Brother Wind

Author's Note:  Several years ago I was asked by the Sisters of St. Francis of the Holy Cross, whose Motherhouse is in Bay Settlement on the eastern side of the Green Bay, to offer reflections on the Canticle of the Creatures by St. Francis.  I shared the reflections during an evening gathering that the good sisters call "Silence and Sunset".  After a recent call from the community for a copy of the talk, I decided that I would post them as a series in Embers over the next few weeks.  I highly encourage you to read St Francis' poem as a foundation, and consider these 'companion pieces' to help you reflect more deeply on what the good Saint has to tell us.    

Brother Wind

It is likely that God created no more perfect metaphor for God than wind.  The wind can touch you but you can’t touch it.  You can hear its voice but you can’t speak into it.  You can see its impact in the water’s tossing whitecapped waves, in the sway of tall trees and in the crystal snowdrift.  Its force is undeniable, unstoppable.

When I was young, we lived on the far west side of Green Bay, at the very edge of civilization.  Just past our neighbor’s house was seemingly endless miles of farm fields – now all fallow.  On perfect summer days we would wade through the sea of tall grass that rippled in the wind running and laughing and playing hide and seek.  Overhead, huge white clouds, like flotillas of ships, sails unfurled and billowing full, rode the warm southwesterly currents across our imaginations – their weightless shadows passing right through us.  “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Luke 1:35 God never overwhelms us, God overshadows us.

A windless summer day, hot and humid is breathless.  On such days we long for a breeze, for freshness, for renewal.  The stillness reminds us of how our souls long for the Grace of God, for freshness, for renewal.

In springtime the gusty days send bursts of pinkish/whitish blossom petals from the apple trees; in the autumn the red and golden leaves let go fluttering free, and, in winter, the snowflakes streak through the leafless branches of the trees like a baptism, and they blanket the brown lifelessness of November in drifts of newness and purity.

It is the coming of the sun in the morning that stirs the first breeze to life, and it is the setting sun that brings the calmness of evening, like the voice of Jesus calling for stillness so that we are reminded to be still and know that the Lord is God.   

The wind moves all around me; I wish that I could see its face.  God moves all around me; I long for God’s face.

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan

Photo by Ant Rozetsky on Unsplash