The headline caught my attention: "Sikh Temple donates $10,000: Money for stem cell transplants follows religion's philosophy of helping those in need."  

It was a page 3 story in The Hamilton Spectator about a local Sikh temple giving $10,000 to the Juravinski Hospital and Cancer Centre Foundation's campaign to expand and purchase equipment for a dedicated and specialized clinical unit for stem cell transplant recipients.

One line in the story has stayed with me, and made me happy I read past the headline.  It's the line that describes Guru Tegh Bahadur Ji as being known for urging three things -- prayer, honesty and charity.

Good religion and real saints make it sound so simple.  Maybe because when you find the meaning of life, it really is quite simple.

Prayer.

Honesty.

Charity.

A living daily relationship with, and openness to God.  Living each day with integrity in all you do and all your relations.  Practicing an active concern for the well-being and dignity of others, especially those in need and the disadvantaged.

Prayer, honesty and charity are attitudes.  They are also actions.  They are commitments and disciplines.  

Three attitudes and actions, three commitments and disciplines that when faithfully attended to, probably make being a truly human being a surprisingly simple joy.

Nearing the end of the day.  

In maybe half an hour we'll be into that wonderful late November twilight that makes the drive home so deep and rich.

And for the first time today I am aware of being at rest.

Woke up feeling already squeezed into a shape of anxiety I didn't like by the pressure of Christmas deadlines and obligations.  In my case, mostly having to do with liturgies, special services, and end-of-year loose-ends-to-be-tied-up at church.

But the pressures come in all kinds of guises, and maybe you are feeling some of your own.

The temptation (and my usual way of "coping") was to simply forge on all the harder.  To take a moment to prioritize and organize, and then to launch into doing and doing and doing some more to whittle the list down bit by bit.

And there is some value, and sometimes necessity as well, in handling life that way.

But today I chose a different path.  I chose to honour one commitment I had -- a mid-morning visit with a couple of our church members who struggle these days with a variety of health concerns.  And after that I cancelled two other appointments (sorry Brynna and Bill!) around and in between which I was planning to do as much of my prioritized work as I could ... 

... and instead drove down to a lakeshore park, left my briefcase and laptop and daytimer in the back seat of the car, zipped up my jacket, and went and sat by the lake -- to take in the day, to breathe, and to practice as much of the mindful contemplation as I remember from my days in treatment and from a little book by Pema Chodron, called The Wisdom of No Escape, that I've been reading and trying to practice in fits and starts.

And it made all the difference in the world ... or at least in me and in the world of my own heart and soul.  By mid-afternoon I was settled, grounded and open enough to come to my favourite coffee shop, get the liturgies for the season completed far more easily than I imagined would be the case, and now to write these thoughts.

But the productivity is not the point nor the reason.  The simple experience of resting in the moment and breathing the goodness of life is what it's all about -- what all our life (work included) is at its best all about.

Greetings!

Greetings!

How do we greet one another?  Maybe, to paraphrase Jesus and other spiritual teachers, as we like to be greeted?

On my walk this morning I was welcomed by the most wonderful sunrise (more about that later), and it so lifted me from the shadows of a disturbed night and a troubled dream, that I intentionally offered an honest "Good morning" to the three persons I met along my way.

One person replied with a quick "Hi" before passing on.  The second looked me quickly in the eye and said, "Good morning" in return.  The third, caught by surprise while scraping frost from the back window of her car, offered just a smile -- but a warm and open one.

The person by whom I felt most honestly greeted was the one who said, "Good morning."  Second best was the smiler.  Last of all was the one who said just "Hi."

This particular reflection is prompted by a memory of being admonished a few years ago by a Roman Catholic sister who was a fellow participant in a residential program.  Her most recent posting had been for a good number of years in Rome, and she was accustomed to a certain level of culture and grace.  So one morning when I uttered my usual "hi" as we passed in the hallway, thinking that was sufficient for politeness, this time she took the time to stop and wonder aloud why on earth North Americans think a guttural grunt of one syllable is really adequate to acknowledge the presence of another human being. 

Ouch!  Good morning.

The best greeting of all this morning, though, was of course the sunrise that I had the good fortune to walk into as I walked out the front door of our house, down our sidewalk, and then as usual for my morning walk turned left to walk along the public sidewalk.  Which happens to lead me east.  Which faced me suddenly and without expectation, square and open-eyed and leaping-hearted towards the most gently glorious sky of dawning gold, orange, and crimson, tinging all the earth below -- trees, street, cars, lawns, houses -- with hues of the same.

It has been some time, I think, since my gaze has been raised in quite that gracious and wondrous a way to feel greeted by a new day.  Some time since I have felt that drawn beyond the shadow of disturbed nights and troubled dreams, into the gift of a perfect new morning and the dawning of a new day.

And I wonder ... am I able to offer at least some reflection of that grace, in the way I choose to greet others?  To greet, as I have been greeted?