Laudete, omnes gentes, laudate Dominum

As part of this quiet Lenten rhythm, I learned that listening for the moment in the early hours when the birds begin to sing was the best way to time my getting up to walk to see the fullness of the sunrise.  And so they did. 

Approaching the ocean, the two doves were once again perched on the boardwalk to offer morning peace.
 

On this last morning at the beach, I share part of my morning devotional with you, prayed while sitting on the beach as the sun came up. 
Morning prayers for all I hold dear. 

Praise Lauds 
Traditional hour: at dawn/waking up 

Laudate, omnes gentes, laudate Dominum! [Sing praises, all people, sing praises to the Lord!] 
We greet the new day by praising the Creator (the ancient name for this hour, Lauds, means “praise”). 
Opening 
Bless the Lord, O my soul. 
Scripture 
O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you. Psalm 63:1
Meditation 
God has given to the earth the breath that feeds it. God’s breath vibrates in yours, in your voice. It is the breath of God that you breathe. 
Theophilus of Antioch 
From Daily Prayer for All Seasons by Church Publishing 

Thresholds of the day

Thresholds are places we cross as we travel from one space to another. Wise ones write about intentionally considering thresholds as a spiritual practice.


One of my practices on this Lenten retreat on Tybee Island is being mindful of sunrises and sunsets as thresholds of the day. I’ve been up at 6 each morning to walk to the beach to watch the sunrise. On the other hinge of the day, I’ve been intentional about being present on the marsh to see the sunset.  

These pauses have been spectacular not only because of their beauty, each unique to the conditions of that particular morning or evening.  The experiences before, or even at that very moment, have also been part of what is being received. 

This morning two doves, sitting in stillness, waited on the boardwalk I cross as if to give a blessing of peace to the day. 

Soldiers from a nearby base ran along the beach as the sun rose, with heavy backpacks weighing them down, each young man leaving deep impressions of his boot prints in the sand. I offered a silent blessing, one by one, as they jogged past. 

Since before Jesus’ time, holy men and women have stopped at thresholds throughout the day and offered prayers to God. I join them. 

Receiving Photography

Several years ago when I was traveling in Turkey, my new digital  camera was stolen. A sister pilgrim had brought a back up film camera that she leant me. Rather than taking endless photos, I had to be very intentional about which moment to photograph. I found myself being a much more careful observer without a camera to “capture” the places I went.   
As I walked to the beach this morning for the sunrise on Tybee Island beach, I remembered the words of Christine Valters Paintner who invites us not to take photographs but to receive them. 
Here I was with my brand new iPhone in hand, bought particularly for my upcoming trip to Iceland with it’s reportedly improved camera.  Swirling in my head were other words from my friend, Meredith+, a gifted Episcopal priest, who invites those in her parish to refrain from taking photographs during worship because it’s difficult to worship through a camera. 

As the sun rose in the sky, a handful of early risers gathered on the beach, all of us with our phones raised. 


And then God stepped in. Our phones were lowered, and we began to chat. In the shared receiving of the spectacular rising sun, we began to share our lives. 


Three young women from China, attending college in North Carolina, studying to be teachers. A couple from Virginia on a road trip.  So many smiles. Photos exchanged and given. So much joy. So very much received.