The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world. (Psalm 19:1-4)
Java with Jesus
Yesterday afternoon Rebekah headed north on her way to the mountains for a four-day retreat with some old friends (not friends who are old, I should explain, but friends we have loved since our early days in Pensacola).
Consequently, when I got back from my hike with Scout this morning, I poured just the one mug of fair-trade coffee. But it just didn’t feel right.
INVITATION: So I took my solitude out onto the porch, sat on the swing, and invited Jesus to join me. I’d already spent some time in meditation while walking, but this was different. I was still; I actually issued Jesus an invitation; I had my cup of coffee to sip on and share.
The fresh light of morning poured over the low rise behind our house and illuminated my communion with God; it was a sacrament at day’s opening.
There are several definitions of the word “sacrament,” but they all boil down to the essential idea of “something regarded as possessing a sacred character or mysterious significance.”
My time with God at the beginning of each day is most certainly sacred, and the mystery – for me – is this interaction, this interconnectedness between the temporal and the eternal; the interface between my mortality and God’s immortality; the difficult to grasp truth that, because of God’s initiative in Christ, I can receive and experience a relationship with the Author of Creation.
Morning ritual transformed by grace
Sacrament of Thanks: So I sipped my coffee, I watched the dawn bring life and light to the world, and I felt rather than spoke my prayers of thanksgiving and love.