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.