“An unreflected life is like an unopened letter.”
~The Talmud
Yesterday I found myself in a warm and lovely room reflecting on my life. Or at least some parts of it. Meeting with a spiritual director as I do once a month, I had set aside time to find language for the emerging patterns I see in my thoughts, my days, my work, my relationships, my heart. All this is done with the understanding that someplace in all of this the Holy dances. Just coming off Thanksgiving and heading into the season of Advent, there was much to muddle through.
As I walked out the door, I noticed a small picture frame with the quote above printed in autumn colors to match the other fall accents scattered about the room. I repeated the words to myself all the way to the car until I could write them down. The framed version did not have any hint as to where it came from but an Internet search provided the answer. The Talmud, the book my Hebrew brothers and sisters refer to when searching out the wisdom of thousands of rabbis on a wide variety of subjects. It is a central text held alongside the Torah that guides a faithful life.
“An unreflected life is like an unopened letter.” Its wisdom felt like a challenge to me. I think of the number of days I move from task to task, from meeting to meeting, without really reflecting much on what I am doing. It is easy to fill my calendar with appointments and lists of to-do’s and come to the end of the day holding a piece of paper with many marks and little substance. This kind of mindless living held in tandem with the chores of the every day…..cooking, laundry, errands, cleaning….can be numbing and exhaustion producing enough to feel like living. But is it really? Is it what we were born to do?
When I look about me and ponder the world, I truly believe we are a people longing for reflected lives. Now I am also sure that this longing is one that is a privilege of those who know where their next meal is coming from, those who know that for the most part they are safe, that they have a roof over their heads. And it is also out of this privilege that the next important idea might spring that will bring comfort to those who live on the opposite side of such blessing. This is often the work of reflection.
This Sunday we begin the season of Advent, those four weeks which lead us into the celebration of Christmas. If lived in the way in which the season itself was fashioned, it is a time of reflection, a time of ruminating on the gifts of both darkness and light. Particularly for those of us in the northern hemisphere, these are our darkest days, days which invite us to stop the forward pull of life and to be still. To wait. To ponder what might be born.
More than any other time of year envelopes will soon begin arriving in our mailboxes. Cards and family newsletters will appear from people we have not heard from since last year. I know I will certainly open them with great anticipation of what news I might read. To leave them sitting, unread, would seem such a shame. Even those that may go on with too much enthusiasm about their successes will be savored for the gift they offer: someone’s time, inspiration and creativity given without thought of anything in return.
With the same care that I will open these letters, I hope to carve out moments to reflect on this blessed life. Though the days may be shrouded in darkness they are invitations to breathe deeply, to open to wonder, to find meaning in the everyday, to wait with expectation.
May it be so.
