The description we are given is of a man who has been beaten and robbed and left helpless to get himself out of the ditch at the side of the road. Several people passed by and do nothing but I can just hear them saying “how could he be so stupid, if only he had….” Or perhaps they look and stare, snicker and laugh and say, “Well, I knew she would end up like that. If only she had….”
Then along comes someone who stops, who bends down and doesn’t judge, but rather offers this person their gift of being present and bringing with them life-giving sacred space. They don’t give lectures, or proceed to tell you what they would do, or make this an inquisition; in fact they may speak very little. This sacred holy moment of acceptance brings with it the safety to remain quiet, or to speak what you long to say, or to let the tears flow without explanation.
I am often given the gift of another’s story, or given the safe place with which to share some of mine. As these gifts are exchanged I realize how much tenderness and compassion, vulnerability and humility will chase away judgment. Sacred, holy space is just that because the Almighty is also present to continue the writing and the telling of the story.
I realize how much our own inner ability to be still/quiet allows us the honor of entering into sacred space with another. We have the privilege of walking whatever distance is required to move away from the place they have collapsed because of their wounds.
Sacred space comes with us when we carry it within – where is it carried within me and how willing am I to share it along the way?
The reason this has been sitting with me recently is two fold: one, I have observed how pain is reacted to by others, and secondly, I know how I react when in pain. People, well intentioned I am sure, give all kinds of advice and speak into something they really know little or nothing about in my life. Those who really speak into my life often say very little – they are willing to linger with me in the spaces that seem dark, help me name my depression, and who are unafraid of my sobbing, my tears, my words strung together that seem to make little sense yet come spilling our from deep within me. They are the ones who acknowledge their own pain and can therefore sit with others without judgment or contempt. These are the people who bring sacred space and the Light of the Almighty to us when we lie crumbled and seem to be a spectacle to those who are filled with fear when they see others pain. They are the face of God in difficult places.