds at your feeder, your garden, your family, and some precious unrepeatable moment finds you, and you are open to receive it. Perhaps, if you are like me, you call out to whoever is near- hey are you seeing this? Sometimes they politely look, yes I’ve seen the moon, but their hearts are not shot through with wonder as yours is in that moment. Or perhaps they do, like the dad in the story, stop and look and see with your wondering eyes.
In the Christian gospel Jesus says “until you become like a child, you will never receive the kingdom” [Matthew 18:3, Mark 10:15] Fox offered this scripture our first night as a suggestion that wonder is a doorway to the numinous, a way of looking at the world that allows us to see what is sacred, what is holy. The great scientist Albert Einstein put it this way: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Being open to wonder is one way of being open to the sacred, of connecting to the holy.
Have you experienced this in your own life? Can you think of a time that you have been struck by awe or wonder, and it changed your perspective? Just the other night I was outside again, for some mundane reason- perhaps to let the dogs out or take out the recycling, and stood rapt for a moment gazing at the stars and listening to the sounds of the night. When I came back in my husband asked if I was still upset, and I was surprised by the question. “I guess not” I said- “Sometimes staring at the sky makes you feel better” he replied, laughing. “It’s good medicine” I agreed
An article by Summer Allen, of the greater good science center, explored recent scientific studies of awe. They summarized the findings saying “Experiencing awe often puts people in a self-transcendent state where they focus less on themselves and feel more like a part of a larger whole.”[ii] That sounds about right. What surprised me, though, was learning that “Multiple studies have found evidence that experiencing awe makes people more kind and generous. For example, people who stood among awe-inspiring eucalyptus trees picked up more pens for an experimenter who had “accidentally” dropped them than did people who stared up at a not-so-inspiring large building.” How lovely that something like the beauty and majesty of a eucalyptus tree could help us be more kind and generous.
Perhaps this is why so many of us tell stories about finding those transcendent, healing moments in beautiful places in nature. But even though most majestic trees and brightest stars can’t always work their magic on us. One year I was off on retreat, and started my first day the way I often do, walking the grounds of the retreat center. I had waited and wanted and planned for this retreat, and was looking forward to the amazing vastness of the ocean I had not seen in years. But as I walked, and looked, my mind surveyed the things I knew should fill me with wonder, but I just felt grumpy. Naturally, I also began to judge myself for being ungrateful for these precious miracles, and unappreciative of the privilege of being on retreat in this beautiful spot. Sometimes the distance from where we are to wonder seems like a long way.
Perhaps you too identify with the parents in that story “busy with time and schedules, the irritabilities of the day and other worthy pre-occupations” a frame of mind that crowds out wonder and awe. Rev. Wells, the dad in that story, suggests that in such moments “if we cannot impel ourselves into a stellar gladness, we can at least clean the dust from our lens of perception.” If wonder is something we aspire to, a state we want to invite into our lives, what might be the dust on our lens, what might we have to lay down before we are ready to see the world through wondering eyes? We cannot will ourselves to wonder, we can only open ourselves to it. For me, that winter day by the shore, there was much to lay down, from the burdens of life and ministry, the defensive awkwardness of being in a new place, a new community, and the grief of recent losses. All that, it turned out, had to be experienced and released, had to be cleansed before my own lenses were clear enough to see what had been there all along, the stunning beauty of the ocean in all her moods, the vastness of the horizon, and even the wonder of the humble shrubs and grasses that now were revealed as wondrous once my perception had changed. The poet William Blake was speaking of such a feeling:
To see the world in a grain of sandAs we turn now towards the winter solstice, for some the season of Advent, I encourage you to cultivate wonder. If the world does not seem wonderful and amazing right now, be kind to yourself— there’s a lot we are carrying. But the stars themselves are inviting us to a seasonal practice of being open to awe and wonder. As with any spiritual practice, we come back to it again and again, on good days and on bad, trusting that the practice will lead us someplace worthy- to wisdom, to kindness, to wonder. Let us be open to the everyday miracles, with compassion for dusty lenses of our ordinary, possibly grumpy selves, listening for that inner child who invites us “you be glad at that star”
And heaven in a wildflower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
[i] Article - Why You Need to Protect Your Sense of Wonder https://hbr.org/2021/08/why-you-need-to-protect-your-sense-of-wonder-especially-now
[ii] https://ggsc.berkeley.edu/images/uploads/GGSC-JTF_White_Paper-Awe_FINAL.pdf citing Bai, Y., Maruskin, L. A., Chen, S., Gordon, A. M., Stellar, J. E., McNeil, G. D., ... Keltner, D. J. (2017). Awe, the diminished self, and collective engagement: Universals and cultural variations in the small self. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 113(2), 185–209. https://doi.org/10.1037/pspa0000087
Benedek, M., & K
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