Sacred Offerings

by Marilyn Ehle

Recently I have been trying to intentionally move toward a more sacred way of living. This does not include plans to move into a monastery – though on especially frantic days, that thought has appeared delightfully inviting – but rather a disciplined attempt to purposefully stop at appointed times of the day to turn my thoughts toward God.

A stumbling block to this spiritual-sounding plan has been the many mundane responsibilities of life. Some days the list includes committee meetings, business-oriented telephone calls and factual correspondence. Other days the hours are filled with tasks falling into the column of housewifery: grocery shopping (prices always increasing), laundry (permanent press a blatant lie), removing grime from corners and ridges of woodwork (why, oh why did we choose white wood trim?).

Behavioral experts teach that in order to form a new habit, time and attention need to be paid to the process. Often we need reminders to move toward the desired change, and while sometimes the reminders can be pleasurable, others may be unpleasant or painful. To lose weight, perhaps a picture posted on the bulletin board of a new dress in a desired size will be helpful. The individual who wishes to break the smoking habit and move toward healthier living may need to view pictures of a diseased lung, or visit with people undergoing chemotherapy for lung cancer.

Several months ago we received as a gift a bronze sculpture, a small replica of the nearly life-sized Max Greiner original entitled “Divine Servant,” which depicts Jesus washing the feet of one of the disciples. This small sculpture on its wooden base was placed on a living room window sill where guests frequently commented on its meaning. As I contemplated my desire to live in a more consistently sacred way, and my frequent failures to do so, I wondered, “Could this sculpture be at least part of God’s answer?”

We read in the Bible how Jesus stripped off his outer robe, then bowed to wash the dirty, smelly, calloused feet of his friends. It mattered not one whit to him that this job was the task of the most menial servants, usually the household slaves. Jesus’ close friend, John, in remembering that important night records the incident with telling words: “He (Jesus) showed them the full extent of his love…”

Jesus seemed to place no higher value on the “spiritual” tasks of calming a sea, healing the blind, touching a leper, speaking salvation to a religious leader or a Samaritan woman. John van de Laar writes that “he (Jesus) is also encountered when we serve ‘the least.’ In this way all work becomes an opportunity to meet Christ again, a potential for receiving and giving the grace of Christ.”1

The small bronze sculpture has moved from a window sill to the shelf over my sink. It has become a highly visible reminder to accept and acknowledge all work as sacred and to meet Christ in the middle of that work. When my eyes rest on the figure of Christ as my soapy hands scour crusty pans, or as I prepare yet another supper, my lips whisper the long-ago words of the menial servant-monk, Brother Lawrence: “Lord of all pots and pan and things…Make me a saint by getting meals and washing up the plates!

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