"Listen to your life.
See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.
In the boredom and pain of it
no less than in the excitement and gladness:
 touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it
because in the last analysis all moments are key moments,
and life itself is grace."
 (Frederick Buechner)

It was early in the season and the newly-fallen snow was deep,
loose and fluffy, gently covering the scrubby bush on the Highlands. 
With snowshoes strapped to my feet I crossed the windswept meadow.
The going was difficult but enjoyable for a time,
until the wind picked up, the air grew colder, and the snow became more treacherous.  What began as beauty and enjoyment became a challenge,
adventure turning into an ordeal.
From walking easily on the snow
my trek became a nightmare
of  breaking through the thin icy crust
and sinking into shoulder deep caverns of powdery snow
loosely filling the space beneath and around unseen bushes and fallen trees. 
In exhaustion and frustration I cursed the very snow
whose beauty I had admired just hours before. 
This was not the excursion into the winter world of nature’s beauty that I anticipated.


“Damn it!” I swore, struggling heavily to clamber out of yet another cavern.
“I hate this white crap” I shouted seconds later,
as I was sinking and flailing downward for at least the hundredth time.   
Immobilized and exhausted I cursed the snow,
the unseen bushes, my snowshoes, and just about everything else around me. 
Frustration and anger expressed in growing profanity obliterated the beauty of the day
- the joy of this adventure, my lust for life and love of nature,
a string of curses obscured my sense of the Creator’s presence
within me and around me? 

I did not stop to think of what I was saying or doing in that moment
but in looking back, I feel embarrassed –
by how easily and often I tend to speak profanity
in the face of inconveniences and obstacles.
Yet when others speak profanity it disturbs my sense of well-being,
it upsets and mars the good space between us,
the beauty of the moment,
the milieu of God’s presence.
 
There are men and women whose ethos of life is profanity
in thought and speech and style,
whose every other word is uttered as vulgarity. 
And I’ve heard many men and women share their life stories,
of journeys through pain and prison and profanity to, grace and beauty.  
Theirs were miraculous stories of redemption, transformation, and restoration –
of profanity undone
exposed for its emptiness and mindlessness
by the mercy and love of Jesus,
who takes upon Himself the curse of human evil and vulgarity –
bringing beauty out of ashes
turning frustrations into gratitude
filling the dark and empty void with His sacred presence
and turning stone cold hearts from profanity to praise.
 
Why then do I use profane and graceless words?
I think of Peter cursing and afraid when he was accused
of being associated with Jesus. 
By profanity he distanced himself from Jesus,
but as soon as the vulgar words left his mouth he realized what he had done. 
In the moment of his profanity,
Jesus looked on him with love
and Peter wept,
knowing that  the love of Jesus
was a sacred place –
the sacred space between them which he had fouled.
 
I also think about the two prisoners on either side of Jesus
who cringe and cry out in the excruciating anguish of their final hours.
One utters curses and insults at Jesus
blaming and adding to the violence of the scene.
The other sees in that moment of inhumane despair
that between his own cross and Jesus is a sacred space –
and speaks a simple plea for grace and pardon. 
 
There are just two modes of being in the world,
two ways of seeing ourselves and our place –
the one is sacred and the other profane. 
Profanity is defined as treating something with abuse, irreverence or contempt;
debasing or demeaning something or someone through vulgarity.
I know that there is no dividing line between the sacred and profane. 
Everything has been created by God for good. 
But by my profanity I degrade and demean that which is good,
and deny the sacred space in which I live and move and have my being.
In the echoes of my own profanity
as I struggle with frustration and irritation (in the snow or not)
I realize myself standing with Peter looking into the eyes of Jesus
whose love  still fills the space between us.
And I realize as well
with the “good” thief on the cross
that in whatever difficulty and pain, suffering and agony
the space around me, between us, between God and me
is the sacred space that that He has made
and it is a blessing not a curse, nor to be cursed.
 

On the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance to balance you.
And when your eyes freeze behind the grey window
and the ghost of loss gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green, and azure blue
come to awaken in you a meadow of delight.
When the canvas fray sin the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours…
And so may a slow wind
work these words of love around you,
an invisible cloak to mind your life.
(From “Beannacht”by John O’Donahue)