The Light of the Earth
Photo by Chantelle Pence
Chantelle Pence - Featured Columnist
To me, there is nothing more beautiful than the human spirit. It’s like a bit of heaven come to earth. I’ve experienced times in nature that were breathtaking. Like the time I walked to the river after a heavy snowfall in the late spring.
The migratory birds were grounded, together, singing their diverse melodies. It was so loud I could feel the sound vibrating through me. I stood in the middle of the wings and trees, aware that I was witnessing something rare. Nature is incredible. But human nature can be the most inspiring of all.
I’ve caught glimpses of the best of human nature, in our region, lately. I’m a firm believer that we often see what we look for. If you look for the worst in people, you’ll find it. And vice versa. But there’s nothing like being surprised by the depth of human kindness, generosity, and creativity.
Maybe the long isolating winter has made me easy to please. Like a starving person finally eating a meal. It wouldn’t matter if it’s a basic burger or a gourmet stew. It’s food. I’ve been nourished by the human spirit.
It’s the simple things, really. The banter with a woman who works at a grocery store in Glennallen. The way the ladies at the bank say hello, and use my name. The teasing that came from the owner, before being seated at a diner in Copper Center, and the sharing of caring words, after.
I often write about the troubling issues of life. Problems capture my attention and I’ll ponder them to see if I can get to the bottom. Going deep is interesting, but can get dark real fast. So, I’m always thankful when I’m taken by the light things. This past month I’ve been pleasantly surprised, and thankful, to see the glimmers of light in people’s eyes.
I attended a Wild Game Feed at Gulkana Chapel, recently. It reminded me of the best of this place. Healthy, natural food. Generous hands that harvested and prepared it. Smiles. Hugs. Conversations between neighbors and friends. The meal included fish that was just pulled from under the ice earlier that day. Moose vindaloo. Billy goat stew. Spruce tip focaccia. Blueberry dessert. Elders (who probably don’t call themselves that) oversaw games for the kids, young and old. The games included using a sling shot to deposit moose droppings into a bucket. And guessing how many bullets were in a jar. It was a very Alaskan gathering, and it warmed my heart.
I’ve often been a critic of religion. We all have our reasons, and there are other times and spaces to untangle that knot. But, for what it’s worth, I want to acknowledge all of the pastors and people in our region who keep the doors open to places of worship. It’s easy to criticize. It’s hard to keep the lights on in a place. To organize events. To be the face of a tradition that is under scrutiny. To walk with knowledge and humility. While none of us need an outer authority to unlock the kingdom of heaven, which is within. All of us, at some point, need a friend.
We need teachers. Leaders. Elders. It is helpful to see people who have walked a path with discipline and integrity. You can see the difference in people, as they age. There is a palpable grace in some. When we are young, we can all pretty much get away withanything. But when people walk a path where they consciously seek the truth, to the best of their ability. Or when they intentionally serve and help others. When people have trained themselves to be slow to anger, and have cultivated a certain dignity. You can see it. I appreciate any tradition that has a curriculum for elders in training.
When my knees hit the floor, a few years ago, I turned to the Christian curriculum. It was an online education. Praise Google. I found many inspiring and practical sermons that pulled me out of the darkness. I was also surprised by the number of free counseling resources that were offered through various churches. As a woman with a head full of knowledge that, in my time of despair, didn’t serve me. The offering from an institution that I shunned humbled me. I couldn’t deny the value in it, and made peace with the contradiction within me. I have empathy for the great writer and thinker C.S. Lewis, and his path of becoming a “reluctant convert.”
A community is a patchwork quilt, made up of many pieces. The thread that holds it all together is human decency. I’m leery of any person or institution that proclaims to be the ultimate authority. I’m a contrarian by nature (it’s how God made me), and cautious of getting caught up in group think. I tend to stand back rather than join in. It gives me a broad view, and allows me to see the beauty in diversity. From a distance you can see the best in people, and their unique offerings.
Life would be pretty boring if we were all the same. Something amazing happens when birds of a different feather flock together, and sing. I recall an Easter service, years ago, at the Slana Homestead Church. A man who was known for his musical abilities, as much as he was known for drinking, came to the gathering. He was fairly snockered, but sat behind the piano and lead a worship song that we all could feel to the bone. He’s since gone home. I can only imagine he was welcomed by the most loving and open arms.
God bless the preachers. The teachers. The jokesters. Those with an easy smile, and those who are suffering. God bless the Elders. And those of us in training. God bless the human being.
Photo by Chantelle Pence
