Vision Quest

 "Once we realize that the nature of our existence is beyond thought and emotions, that it is incredibly vast and interconnected with all other beings, the separation and fear and hope all fall away. It is a tremendous relief."

Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

First Sip

    
 

If you are trying to follow the way of Jesus, you and/ or your church may be making plans for Advent. One of those plans probably include lighting a candle of hope on November 30, the first Sunday of Advent. When I read this post this morning, I found  myself asking, "How do we live without hope? Won't that simply leave us even further adrift?"  Then I realized that this comment  is a nudge to let go of our little self-focused hopes that are too often just cravings. We yearn for satisfaction, but such satisfaction usually does not last very long. Our hope needs to be much bigger. We need a vision for humanity.   

I vaguely remembered Jetsunma Palmo's name so I went to the internet for more information. I was reminded that she was the subject of a book, Cave in the Snow, written by Vicki Mackenzie (published in
1998). A friend of mine recommended the book to me a few years ago. I read it and loved it. This morning I am thinking I should read it again. The book is the true story of Jetsunma Palmo choosing to live alone for twelve years in a remote and high cave in the Himalayas, and  her emergence from the cave with a vision to establish a women's convent in India. She then worked to bring that vision to fruition. That is the power of vision.

Yesterday I went downtown, and as I walked, I felt some dismay. I was seeing a lot of poverty, and I thought that what I was seeing was a lack of hope. And I may have been. However, today I think I was seeing more. I believe what I was witnessing was a lack of vision. Regardless of what is happening politically, we cannot surrender our dreams to those in power. They cannot dream for us; their hopes and visions are too limited. We are more.        

I now see Advent as a vision quest. We light candles that wait on our communal and personal altars. In that waiting there is God, who is also waiting - waiting again to be born in the caves of our minds and hearts to bring light into our world. That light is not for a select few. It is for all to see - and live.   

    

"Because of our God's deep compassion; 

the dawn from heaven will break upon us,

to give light to those who are sitting in darkness

and in the shadow of death, 

to guide us on the path of peace."      

Luke 1:76-79  ( Zechariah speaking to his newly born son, John. Perhaps he sang this prophecy; we really do not know.)   

  

        

   

image: San Leandro, March 2025

A Vision for This Time

 A couple of weeks ago, I came across an old copy of the hymn, "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence". Since then, I  have been practicing the hymn's tune, Picardy, a French carol, on my flute. The words are credited to the Liturgy of St. James, 4th century, and are pretty somber. However, I will say that I once heard a recording of some nuns singing the hymn in French and it was quite ethereal. Their voices blended so beautifully that I forgot they were singing a capella. I had no need to know what words they were singing. I was just listening to beautiful music.  

 A few days ago, I realized that at the top left of this copy (but not in the two hymnals I primarily use) there is a reference to Habakkuk 2:20: "But the Lord is in the holy temple. Let all the earth be silent." However, what really caught my attention was Habakkuk 2:2-3, with the instructions to "Write a vision, and make it plain upon a tablet so that a runner can read it." Also about this time, I had a very simple melody running through my head. With Tyler's help, I was able to put some of the words from Habakkuk to the melody I was hearing. What surfaced was a simple chant that I find very encouraging: 

      

"There is a vision for this time; 

It does not deceive.

If it delays, wait for it. 

It will not be late." 

Habakkuk 2:2-3, abridged   

 

This morning as I was walking through the neighborhood, I again found myself reflecting upon these words. It was a beautiful morning for a walk, but I was somewhat distracted by my concern about the upcoming heatwave, and the serious implications of climate change. Suddenly, my attention was drawn to a large camellia bush directly in front of me. This blossom seemed to be saying, "Do not worry. We are here." 

Surely a vision for our time.  

       

 

   image: June, 2024