Reflection
Reflection on Kathleen R. Fischer's Book
Loving Creation: Christian Spirituality, Earth-centered and Just
By: Carol Ludwig, February 15, 2010
In her book, Loving Creation: Christian Spirituality, Earth-centered and Just, Kathleen Fischer writes about inviting retreatants or workshop participants to spend time praying with another, non-human form of creation. She says, it often opens doors to viewing all of life in new ways. Reading that reminded me of an experience I had last year.
While on retreat in New England in late September, I picked up a small, beautiful stone on a wooded path near a pond. For some unknown reason, the stone caught my eye. Looking back, I know it was grace that caused me to stoop and look more closely, then hold it in my hand, where my fingers curled gracefully around it. There was even a small indentation at the tip of the stone where I could rest my thumb comfortably. It seemed this stone had been made just for me: not too big; not too small. Just right.
This one inch by one-and-a-half piece of rock became the “touch stone” for my retreat. I carried it everywhere I went. It slipped into my pocket, accompanied me at Mass, was there in my palm as I prayed, sat watch overnight as I slept.
The stone is rough and irregular on the surface. It has a smooth, hilltop-like side, and a rather jagged edge on the end of the smooth side. The color goes from almost pure white on one corner to a very dark charcoal color, with streaks of white in the black area and black in the white areas. How like my retreat challenges, I thought. I was dealing with some “shadow” material I had recently become aware of. And there it was, reflected in the stone, contrasted and blended with the whiter portion of the rock I held as I prayed.
In a sometimes overly full life, I was feeling a need for grounding. What better instrument for grounding than a piece of the earth’s very substance, a hard, solid portable presence. As I carried it around, it became a reminder of God’s steadfast presence, the very ground of our being.
The stone even took on the temperatures of my body; cool when I was out walking, warmer inside sitting in the sunlight streaking into my room. It, too, could shift and change, yet it remained ever constant and solid, present to me, solid, reliable. Something I could count on.
One of those special days, my retreat director, who had spent decades living with the Lakota people in South Dakota, told me that many Native American people view rocks and stones as our oldest ancestors. How wonderful to have been accompanied for a contemplative week by an ancient relative.
I still have the stone. I know it is there for me. Constant, grounding, solid, changeless. Sound like God?
