“There is no less holiness at this time- as you are reading this- than there was on the day the Red Sea parted, or that day in the 30th year, in the 4th month, on the 5th day of the month as Ezekiel was a captive by the river Cheban, when the heavens opened and he saw visions of god. There is no whit less enlightenment under the tree at the end of your street than there was under Buddha’s bo tree…. In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in trees.”
― Annie Dillard, For the Time Being
The very first thing I think of when I hear the phrase "sacred time" is being alone with my infant daughter late at night or the wee hours of the morning. Letting her nurse. The house so quiet and still except for the gentle glide of the chair -- back and forth, back and forth -- and the soft little noises she made as she fed. There is no peace that that. There is nothing that has ever felt more sacred.
And I knew that then. The year was 1993. I had been estranged from the church for more than a decade. My husband and I had started attending worship when we decided to start a family -- it seemed like the thing to do. But at that time I still didn't really think of myself as a Christian. And yet -- in that quiet, sacred time I found myself quietly humming or singing to my daughter not a standard lullaby or children's tune, but songs I had recently learned in worship: "It's in every one of us to be wise. Find your heart, open up both your eyes. We can all know everything without ever knowing why. It's in every one of us, by and by." And maybe, as I sang, I began to believe it myself.
The other song I sang was: "Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, help me stand. I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. In the dark, in the night, lead me on to the light. Take my hand, Precious Lord, lead me home." And in that dark, sacred night I was home.
-- Rev. Christine Ng
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