A few weeks ago I was traveling in the ‘land of sorry’. The English have a way of saying “sorry” for any manner of things. There is sorry for perhaps bumping into another person. And sorry for passing you by on the sidewalk. There is sorry for coming into a conversation that is already in progress. And there is sorry seemingly as a general greeting. It is a charming thing in some ways and makes for a humble way of moving through a day knowing you are surrounded by so many people who are sorry. We Americans might say ‘excuse me’ in some of these situations but mostly we would just move on without much attention to a simple infraction that caused a sorry out of our neighbors from across the sea. All that hearing of ‘sorry’ began to creep into my own language and after a few days I was offering my ‘sorry’ along with everyone else.

Now that I am back ensconced in my regular life here in ‘the States’ and not given to all the sorry I became accustomed to, I have to say I miss it. And in the missing I have begun to think about the gift of saying sorry, of actually offering another person an apology. I have thought of the times over the last years when we have been subjected in public life to people who don’t know how…or don’t have the capacity to say “I’m sorry.” though it is clearly called for. Recognizing the many ways we as humans fail and trespass on the feelings of others, “I’m sorry.” seems the least we could do. And, of course, that says nothing of the real and harmful tragedies being played out on the world stage for which armies of people would be wise to say ‘sorry’.

Last week in the church I attend we spoke a communal confession of ways in which we had been exclusive, had harmed others in our action and inaction, had hurt the very hearts, the very souls of our fellow humans. It is not something we do often, this confessing. I have to admit that I have often longed for a tradition in which individual confession is an ongoing practice. I wonder how my life would be different if I had the opportunity to walk into a space with someone,seen or unseen, and be able to pour out the many acts for which I am sorry. I wonder. Somehow I think I’d be better for it.

In the meantime, today I am reflecting on the places where such offerings of sorry have happened and how those words, those apologies have become a part of the wood and stone over time. Buildings have the grace to take in the pain and anguish, the sorrow and lamentation just as people do. It is a wonder the walls can still stand. Over the years we humans have had the opportunity to be sorry for so many things big and small. Wars. Abuse. Violence. Bullying. Excluding another. Saying words that hurt. Ignoring those on the margins. Failing to be our true, God-given selves. Too many chances at sorry to name.

In a poem Mary Oliver writes:
…If I were a perfect person, I would be bowing
continuously.
I’m not, though I pause wherever I feel this
holiness, which is why I’m so often late coming
back from wherever I went.
Forgive me.

It is likely I will continue to think about this ‘sorry’ business. Like Mary points out none of us is perfect and the need to ask forgiveness comes in so many forms. Perhaps it might become so present in our every day speaking that the goodness hoped for becomes a reality.

“If you have been in the vicinity of the sacred – ever brushed against the holy – you retain it more in your bones than in your head; and if you haven’t, no description of the experience will ever be satisfactory.” 
~Daniel Taylor, In Search of Sacred Places: Looking for Wisdom on Celtic Holy Islands

What makes something sacred? A place, a situation, an experience, a memory? I am just back from an amazing time in which many places were named sacred. Large churches. Tiny chapels. Impressive cathedrals. Ancient stone circles. Deep wells. While certainly not perceived as sacred by everyone, each of the places have, over time, been called sacred.They were certainly places of beauty and often mystery. They were filled with history known and recorded and also myths and tales that have been told and perhaps embellished over time. Each place had the sense of being outside the ordinary. Is that what makes them sacred?

My experiences in England and Wales had me once again reflecting on what we mean when we say sacred. If you look for the definition of sacred there are many to choose from:“Connected with God (or the gods) or dedicated to a religious purpose and so deserving veneration.  Sacred describes something that is set apart for the service or worship of a deity; is considered worthy of spiritual respect or devotion; or inspires awe or reverence among believers.” And all these are true. And yet they do not capture the fullness of my experience moving through the sunny, English countryside. These definitions somehow leave out the human element, the heart knowing, that makes up the relational nature of this naming…sacred. 

Standing in St. David’s Cathedral in Wales, I felt surrounded by the hundreds of years of worship, prayers, and music that had been shared within the glorious architecture. It was as if the very walls themselves held the stories of the people who had brought their joys and sorrows there. Sacred? Yes. The same could be said for Winchester and Salisbury Cathedrals. The beauty of stone and glass told the story not only of the faith of people, the history of the church but also the toil of what it must have taken to build such places. More than one of my fellow travelers remarked at wondering how many people actually died to build these places.A sobering thought.

And then there was Stonehenge. The mystery and magnificence of these standing stones boggles the mind. To be in the presence of this engineering marvel and, again, try to imagine the hopes that have been brought there, shared there, enacted there, offered there, makes the cold stone come alive with the human energy that has moved in and around them for thousands of years. To think about the fact that stone was carried hundreds of miles without the invention of wheel? Again, sacred.

Of course, these are places we have named as sacred that are big and bold and capture our imagination in countless ways. Jospeh Campbell wrote that “Your sacred place is where you find yourself again and again.” While some people find themselves again in these larger-than-life settings, many others come back to their true self staring at a cardinal on their backyard feeders or walking along the shore of a family lake cabin. Still others look into the eyes of a child or those of an elder and come back to knowing who they are, whose they are. As the quote above by Daniel Taylor says: “If you have been in the vicinity of the sacred – ever brushed against the holy – you retain it more in your bones than in your head; and if you haven’t, no description of the experience will ever be satisfactory.” 

I guess that is my take away, the answer to my question. Sacred is all around us. It is in the seeing that the revelation becomes ‘worthy of spiritual respect and devotion.’ May there be innumerable sacred moments for us all…and may there be a bone-deep knowing that we have, indeed, brushed up against the holy.