July 25, 2023
Last week I spent a day at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. Being there is always a delight, but this time I had a specific purpose. In August I am offering an informal writing retreat there for the participants of the weekly writing group I facilitate, (Actually, anyone is welcome to attend. Let me know if you would like details.) and my field trip was part of my planning process.
I decided to go on the narrated tram tour which drives by the various display gardens, the sculpture garden, demonstration gardens, the maze, and the Chinese garden, giving such a good overview of the arboretum. The day was gorgeous, and I so enjoyed the guide’s insight into the workings of the arboretum.
At one point the guide stopped the tram by the prairie garden, and in that brief pause I felt my heart lift.
Each time I have viewed or walked prairie land, I have had that same feeling. I sense the sacred in the movement of the grasses as they respond to a gentle breeze, in what feels like untended and random colors and textures, and in the spacious, almost unending stretch where earth meets sky.
I wasn’t born on the prairie nor have I lived on the prairie. I have lived in urban areas most of my life, but the prairie expands my awareness of the movement of God. I sense the presence of God when I am in the prairie.
I have had that experience in other times and places, as well. For example, each time I walked through the gates of the Chautauqua Institution in New York, I knew God was waiting for me there. When we first encountered Sweetwater Farm, our home for eleven years in Ohio, I knew not only was I home in a way I had not felt for a long time, but I knew God was directing my steps there. And I felt that with every return time, whether it was after a quick grocery shopping trip or several days away on vacation.
Sometimes a place’s sacredness is palpable, but sometimes the sacredness of a place emerges over time.
Sometimes the sacredness of a place seems obvious, like the labyrinth at Chartres, but sometimes it is surprising or felt only in a specific moment. A baptism. A memorial service. A family dinner. A walk with a dear one. A quiet moment on the patio.
Sometimes one’s presence enhances or reveals the sacredness waiting to be known in that time and space. I hope this doesn’t sound egotistical, and I am hesitant to say write this, but often my garret feels sacred. This is where I meet with my spiritual directees; where we open ourselves to the mystery of the Divine.
Sometimes a space is sacred because it reveals our own inhumanity, begging us to care for one another. For example, I remember standing on the bridge overlooking the Tallahatchie River where Emmett Till’s body was dumped and also the courtroom where Till’s murderers were acquitted. Those sites recently were designated as national monuments. Sacred sites.
Are we drawn to a space because it is inherently sacred or do we create sacred space because of what we bring there, who we become in that space? Yes.
In sacred space I am aware of the movement of God both in that space and in my life. I become present to the presence of God, and I glimpse the person I was created to be, even just in that moment.
May it be so.
An Invitation
When have you experienced sacred space? I would love to know.
Living on Life's Labyrinth 
A few years ago, after retiring, I volunteered as a tour guide for one of the area’s historical landmarks, the home of the man who brought raisin production to the San Joaquin Valley. M. Theo Kearney was known as the Raisin King and the grounds and home where he lived while in the area have been made into a county park and museum.
I was asked to write some pieces for the historical society’s newsletter about the house so I would sit in the various rooms, or on the veranda, and just feel the “ghosts” of a past era. The words always flowed. So, I guess you would say, that was sacred space for me.
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And sacred time, too. Lovely.
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Your post made me stop to think about what my sacred spaces are, have been, could be. Thanks for opening that door of introspection.
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You are welcome. I suspect the more you pay attention the more sacred spaces you will discover.
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The most sacred place I’ve ever felt/been in was when I was in England in 2000, visiting a friend. I was walking in a wide open space with rolling hills. As I stood on one of the hills and looked at all the beauty around me, I burst into tears. It was so moving being there and witnessing that kind of beauty. And I’m not one to cry easily.
You don’t sound egotistical at all by saying that your garrett feels like a sacred space. I feel that way also about “my room”. This is the spare bedroom that used to belong to my oldest son. I have made this room peaceful and cozy and feminine…a lot of my books are in here, as well as my yoga mat and all my art journaling and writing supplies. My room also has a twin bed which is used for reading and napping. Though when my youngest son comes to visit from CA, this is where he stays, so I lose my sacred space for awhile. 😉
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Thanks you so much for sharing your sacred spaces. Bursting into tears often seems like the most natural response when we feel that sacredness.
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My most available sacred space is a she-shed in my back yard (a.k.a. my wee hermitage).
It’s rustic and cozy with a long east window for watching for dawn and birds.
I’ve had two profound experiences in forests: stopped in my tracks and unable to proceed. Once was in Hawaii, a clearing in a bamboo forest, the bamboo arching overhead like a cathedral ceiling. The other time was in the California Redwoods. Both times it seemed a Presence halted my steps, inviting me to linger.
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Your hermitage sounds like a real gift for you, and aren’t you glad you paid attention at those sacred times when the Presence extended an invitation. A holy pause.
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