A Spiritual Director, knowing that I walked regularly, asked if I ever used my walking to practice Lectio Divina. My answer was a quick, no. My understanding of Lectio Divina was pretty basic. It’s a way to read scripture meditatively. It usually includes reading the same passage slowly and carefully three or four times. Reflecting on the meaning, listening for a message, and waiting to receive enlightenment.
Before I could ask the Spiritual Director how to read and walk at the same time, she said, “rather than reading and reflecting on scripture, read and reflect on what’s in front of you.” I was intrigued. She went on, “find your path and identify a spot that calls you. Return to it. Pray and listen.”
For years, I made this part of my regular practice. It helped with making decisions. Writing papers and sermons. And not only did it provide insight, answers, and guidance, it was also calming, centering, and nourishing. Like so many things, when life got busy and stressful, I let the practice go. And last week, I added Lectio Divina walks to my becoming board. Another of the things I used to do again.
Walk, Read & Reflect #1
I went walking near the lighthouse, which I often do. But this morning I did it with clear intentions. The dirt path from the parking lot to the beach freshly graded. I took the long way, the narrow route leading me through tall grass that scratched my legs and hanging tree branches that brushed my hair. The sun was bright and my sunscreen rolling off my face like beads of sweat.
Approaching the lighthouse, I remembered that I first learned about them from the hymnal on my great-grandmother’s book shelf. That same hymnal, still smelling like an old library, is now on my shelf. Hymn 148 is highlighted in yellow,
Brightly beams our father’s (creator’s) mercy, from his (the) lighthouse ever more; but to us he (God) gives the keeping of the lights along the shore.
These mystical mysterious buildings were spiritual, more than practical, in my young mind. In my childhood imagination, God’s body resembled a lighthouse. Faith was a light that kept us on track, alerting us to danger lurking about. Without God and without faith we were floating in troubled waters.
Walk, Read & Reflect #2
After several minutes standing at the locked gate of the fence around the lighthouse, I continued on the path, moving farther away from where I started. There were several kayakers in the shallow inlet and small boats not far from shore. Three large freighters rolled by in the deeper waters. Were they conscious of the lighthouse in front of them?
My grandparent’s red cottage sat on the top of a hill, several hundred yards from the water. When I played in the sand facing the lake, I was always aware of the people and place I loved behind me. When I was in the lake swimming and bouncing around, looking in front of me it seemed so small. Yet at night, after sunset, the little lamp next to the recliner cast a light bright enough to draw me home, to remind me of my safe harbor.
About a 15-minute drive from the cottage, up the shore of Lake Huron, there is a lighthouse. And I’m pretty sure it’s the first one I ever visited. One summer I climbed the tight winding steps to the top and went out on the ledge. I imagined climbing it long before I did. And once I did, my whole perspective changed.
I felt so big and the world so small. The beach I loved, and where I felt so free, like a universe away. The stones and sand like particles of dust. The water like a distant fountain rather than a playground. The waves calling me to be curious rather than to dive in. Waving to family below felt like greeting strangers. Was this a place to fear or enjoy?
What might I learn about lighthouses from sailors? How would the lessons they taught differ from those I learned in church and from my grandmother who never actually got in the water?
Back on the ground not far from the lighthouse entrance is an old boat, pulled from the lake after going under in a storm. Was it the wind and waves or rocks that caused it to sink? Did the lights up ahead come on too late to be of help? Were they on and shining the whole time?
What about those who struggle to survive in broad daylight? What about people who die on dry land? Who sink from religion’s weight? Is there light in all of us? And can our light really rescue someone else?
The refrain from the hymn echoing in my head and heart,
Let the lower light be burning, send a gleam across the wave. Some poor fainting, struggling seaman (sea-person) you may rescue, you may save.
Walk, Read & Reflect #3
I’m sitting at the shore on muddy ground. I take my shoes and socks off and put my feet in. The water is strangely warm and comfortably familiar. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware that the lighthouse is behind me and not in front. How can I meditate and reflect on what’s behind me?
I was tempted to turn around and look. But decided to trust my memory. I didn’t have to see the lighthouse to know it was there. Or touch the fence or stand in the grass to feel it.
I can trust myself. I do trust myself. My gut, my intuition, my hopes, my dreams, this path I’m on and forming as I go. I trust it. All of it. And I trust the lights guiding me, the ones in front and the ones behind.
During the pandemic, when I was seemingly forever on camera, I was always worried about the lighting. Was it too bright? Too dark? Was there a glare or weird reflection? I watched endless videos about how to light videos. There were many about backlighting. Good backlighting is vital. It separates the subject from the background. It creates depth and definition. But be careful, because too much backlight and you’ll disappear.
Sometimes I’m afraid to look back for fear that I’ll turn into salt. Other times I look back for fear that if I don’t the good memories will disappear. My good memories of childhood are from the cottage and the beach. So much of what I know about God, I learned from my great-grandmother sitting at her feet as she rocked in that recliner looking out toward the lake. The hymnal on the shelf next to the fireplace. The little lamp on.
I miss her and give thanks for all the ways she shaped my life and my beliefs and introduced me to lighthouses. And taught me to think for myself and welcomed my questions.
I’m grateful the lighthouse is behind me right now. It’s a reminder that I’m moving farther and farther away from viewing God as a lighthouse with an ever-watchful eye on my life; illuminating all my faults and failures; and constantly pointing out the dangers ahead that without the right kind of faith will steer me to my death. God is light that cannot be contained or controlled. God is light, shining within and through us all. God is light that never goes out. God is light that transcends all laws of reflection.
Walk, Read & Reflect #4
I’m back on my feet, sand in the toes of my shoes. My nose red with sunburn. New freckles on my cheeks. Standing near the lighthouse fence, looking up rather than ahead or behind. I see a younger me up there. I wish I could tell her it would be easy, that there wouldn’t be any storms or long nights or bad times or difficult seasons or dangers lurking. What I do tell her is this:
The lighthouse isn’t God’s body, it’s yours. It isn’t God’s being. It’s you. Let yourself brightly beam. Let the full you be fully seen. From time to time, allow yourself to look back. Everything you encounter, every experience you have, every lesson, every question, every fall, every climb, every moment of grief and every minute of joy, every thread in your unraveling is the backlight of who you are becoming.
What is your understanding and experience of Lectio Divina? Do you use it as a way to read scripture or poetry or other inspiring words? Have you ever taken it on a walk? Try it out. We’d love to hear how it goes.
Wandering with wonder together.
Water-fully, Rebecca & 10 Camels
We have two events this week.
Friday, June 21st at 7:00 pm, we are sharing a brand-new poem at Newburg United Methodist Church in Livonia, Michigan as part of their Pride Community Prayer & Worship Night.
Sunday, June 23rd at 10:30 am, we are preaching at First United Methodist Church in Ferndale, Michigan.
Visit our 10camels.com for more details.
Fabulous and very soul touching ❤️ If only everyone could be as brave. My lighthouse has been under construction for so long, I am not sure the project will ever be completed.