In that moment, we were fully present. Our hearts were pure. We had no care for the driving of cars, the achievement of dreams, the making of money, the garnering of knowledge, or the keeping track of anything. Yes, God was present through nature, but that is not where I saw divinity.
Where ever I look, it is obvious that the strong have inherited the earth. Whatever I see, whatever I read, where ever I go, the evidence is overwhelming and the message is clear: The strong are blessed, and the meek are sent back home.
These people had come together to be present for those who seemed forgotten by the world. In the small rural village of Laura, in between the tall palms, crashing waves, warm sand and houses made of tin walls, the poor richly celebrated a child’s life like she had been royalty.
We read through the Sermon on the Mount, imagining ourselves there, looking around at the characters—the weary, the broken, the diseased, the disciples gathered closest, the cynical, the conniving, those burned out on religion, all of them gathered near this Jesus . . .
In our busy, attention-grabbing world, perhaps the kind of waiting, or preparation, we need most is simply to rest. Rest from noisy disagreements, rest from trying hard to figure life out, rest from attempting to manage the universe—if even for a few minutes a day.