Seek Him who made the Pleiades and Orion

Seek him that made the Pleiades and Orion . . .

The last few months have been some of the most difficult of my life and time in seminary.  To begin 

with, my summer was spent offering pastoral care to the countless patients, families, staff, and colleagues at a major trauma hospital. The things I witnessed, shared, and experienced were simultaneous extremely difficult and full of blessings. I have been asked to deal with death, life, grief, joy, unbelief, and my own theology in ways I never thought would become manifest in my life. In the depth of my struggle I found myself in the chapel at two in the morning, crying before the altar and bringing to mind the words of Prince Hamlet in Shakespeare's famous play.

'What a piece of work is man! 

How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! 

In form and moving how express and admirable! 

In action how like an Angel! 

in apprehension how like a god! 

The beauty of the world! 

The paragon of animals! 

And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

               - Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act II, scene 2

Though my semester has been one of relative calm and joy, I have been stressed with the continuing presence of the question, "why am I here?" In writing sermons, processing systematic theology, as well as considering my pastoral call and capacity in the classroom and the hospital room I frequently find a multitude of fault. 

An unavoidable feature of discernment and priestly formation is the voice of doubt for ones own vocation. My defense has become the practice of busy avoidance. I think for many in seminary who have recently experienced the breaking that comes from hospital chaplaincy internship, this is a common means of defense.  We keep ourselves busy! We find other ways to serve! We throw ourselves into our studies! We think so much, so as not to think. 

I have recently felt as if I keep failing at my vocation because of words on paper. It is strange, because my harsh judgement of myself is not of actions, but of my rhetoric around processes for actions not yet practiced. I tell myself, I should know better, while at the same time thinking so as not to think.  The most recent line of inquiry from an academic standpoint has been, "Why Creation?"

This evening, I returned home early from orchestra rehearsal.  As I stepped out of my car, I looked over the roof of my house.  The leaves of the trees around the property have for the most part, now fallen with the coming of winter. As a consequence, the sky becomes more easily visible. After many days of rain and fog, this was a rare, crisp, clear, fall night sky.  I walked through the house and made my way to the back yard.

In my back yard is a pond.  I made my way to the embankment and found my favorite constellation, so bright it could have come to life.  The house lights on the other side of the pond reflected in gold streaks across the deep darkness of the water. Orion began to make his rising above the tree line.  I stepped back within myself, took a deep breath and began to absorb the spectacle. 

In my silence, the voices, the scenes, the memories, the pain all began to flood in order to fill the space. Creation despises a vacuum.  In a recent test I was asked to ponder, "Why Creation?" and that became my focus in defense. But than I recalled the words of Prince Hamlet.  As I looked at the glittering darkness above me; as I gazed at the "vast expanse of interstellar space" I thought "what am I?" What a piece of work is man? Why did the God who created all this, create me?  Why does the God, who is as we say, "King of the Universe" even bother with me? For some reason, I was created, and God does bother with me. So my focus became, "now what?"

The Daily Office is a beautiful practice of prayer that I have the blessed opportunity to practice every day.  Whenever I am officiant I make use of the following opening sentence based on Amos 5:8

Seek him that made the Pleiades and Orion, 

that turneth deep darkness into morning,

and darkeneth the day into night;

that calleth for the waters of the sea,

and poureth them out upon the face of the earth:

The Lord is his Name.

As I gazed upon the Pleiades and Orion, which so gloriously lit up the skies above me, I rolled over these words, "Seek him that made the Pleiades and Orion," and I began to seek him, with deep earnest. I began to spin and lift my eyes higher and higher. When I stopped to ponder this great mystery, a shooting star streaked across the expanse of the heavens and all I could laugh and smile from the warmth that filled my heart. In that moment, I knew. 

I seek, I struggle, I comprehend, and I wallow in confusion.  I study, I learn, I wrestle, and I confess. I hunger, I thirst, I sing, and I weep. 

In the end, it amounts to nothing, except that for it all, I am a witness to the glory of God.

I am a witness to the glory of God.

I may not be able to fully articulate the historical and infinite theological arguments which are made in a sorry attempt to explain God, creation, and our place in the mess of things.  But I have felt the love of God, and seen the splendor of his creation.  I am a witness to the glory of God.

My vocation, and all of our vocation, is to share that witness, to seek him who made the Pleiades and Orion, and to bring the light of his glory to the world. He glories in his creation, he glories in me, he glories in you.

Do not be troubled and do not be discouraged. 

Seek him that made the Pleiades and Orion . . . the Lord is his Name.