AN INTENTIONAL WALK
Exploring Lent through the Book of Creation
There are some very powerful, iconic images for Lent: sackcloth, ashes, purple, a penitential posture, a bare sanctuary,
Stations of the Cross. All these are poignant reminders of a call to 'turn to the Gospel', to embrace mystery, to encounter God.
However, the divine invitation is not limited to these icons. In Celtic Christianity, creation is sometimes referred to as “a grand volume of God's utterance” or “the dwelling place of God”. I decided to explore this sacred taonga, and drink of its riches. An intentional walk, open to the voice, the music, the dance, the whisper of the divine, seemed a good
idea.
Choose somewhere to walk. I chose Okere Falls Scenic Reserve, near Rotorua. I have also done this walking meditation around the block. Last week, I did it as a sitting meditation when I spent several hours in a waiting room.
Christine Valters Paintner encourages walkers to place their hand on their heart at the beginning of a contemplative walk. A sign of intention. A moment of pause. An infilling of grace.
Walk twenty or thirty steps slowly, consciously.
Or walk or sit for twenty or thirty seconds.
Or pause at every second lamp post.
You may like to say a mantra as you walk.
A favourite of mine is “Lord, you are a light for my path, a lamp for my feet.”
Or you may like to focus on each intentional step: a walking meditation.
Pause. Breathe in. Breathe out. Use your senses to become aware of what is around. Look. Listen. Smell. Touch. Using what you absorb, complete the sentence Lent is …
Here is what I discovered on my first walk.
The fantails danced for me. The cicadas serenaded me. The trees scattered their finery for me to promenade on. The cool air soothed me. The damp, earthy smell grounded me. I took a stroll through our taonga, our native bush, and listened to its korero.
It whispered, “This is what Lent is …
Lent is … a time to shed.
To my right I see a ponga having a 'bad hair day', untidy brittle fronds hanging down. It is a time to shed all that I have outgrown, so that new growth can flourish.
Lent is … a journey into the shadow.
I have arrived at a dark cave. Lent is a time to explore the shadows in my life, those attributes and actions which cause me, or others, discomfort, and to bring them into the light.
Lent is … an effort.
I am standing at the foot of a narrow winding stair. I need to commit to something outside of my comfort zone; to challenge long-held beliefs; to overcome spiritual inertia.
Lent is … part of the cycle of life.
At my feet lie leaves: one a skeleton, another had become brown and withered. And struggling toward the light, virginal new growth. It is important to honour each stage in my life.
Lent is … uprooting.
Lying beside the path is a large tree, uprooted in recent storms. I become aware of the areas in my life
that are shallow, areas where I lack true commitment or I am sitting on the fence. Lent can be a time to consider whether or not to let these areas fall over or to tend and support them.
Lent is … a tenuous strand.
Stretched between a solid tree trunk and a delicate fern frond, I see a gossamer thread, a spider's silk.
Lent is a link between the early weeks in Ordinary Time and the high feast of Easter. I can dismiss the season as irrelevant or contrived, or I can honour its inherent strength.
Lent is … a promise.
Over the fence I see a single pohutakawa flower on a large tree. I recognise that I must balance the discipline of Lent with the ecstasy of Easter. In every day actions, too, I must remember to balance the apparent monotony of daily chores with the joy of a life gifted to me.
Walking on the earth is a miracle!
Each mindful step reveals the ultimate dimension.
There are some very powerful, iconic images for Lent: sackcloth, ashes, purple, a penitential posture, a bare sanctuary,
Stations of the Cross. All these are poignant reminders of a call to 'turn to the Gospel', to embrace mystery, to encounter God.
However, the divine invitation is not limited to these icons. In Celtic Christianity, creation is sometimes referred to as “a grand volume of God's utterance” or “the dwelling place of God”. I decided to explore this sacred taonga, and drink of its riches. An intentional walk, open to the voice, the music, the dance, the whisper of the divine, seemed a good
idea.
Choose somewhere to walk. I chose Okere Falls Scenic Reserve, near Rotorua. I have also done this walking meditation around the block. Last week, I did it as a sitting meditation when I spent several hours in a waiting room.
Christine Valters Paintner encourages walkers to place their hand on their heart at the beginning of a contemplative walk. A sign of intention. A moment of pause. An infilling of grace.
Walk twenty or thirty steps slowly, consciously.
Or walk or sit for twenty or thirty seconds.
Or pause at every second lamp post.
You may like to say a mantra as you walk.
A favourite of mine is “Lord, you are a light for my path, a lamp for my feet.”
Or you may like to focus on each intentional step: a walking meditation.
Pause. Breathe in. Breathe out. Use your senses to become aware of what is around. Look. Listen. Smell. Touch. Using what you absorb, complete the sentence Lent is …
Here is what I discovered on my first walk.
The fantails danced for me. The cicadas serenaded me. The trees scattered their finery for me to promenade on. The cool air soothed me. The damp, earthy smell grounded me. I took a stroll through our taonga, our native bush, and listened to its korero.
It whispered, “This is what Lent is …
Lent is … a time to shed.
To my right I see a ponga having a 'bad hair day', untidy brittle fronds hanging down. It is a time to shed all that I have outgrown, so that new growth can flourish.
Lent is … a journey into the shadow.
I have arrived at a dark cave. Lent is a time to explore the shadows in my life, those attributes and actions which cause me, or others, discomfort, and to bring them into the light.
Lent is … an effort.
I am standing at the foot of a narrow winding stair. I need to commit to something outside of my comfort zone; to challenge long-held beliefs; to overcome spiritual inertia.
Lent is … part of the cycle of life.
At my feet lie leaves: one a skeleton, another had become brown and withered. And struggling toward the light, virginal new growth. It is important to honour each stage in my life.
Lent is … uprooting.
Lying beside the path is a large tree, uprooted in recent storms. I become aware of the areas in my life
that are shallow, areas where I lack true commitment or I am sitting on the fence. Lent can be a time to consider whether or not to let these areas fall over or to tend and support them.
Lent is … a tenuous strand.
Stretched between a solid tree trunk and a delicate fern frond, I see a gossamer thread, a spider's silk.
Lent is a link between the early weeks in Ordinary Time and the high feast of Easter. I can dismiss the season as irrelevant or contrived, or I can honour its inherent strength.
Lent is … a promise.
Over the fence I see a single pohutakawa flower on a large tree. I recognise that I must balance the discipline of Lent with the ecstasy of Easter. In every day actions, too, I must remember to balance the apparent monotony of daily chores with the joy of a life gifted to me.
Walking on the earth is a miracle!
Each mindful step reveals the ultimate dimension.