Simple Gifts
Teach me the way: I will repent.
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
First of all, I think you should know that I am writing this in my fuzzy purple Care Bear adult onesie, a beloved comfort object which my brother-in-law presented to me as a “welcome to the family” gift for my first Christmas as a Dixon. Second of all, I feel prompted to tell you why I am wearing this suit instead of my normal adult daytime clothes (which, ironically, consisted of ripped purple jeans and a Care Bear t-shirt mere moments ago). I gravitate towards this suit when I feel anxious and am in need of comfort. I often wear it on Sundays after church (spoiler alert) when I’m tired and want to curl into fetal position. Thank God for Care Bear suits.
Today I feel worried that what I write won’t be important or worthy or good enough (mostly for my own standards), which means I’m taking myself way too seriously in a way that only serves to impair the good things which may or may not bubble to the surface if I were to just chill the heck out. Hence the donning of the onesie.
Perhaps the Care Bear suit called my name this afternoon to remind me that each day is a free gift meant to be savored, not a set of hours to be conquered. Maybe it’s enough today that I walked beside a river and saw white water rushing over ancient stones, reminding me that all things pass but what does remain is love. Or perhaps the whole point of today is that Drew proposed having waffles for breakfast this morning on NOT A SATURDAY in a beautiful act of spontaneity and that I said yes because life is short and it is not guaranteed that we even make it to Saturday. All that will remain is love.
There is an old Shaker hymn that I enjoy singing because it reminds me of twirling endlessly in the grass as a little girl, falling down laughing and staring at the spinning sky above me until it slows down enough for me to sense my own heart beating in time with the world’s turning, turning, turning. “Simple Gifts” was written by Joseph Brackett, an elder in the Alfred, Maine Shaker community, in 1848. The Shakers were a Christian sect devoted to communal living and the pursuit of simplicity and holiness. A simple man living a simple life wrote these poetic words:
‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
When I was young, I heard this song as “It’s a great idea to turn. Spinning around and around until I’m too dizzy and fall is fun and freedom.” But I always sensed there was more to it, a secret and smiling invitation that involved more than the physical act of turning—so I kept singing, across the years, hoping one day to unlock the puzzle and open the invitation for myself. Today is that day.
In my Care Bear suit and maybe because of my Care Bear suit freeing me up from the pressure to be perfect, I now see that turning means repentance. Living a life of simplicity and freedom—even freedom from our own harsh and critical minds—is a life that goes hand in hand with turning away from the lesser things of this world and towards the radiant light of Christ. The Hebrew word for repentance is teshuvah, which means “return.” In repentance we turn from all that is empty and does not satisfy and return to the open embrace of God. As a people who live a with-God life in the valley of love and delight, our hearts are kept soft as we find turning away from evil and towards holiness becomes as natural as breathing, as easy as a heartbeat. It strikes me that the more we turn, the freer we become as things of this world can no longer cling to us. In the act of turning we “shake off the sin that so easily entangles” (Heb. 12) and learn to run again with perseverance and joy in the pastures of grace.
With this in mind, I wonder if repentance looks less like shaming ourselves into submission, keeping ourselves outside in the cold and waiting for the doors of Love’s house to open. In the words of Mary Oliver,
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
Maybe repentance looks more like a happy little girl, spinning with her arms wide open and hair flying in the wind, trusting Love to be the firmament, the very arms that catch her. What a gift it would be to live so simply that one look from the face of Love would quiet our hearts and lead us into transformation. What a gift to be that free, to turn and come down in the grassy valley of love and delight—exactly where we’re meant to be, in the house of God forever.
I’ll be honest: there have been times the past few days when Drew has been sharing a sermon idea or the latest cool thing he’s learned from watching his behind the scenes ‘making of Avatar’ series in which my mind has anxiously wandered off, rehearsing a self-absorbed list of plans and responsibilities. But a quiet injunction to “Be here, now”— the voice of Grace itself—has spoken over the chaos of my mind and brought me back to peace, to presence, to love. Each invitation to “Be here, now” is another chance to turn, and turn, until I come round right—back into the present. If God is in the present, then so is Love. And so I turn and turn again, a thousand times a day.
The song “Simple Gifts” has remained with me through childhood and into adulthood because it reminds me that it is possible to live a life of simplicity and joy, the fruits of which are repentance in and for the sake of Love. Not only is it possible with God—it is desirable that we dwell with Him in the valley of love and delight, no matter how much the darkness and pain of this world seeks to deceive us from our truest identity: Beloved.
Beloved, you do not have to be important, or productive, or good enough. You do not even have to be brave. You need only to turn towards the face of Love to come round right—to find yourself at home, free and unashamed in the House of God. Be here, now.
Let it be so.
Going Deeper: Listen to my favorite rendition of “Simple Gifts” by cellist Yo-Yo Ma and singer Alison Kraus