A Monday morning with Stephen Charleston

I've written here a couple of times about my respect for the words of Stephen Charleston --- a citizen of the Choctaw Nation and retired Episcopal priest. Charleston served as bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Alaska, 1991-1996, and then as dean and president of the Episcopal Divinity School, Cambridge, Mass., 1999-2008. He's currently based in Oklahoma City where, in addition to writing and teaching, he shares commentary and community via Facebook.

Here's his description, posted yesterday, written as a summer storm swept over the land: "Tonight the drums of the ancestors resound among the dark clouds. Shafts of brilliant light tear open the sky to let the rain pour in from heaven on high. Creation is alert to the power of the holy. Earth opens her arms to the falling rain. All creatures great and small listen to the passing of the storm. It is a sacred time, an invitation to humility. We are such small parts of the greater whole. We are small beings huddled together on a rainy night. We are part of a great pattern, an endless life, a sacred love, that floats across time and space, clouds like ships, sailing the storm-tossed sea."

And this morning admonition from a few days ago: "Awake, sleeper, to the beauty around you. Rise up from your dreams to catch the scent of a new day. The Earth opens its arms to you, inviting you into a bright morning of sacred love. Step out into the world with confidence. Walk in certainty. Be fully alert to the messages in every flower, the whisper of every cloud passing overhead. This creation was made for all of us, a gift of discovery beyond description. Walk in beauty, each step a prayer, until the evening comes, the peace of eternity wrapping you in its blanket of stars, dreaming visions of the holy, until the last light lingers, alone in the stillness of the night."

One thing sometimes strikes me on Sundays as those of us who still go to church gather in defensive structures designed to shield us behind stained glass, or more often now in windowless auditoriums, from nature all around. In fact, what we are shielding ourselves from inside offers much of what we're seeking, freely accessible, outside.