Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these
I am starting in earnest on my work for my first major research paper of the quarter. This paper is on D. H. Lawrence's works, namely Lady Chatterley's Lover and Sons and Lovers. While reading Sons and Lovers earlier in the quarter, I couldn't help but notice Lawrence's allusions to a Bible quote that has some resonance with me: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Those words always take me back to a certain black and white movie called Lilies of the Field starring a young Sidney Poitier. When I was young my mother insisted that I watch the movie because she knew I'd like it, despite its lack of modern action or even Technicolor. And of course, she was right; seems like she always is. I did like it, a great deal. I don't think I could watch a Technicolored version of it and feel right.
However, because the Bible quote has to do with the purpose of my paper, I decided to look it up in context. I could never remember where it came from. I turned to ye olde trusty BibleGateway.com and looked at the whole sixth chapter of Matthew only to be be struck by another, far more powerful memory.
When I was a teenager I went to visit my grandparents fairly regularly. On one of these visits, my grandmother told me about how she learned to pray. She said that one night, while she was trying to say her nightly prayers, she didn't know what to say. No words seemed like they could be good enough to say to the Lord and to express everything that she had in her heart.
I remember my grandmother's earnest face and dark eyes, and how she smiled to tell me. Her fine, pale skin. Her glasses. Her light, her goodness.
So she prayed, she said, that God would let her know how He wanted her to pray. That's all she asked for. She wanted to know so much. And then she went to bed and slept.
When she woke up in the morning, a phrase was playing over and over in her mind: "Matthew six nine." Just that, very simply, and nothing more. Matthew six nine. So she went to her Bible and found the passage only to be faced with the Lord's Prayer, and she knew from then on how to pray.
The Lord's Prayer is just up the way from the lilies of the field, which Jesus spoke of in Matthew 6:28-29, during the Sermon on the Mount.
The Lord's Prayer always reminds me of my grandmother, of her smile that day when she told me how God had answered her prayer, and when she recited it for me with such feeling. At the same time, the lilies of the field remind me of her, also - that she never worried about what she would eat, or drink, or wear, or do. She lived like the lilies of the field, and her faith covered her more than clothing ever could.
My tears are for me, now, because I miss her so and I miss my faith also. I can hear her voice speaking the Lord's Prayer as she did that day and other days, which is why I always know that prayer and always will: "Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."
My grandmother had her faith her whole life and it never abandoned her, as far as I know. It was with her when she died. Maybe, during some dark hour in her long life, her faith did waiver...but you'd never have guessed in the years I knew her.
Which means there's hope for me yet.
However, because the Bible quote has to do with the purpose of my paper, I decided to look it up in context. I could never remember where it came from. I turned to ye olde trusty BibleGateway.com and looked at the whole sixth chapter of Matthew only to be be struck by another, far more powerful memory.
When I was a teenager I went to visit my grandparents fairly regularly. On one of these visits, my grandmother told me about how she learned to pray. She said that one night, while she was trying to say her nightly prayers, she didn't know what to say. No words seemed like they could be good enough to say to the Lord and to express everything that she had in her heart.
I remember my grandmother's earnest face and dark eyes, and how she smiled to tell me. Her fine, pale skin. Her glasses. Her light, her goodness.
So she prayed, she said, that God would let her know how He wanted her to pray. That's all she asked for. She wanted to know so much. And then she went to bed and slept.
When she woke up in the morning, a phrase was playing over and over in her mind: "Matthew six nine." Just that, very simply, and nothing more. Matthew six nine. So she went to her Bible and found the passage only to be faced with the Lord's Prayer, and she knew from then on how to pray.
The Lord's Prayer is just up the way from the lilies of the field, which Jesus spoke of in Matthew 6:28-29, during the Sermon on the Mount.
The Lord's Prayer always reminds me of my grandmother, of her smile that day when she told me how God had answered her prayer, and when she recited it for me with such feeling. At the same time, the lilies of the field remind me of her, also - that she never worried about what she would eat, or drink, or wear, or do. She lived like the lilies of the field, and her faith covered her more than clothing ever could.
My tears are for me, now, because I miss her so and I miss my faith also. I can hear her voice speaking the Lord's Prayer as she did that day and other days, which is why I always know that prayer and always will: "Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."
My grandmother had her faith her whole life and it never abandoned her, as far as I know. It was with her when she died. Maybe, during some dark hour in her long life, her faith did waiver...but you'd never have guessed in the years I knew her.
Which means there's hope for me yet.