I’m writing this at about 4 a.m. One side-effect for me of returning to work after a year of retirement is a recurrence of a pattern of nocturnal wakefulness. I seem to swim through deeper waters of sleep for the first several hours of the night – but then some subconscious current pushes me up toward the surface of wakefulness where some left-over piece of the day’s worry is often waiting to hook me and haul me up out of sleep. During my retired year in Ipswich, before Ann Arbor, I had coffee every week with a dear friend, a retired medical ethicist who lives just down the street. We discovered that we have this nocturnal trial in common – and she invented a name for it: the Hour of the Wolf. Ruth says it’s the darkest and most silent time of the night – when, if a wolf were to howl in the distance, you’d hear it with a sharpened edge, a piercing loneliness. The things that wait to capture our anxious minds sound bigger and more ominous than they turn out to be, when the daylight comes. But in the hour of the wolf, they quicken the pulse; they shake the foundations until the sun rises. In this time of crisis, when nothing has prepared us to anticipate the scope of what we’re facing, I’ve been noticing how hard it is to keep things in perspective. It becomes clearer every day that life and death are locked in an elemental struggle around us. And though there is no doubt that our species and our planet will survive it, there is also no way of predicting, at this point, what the toll will be. So, especially in the solitude of the hour of the wolf when the data around us howls and casts such looming shadows, I think of some words that I have treasured for years – hoping that I didn’t dream their truth, hoping they can stand up to the piercing cry of the wolf. The words come from a novel I love beyond almost any other – Godric, by Frederick Buechner. It’s the story of a 12th century monk who lives a hermit’s life utterly devoted to Jesus and his mother Mary, but with an earthy sense of human imperfection, God’s sense of humor, and the grace that infuses all things. Here is Godric, in his scrawny 80’s, describing his daily spiritual practice of immersion in a pool of water brought from the icy river Wear by his monastic companion Brother Perkin: In the little church I built of wood for Mary, I hollowed out a place for him. Perkin brings him by the pail and pours him in. Now that I can hardly walk, I crawl to meet him there. He takes me in his chilly lap to wash me of my sins. Or I kneel down beside him till within his depths I see a star. Sometimes this star is still. Sometimes she dances. She is Mary’s star. Within that little pool of Wear she winks at me. I wink at her. The secret that we share I cannot tell in full. But this much I will tell. What’s lost is nothing to what’s found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup. What’s lost is nothing to what’s found… In the hour of the wolf I hear myself pray, O please, let it be so: help us to find enough of what we need in this world to outweigh the burgeoning loss. And all the death that ever was… The shadows are so dark, the night so silent, and there will be so much to worry about tomorrow. All the death that ever was, set next to life… I hear the howling clash between them, and I want to believe, I need to believe – Lord, I believe; help my unbelief. …Set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup. Let the sun rise. Let the Son rise on this world, in this time: let the new day begin. Let some star, some crumb of light guide us back to one another again – where we can pool our hope, and be washed free of our despair. Peace, Rev. Rick Spalding
6 Comments
Mel
4/7/2020 04:09:25 am
Such a gift to have this perspective in your words, Rick. Thank you.
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Nicki Sorter
4/7/2020 04:58:28 am
Such a great way to wake up and start the day with perspective.
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Jeanette
4/7/2020 07:18:11 am
Happiness has not been lost here. We can communicate with each other and hold onto the love we feel between us.
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Lois Jelneck
4/7/2020 05:26:07 pm
Thanks so much for sharing these beautiful thoughts, especially at 4:00 in the morning!
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jeannette faber
4/9/2020 06:20:47 am
Stunning words that brought tears to my eyes. Thank you!
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