Sacred Space | Akron Mennonite Church

Welcome to this Sacred Space

“How lovely is the silence of growing things.” These words are found on a garden marker at Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, NY. Here they are an invitation to pause at this bench and notice the natural world around you. Surrounded by native trees and shrubs silently growing in their beauty, inhale the peace of this setting. Receive it as a restorative gift. Listen to the rustle of wind through the leaves and the bird song. Feel the sun on your face. Breathe slowly and deeply until your body feels relaxed.

Each day opens us to newness and the invitation to lean into what is — to gifts, but also to discomfort or uncertainty. Twelve short meditations are offered for your reflection, available through this QR code. They are listed under 4 subjects: Stillness, Gratitude, Loss, Peace. May whatever calls to you bring your spirit to rest.

Stillness

“When I am among the trees”

When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which I have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,

“and you, too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light and to shine.”

—Mary Oliver, Thirst.

Reprinted by the permission of The Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency as agent for the author.

"In a Time of Much Doing"

epigraph by T.S. Eliot, “Ash Wednesday, Part 6” —“Teach Us to Sit Still”

How soon I seem to have forgotten

how to be still, how to not plan,

how to step out into the day

and let the world itself write

the story of how a morning becomes

an afternoon becomes a night

becomes a woman.

How soon I seem to have forgotten

the value of not doing,

the gift of unscheduling,

the blessing of dipping my toes into the stream

of no time, then wading in full body,

where I remember I am part of an infinite story;

at the same time I relearn how fragile it is,

this life. How soon I forgot I could change it all.

Even now, I could be still again.

I could choose silence.

Even now.

—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “A Hundred Falling Veils,” blog post February 22, 2023.

Used with permission of the poet: (https://www.wordwoman.com)

“My Job”

The sky takes it all, every smudge

of anger—every sifting of despair

that clouds angry lives—to become

distilled into the breath of a child.

The sea harvests all wars—the rivers

carry them down to the deep

and up through the rain

to fill a child’s cup.

My job is to give my little all

to the atmosphere of kindness,

to be a forgotten tree exhaling

oxygen, a bird putting forth

a song heard only by you.

—Kim Stafford

Reprinted by the author’s permission from The Flavor of Unity (Little Infinities, 2020).

Gratitude

For the freshness of this new day

thanks be to you, O God.

For morning’s gift of clarity

its light like the first day’s dawn,

thanks be to you.

In this newborn light

let us see afresh.

In this gateway onto what has never been before

let our soul breathe hope

for the earth

for the creatures

for the human family.

Let our soul breathe hope.

—John Philip Newell, Praying with the Earth: A Prayerbook for Peace, p. 12.

Reproduced by permission of the publisher, Wm. B. Eerdmans.

“Praying”

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

—Mary Oliver, Thirst

Reprinted by the permission of The Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency as agent for the author.

Loss

“Blessing of the Tears”

That I may be filled with them.

That I may be emptied by them.

That they may challenge my silence.

That they may lead me to speech.

That I may name each one.

That I may be named by each one.

That they may teach me of my sorrow.

That they may lead me to my strength.

—Jan Richardson, In Wisdom’s Path

“How to Meet This Difficult Day”

Today the prayer is words

I can’t yet find,

words that flit away

like juncos, like chickadees.

Today the prayer I wish for

is not the prayer that finds me—

less like the perfume of a fully bloomed flower

more like the dank and fusty scent of spring.

Some days when I forget how to pray,

if I listen with my whole body,

the world reminds me how what is used up, spent

spent up

is also a vessel for the holy,

as dry leaves become a nest,

as bare branches hold the sunrise.

—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, "Reformed Journal," June 29, 2021.

Used with permission of the poet: https://www.wordwoman.com.

“Blessing in the Chaos”

To all that is chaotic in you,

let there come silence.

Let there be a calming

of the clamoring,

a stilling

of the voices that

have laid their claim

on you,

that have made their

home in you,

that go with you

even to the holy places,

but will not

let you rest, will not let you

hear your life

with wholeness

or feel the grace

that fashioned you.

Let what distracts you

cease.

Let what divides you

cease.

Let there come an end

to what diminishes

and demeans,

and let depart

all that keeps you

in its cage.

Let there be

an opening

into the quiet

that lies beneath

the chaos,

where you find the place

you did not think possible

and see what shimmers

within the storm.

—Jan Richardson, The Cure for Sorrow.

“A Proclamation for Peace”

Whereas the world is a house on fire;

Whereas the nations are filled with shouting;

Whereas hope seems small, sometimes

a single bird on a wire

left by migration behind.

Whereas kindness is seldom in the news

and peace is an abstraction

while war is real;

Whereas words are all I have;

Whereas my life is short;

Whereas I am afraid;

Whereas I am free—despite all

fire and anger and fear;

Be it therefore resolved a song

shall be my calling—a song

not yet made shall be vocation

and peaceful words the work

of my remaining days.

—Kim Stafford

Reprinted by the author’s permission from The Flavor of Unity (Little Infinities, 2020).

“In the Steps of RBG”

So let me take one step right now,

one step toward respect.

And give me strength to take another

toward clarity. And though

my feet might feel like stones, let

me take another step toward justice.

And another toward equity. And another

toward truth. And though my legs

may feel leaden and slow, though someone

else may step on my toes, may I inch

toward forgiveness. May every step

be toward a bridge. Enough divisiveness.

And as I go, may I find joy in the stepping,

grace in the edging toward great change.

But if there’s little joy, let me step anyway.

Then take another step. And another. And another.

—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “Poets Respond,” Sept. 20, 2020.

Used by permission of the poet: https://www.wordwoman.com.

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Compiled by Linda Helmus, April 2024

All poems used with permission for this website only.

Photographs of sunrise at the nature preserve by Nancy Chapman.

Used by permission for this website only.