“The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God’s eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” ~Meister Eckhart, 13th century mystic

For many years I was a part of a book club that met monthly at church. It was, by design, a group for women only and over the years we read some amazing books. We read fiction and nonfiction, books that were aimed at teaching lessons, others that carried spiritual wisdom. The books we read were chosen by the group in a mostly random process and yet there always was something to be gleaned from each one. One year, perhaps because of that randomness, we realized every book we had read or were about to read was set during World War II and dealt in some way with the Holocaust. Though the books were wonderful we all agreed that we needed a break from such a steady diet of these difficult stories. Our randomness in following years had us looking more carefully for balance.

Regardless of subject matter or the particular genre, near the end of our time together, I began asking a question that became our way of bringing closure to our reading for that month. “Where was God in this book?”, I would ask. This question also started in a random way. I am not sure I had even thought through asking the question. It just happened. But once it did it became a hallmark of our time together. 

For some reason I thought about that question this week. What I remember about the question and its ensuing conversation was the variety of answers. I also remember that, over time, several of the folks talked about how they ‘looked’ for God as they read, anticipating that the question would be asked. As is always the case, we see the Holy with the only lens we have…ours. 

This week I think the question and the memories of those experiences came to me because I began wondering how people might answer the question, “Where is God in this story?”, this story we are living as we make our way through these days of uncertainty and this virus. This is a chapter in our individual and collective life stories that we didn’t see coming and have no idea of how it will play out. There is so little control we can have over its writing. And for those who think about questions of God, or whatever words might be used to speak of the Something More, all will answer using their own lens. Perhaps it is a question that some will only be able to answer when the chapter is drawing to a close and our stories are moving to some yet to be imagined new chapter. Or for some of us maybe we are, like the women in my book club, keeping watch for the ways the Sacred shows up and dances in the words and pages of the every day. Even in social distancing…and hand washing…in keeping our hands away from our faces…on empty shelves and shortages of this and that. Certainly in the lives of the suffering, the deaths and the grief that surrounds it all.

I know I’ve seen what I know of God in a multitude of ways over the last days. In all those faces of health care workers whose eyes are often only visible to us above masks of protection. Their exhaustion must be overwhelming. In the grocery store staff who try their level best to be upbeat and helpful in ways they had not imagined, which included one of our local checkout ladies who dressed like a butterfly one day just to lift people’s spirits and probably her own. In many of our leaders who continue to keep abreast of information that is coming at them fast and furious as they try to bring facts, compassion and a level head to calm our anxiety. In the dedication of teachers who are learning new ways of teaching so they might continue to serve those students entrusted to their care a few short months ago. And the artists and musicians who have been showing up online and on sidewalks, making art and playing music to remind us of beauty and all that has power to lift us above despair. So many people digging deep to offer a very piece of themselves for each of us and those who suffer. 

And I have not said anything about the crocus blooming purple outside my window or the birds whose songs are creating a choir to stand in for the human choirs that cannot gather right now. And the greening grass now showing itself as tulips push as hard as they can to prove to us once again that life can come from a cold, dark, hard place. 

Where is God in this story? Our story? My story? Your story? We can answer the question as we go along or when we come to a conclusion. Both are equally right and will be given through the lens we use every day. May we be blessed in the seeing and in the telling.