Ann Rennie Reflects

You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book and grace before sketching , painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking , playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in ink.  GK Chesterton

Growing up, grace before meals was a habit set in stone.  With seven siblings, it was often said with a salivatory eagerness as we sat down to meat and three veg, hungry as we were after a busy day at school and the fun and games of getting home on the bus after netball or other extra-curricular activities.  Occasionally, we were simply famished and anything to eat was good enough.  My mother, entrepreneurial, witty and social, was not a culinary goddess, but we ate plentifully and gratefully.  I still bow my head in gratitude for the food I have and am reminded of all those who have helped get it to my plate; the farmers and growers, the pickers, the truck drivers, the supply chains, the shelf stackers, the Creator for sunshine and rain and the deep down freshest things and the seasons that do their constant, timeless work. 

This is a nod to God in gratitude and also an acknowledgement that I am the beneficiary of the hard work of others.

When G K Chesterton speaks of grace it seems to me that he is talking about this nod to God for all the good things that come our way.  He refers to much that may be part of a cultural, sporting, artistic or literary life, those pursuits we enjoy and that add colour to our lives, festooning them with moments of joy and wonder, exertion and expansiveness, revelations and rhapsodies.  What abundant grace it is to revel in others’ gifts of music or words or art or to use our own bodies to be in the world, taking part, joining in the dance of life.  Perhaps for Chesterton this grace is really an ongoing conversation with God in the immediacy of his life, God who is present everywhere and in everything.

I am sitting in a quiet spot as I write this on Moomba Monday.  There is a grace in the calmness surrounding me.  I am with a friend and others are reading and writing around me, preserving the atmosphere with etiquette and an understanding that there are times when phones are on silent, talking is minimal and we can engage our minds.  I have already popped into Saint Francis’ and lit three candles and said my cover note prayers.  I now have that moment’s grace before I start tapping away on the laptop.  This little pause, a grace note, is my nod to God in thanks for all those whose gifts inform my own efforts.

Recently, I have been reading a lot and have enjoyed the work of English writer, Anita Brookner.  She has a particular sensibility, uses the odd word I need to look up and which I will add to my vocabulary, and her characters are often flawed and disappointed, but who never-the-less keep going.  It’s a grace for me to sit and read, to savour a phrase or sentence or idea, to jot it down or let the book drop into my lap as I reflect more deeply. 

Another recent grace is going to the pool.  Even before I get there, I sit for a while near the little lake that was the old Surrey Dive and watch the ducks swim and the water fountains play.  The odd person puffs past, dogs are briefly off the leash and mothers watch toddlers as they clamber up the slippery slide.  I paddle about in the water doing nothing too strenuous.  I see grace in action with the carers helping the infirm into the water, keeping them afloat, whispering encouragement, letting the water soothe and heal.  I see dads with children ducking and diving, their small squeals of delight as they splash and thrash and know that loving arms will not let them sink.  An armada of women my age are attacking aqua aerobics with enthusiasm.

I cannot paint but I love looking at art.  At the NGV I give a graceful, grateful nod to the talent of the artists whose work lifts up my heart.  One only has to see Murillo’s The Immaculate Conception and Mary’s cavalcade of cherubs to see his talent and his faith.  For me, there is nothing better than gazing appreciatively at small intricate gems or triumphant tableaux such as Tiepolo’s Banquet of Cleopatra.

Grace is about giving attention to something, noticing, appreciating, thankful for the catalogue of delights that brighten up one’s day. 

As well as that we have the more sombre pauses where grace enters our lives, sometimes when we least notice its presence.  These might be times of heartbreak or doubt or lingering gloom, yet grace is still working its way into our very being. 

The grace of Good Friday is the gift of salvation, given freely by Jesus out of stupendous, world-defying love for us.  There is grace when we kneel at the Stations of the Cross and reimagine Jesus and his very human suffering, betrayal and abandonment.  There is the grace of Veronica who was moved by compassion to wipe Jesus’ face tenderly and the brute strength that enables Simon of Cyrene help him carry the cross.  There is grace when the good thief recognises Jesus as innocent and Jesus responds that they will meet that day in paradise.

There is the giant grace in being an Easter people – believers in the Resurrection and the life to come.

Now, as we celebrate the Risen Lord, let us be mindful of letting grace into our lives, thankful always for what we have and do and appreciative of others and their talents.  Grace can grow if we let it in.

On Easter Monday last year, our beloved Pope Francis died.  Let us pause to give thanks for his life and leadership, his humility and mercy and all the graces that attended his life. 

The penultimate word goes to Chesterton again: When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.

Lastly, my only child is Grace, Gracie to many, amazing to me, her name a nod to God in all the seasons of my life!

By Ann Rennie