We must add one stitch,
no matter how small it be,
to the magnificent tapestry of life.
~ Pierre Teilhard De Chardin
What is this “tapestry” to which the Jesuit theologian and paleontologist refers? Previous to this statement, he suggests that we “become conscious of our living solidarity with the one great Thing and then do the smallest thing in a great way.” And what might this one great Thing be? For Chardin it is the continued convergence, the movement of loving unity with all that exists. This is accomplished in union with divine Love, doing our “smallest thing” in our individual, authentic way so it contributes to the welfare of the whole.
Having become intrigued with the word “tapestry,” I went, of course, to the Internet to find the following description: “A piece of cloth with a pattern or picture that is created by sewing or weaving different colored threads onto a special type of strong cloth.” Then I came across a suggestion for what the “tapestry in life” might be. “…a magnificent tapestry woven with threads of joy and sorrow, triumphs and challenges, love, and loss. …a journey that each one of us embarks on, filled with countless experiences that shape who we are.”
This metaphor appeals to me as I enter the liturgical season of Advent. Consider this tapestry of life to represent our inner being—a “strong cloth”—that during the coming weeks we stitch into our lives what we think, say and do with qualities similar to those witnessed to and taught by Jesus, the embodied, divine love birthed over 2,000 years ago.
Like a cloth of various colors, each lived virtue adds to the design and beauty of a love-centered life. Imagine if everyone “stitched” the golden threads of their personal goodness into each day of Advent—what a magnificent spirit of peace and good will could evolve. In preparation for celebrating Christ’s birth, we can thread daily “stitches” of kindness, attentive listening, patience, thoughtfulness, prayer, generosity, understanding, tolerance, compassionate caregiving, intentionally helpful deeds, and supportive comments.
This isn’t as easy as it sounds. My sister-in-law has been intent on creating a quilted wall-hanging. After the task of choosing the right kind of material, the pattern, and colors, she’s spent months working to create the beautiful piece of art. Adding our stitches to an Advent tapestry also requires a deliberately repeated focus. Just the other day I no sooner closed my meditation with the desire to be a vessel of love when a phone call came inviting me to set aside my neatly planned day to be of assistance to someone. Ah, yes, the golden thread.
But imagine if this were to be our intention, how that might change our emotional responses when we’re caught in the December tasks of “do this, take part in that, get this ready, go there, don’t forget to…”. Then, when we join in the anthems of peace, joy, and hope that ring out on December 25th, our tapestry of life will shine with the golden threads of love that we have stitched into the Advent days.
What “smallest things” will you add to the strong cloth of your Advent tapestry?
Abundant peace,
Joyce Rupp
p.s I am now posting several times a week on Instagram. @JoyceRuppauthor
If you scroll down you will find a reflection from The Circle of Life that Macrina Wiederkehr and I coauthored. This particular piece is one that I wrote for people experiencing emptiness or despondency at this time of year. In our current world situation, so many are unable to approach Christmas in a celebratory manner. Our planet cries out and bends low in countless ways with suffering too great to open a door to joy. Whether this be from war, terrorism, hate crimes and other violence, climate change, refugee resettlement and homelessness, political imprisonment, famine and poverty, or from the sorrow of hearts aching because their loved ones left them through death or from harsh grievances. It is my hope that “The Wintered Spirit” will strengthen and console anyone who longs for consolation.
The Wintered Spirit
Joyce Rupp
How can you dream of an easy rain when all your love
is frozen in glaciers of loss?
How can you hope for fruit to form on the tree when
you can hardly hang onto life each day?
How can you find the promise in a seed when your heart
is lost in the depths of depression?
How can you sense the stirrings of a butterfly when
your energy is cocooned in sorrow?
It takes immense trust and hope to see new life waiting
beneath the frozen, barren land.
It takes deep courage to remain in the cave of loneliness
and painful solitude.
It takes powerful faith to believe in the gestation of a
positive future when all is unknown.
It takes compassionate patience to remain by the
side of an aching seed in the silent soil.
It takes stout-hearted resilience to endure the soul’s
contractions of seemingly endless birthing.
It takes vulnerable openness to stay present to deadness
and not run from staleness.
We wait for new life, but we do not wait alone.
We wait with the mother bear as the little cub within
takes shape and form.
We wait the dormant juices of the maple trees
gathering up sweetness in their empty limbs.
We wait with the pruned rose bushes sighing for
warming sun to sing them into budding.
We wait with the frozen creeks and rivers yearning
to be melted into laughing waters.
We wait with all humans whose weary lives turn
slowly toward re-awakened joy.
We wait with the cosmos which is ever-dying and
being re-born, giving away and receiving anew.
And while we wait, we struggle to accept winter as a necessary
companion, an inner season calling us to be more than we now are,
a confident guide taking us on a perilous journey that is part of every
dying and every birthing.
It is in the winter of our lives that the enduring Voice within coaxes us
along, nudges us into belief, urges us to stay in the dark for as long as
it takes for rebirthing to occur.
In our wintered time, it is this One who draws us close, nestles us near
to heart, breathes strength into our spiritual bones, and assures us
that we are growing wings under the frozen land of our desolate and
emptied self.
(As found in: The Circle of Life, Macrina Wiederkehr & Joyce Rupp)
