Things Seen And Unseen

Last night the moon was at less than ten percent, just the thinnest sliver. And black clouds were afoot in the black night and, as if from nowhere, they marched across the face of the moon sometimes making it go away entirely.

Because we are sophisticated and scientifically enlightened people living here in the 21st century, we know that clouds can't make the moon "go away." We further know that the moon was not only ten percent there last night. It's just that we could only see ten percent of it. the whole thing was still there... in darkness.

It's about what you can see... and what you can't.

When we sing or say the Shema we say the first verse at a normal volume, clear and strong:

Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.

And the second verse:

Barukh sheim k'vod malkhuto l'olam va'ed.

is almost a whisper. Very, very, quietly...

The reason we do this is to remind us that sometimes we can hear God and sometimes we can't. God is there just the same, speaking just the same. Sometimes we hear, sometimes we don't.

It's about what we can hear... and what we can't.

In the same way, sometimes light shines on the cactus in a way that reveals the thorns...










































And sometimes in a way that reveals the flowers.




But, look closely...Both are present...

The flower and the thorn grow from the same plant, receive their nourishment from the same source, come forth from the same ground.


It's about where the light shines... and where it doesn't.

I've been thinking about how much there is that I don't know, things I don't see at all, even though in a different light, come the morning, or on another day they may be clear.

I once knew a boy, nine or ten I'd say. And he took to meeting me in the courtyard outside my office in the morning times. I told him about the various plants and taught him how to identify several birds by the sound of their call. We talked about the seasons, his family, what he was studying in school. Originally I thought of him as an intrusion. Later, as a friend.

On the second to last day of school he came to the courtyard and we talked about his summer plans and mine. Then he said ten words that pierced my heart, "Thank you for teaching me how to pray this year."

Obviously if I had known that that's what we were doing, if the sun had shown in a different direction or if the clouds had moved and I'd realized that that's what we were doing... learning to pray! Obviously, I would have run screaming from the whole thing. But, it was the second to the last day of school. Too late to run.

I remember rattling off some things that both he and I have forgotten. I told him that prayer takes many forms, that his praying would change over the years and I hoped to Hell that he would be better at it than I am, that he would be more faithful, more honest, braver, truer. And after he left I prayed all that for him knowing what a poor and weak teacher he'd had. ...Also hoping that his agnostic parents didn't find out.

I think that more often than we realize, we are not at all doing what it is we think we are doing. My young friend was kind enough to tell me what I'd done. It wasn't what I'd thought. I thought I was just being kind to a boy who didn't have many adults in his life. I thought I was being a patient administrator. I thought a thousand things... but not that.

I want to have a greater awareness of these hidden things. I don't know how to do it. I am not sure I have that level of sensitivity, if I can be that aware. Sometimes God does have to be awfully blunt with me.

But, I am going to be looking. I am going to listen more closely. I am going to think outside the box to see what might be there. Because I don't want my life to be what it seems, and no more. I want to believe that in all the mundane, boring, insanely stupid things I do all day long there is at least a little bit of God and that He is doing something. Please, God, don't let it all be for nothing.

How Do You See Things?