A London plane tree
Richard Ekins celebrates ‘high days’, holidays and ‘that of God’ in a London plane tree
For many years, I have never particularly enjoyed Christmas and birthdays. So, when I came to Quakerism, it suited me that the Quaker tradition dislikes distinguishing ‘high days’ and holidays from other days. Alas, making no distinction was not going to be so simple. I quickly learnt that many Quakers today love to celebrate Christmas. My birthday was to prove no less of a problem.
For my last birthday, my son, Matthew, clearly wanted to have a birthday celebration with me. An evening meal at one of his favourite restaurants was most enjoyable – and then came my birthday gifts. I felt pleased when, for the first time, he had not wrapped the presents; rather he gave them to me in a small reusable bookshop bag. I was even more pleased with the two gifts. They were small. I was very touched by the dedication inside one of the books. Surely this was not part of the excess and clutter that I have come to dislike about ‘high days’ and holidays. Food for thought, for sure!
Some days later I was sitting on a bench in Russell Square, shortly after a delightful breakfast at the Quaker Penn Club in Bedford Place. My thoughts turned yet again to the problem of ‘high days’ and holidays. And then I saw it. Right before my eyes was the most exquisite London plane tree. It was strong and it was sturdy and its branches fanned out in the most beautiful patterns against a clear sky. Enough said. I had had a ‘peak experience’. Or, as we Quakers might say, I had seen ‘that of God in a London plane tree’ in an exceptionally special God-given moment. I had seen the Divine. I had experienced the Divine. The Divine was within me. And, thankfully, there was not a camera or smartphone in sight to mediate the experience. I shall not forget it.
Next morning I was drawn, once again, to breakfast at the Penn Club. On the way there I sat on the same bench in Russell Square and saw again the ‘that of God’ in the same plane tree, albeit in a considerably attenuated form. Later, as I was finishing my breakfast, my thoughts were disturbed by a lady at the adjacent table, telling another guest sitting opposite her what she had ‘done’ the previous day: the British Library, the National Gallery, St Martin’s Lane. ‘Oh, and don’t forget the Sir John Sloane’s Museum!’ said her travelling companion. The threesome was joined by another guest, travelling alone, and off it went again – the list was repeated to the newcomer, although this time ‘a concert’ was thrown into the ‘St Martin’s Lane’ mix.
‘Oh! So much to see!’ said the newcomer. I wasn’t sure whether the new arrival was being mildly critical of the voraciously devouring stereotype tourist or sadly and wisely contemplative of the finite nature of our ‘seeing’ on earth. There is, indeed, ‘so much to see’, but how and when it is seen and with what effect ‘it’ is seen – and what exactly ‘it’ is – is another thing altogether. And so, for me, it is back to the writings of George Fox. This is to glimpse something of the special ‘that of God’ experience, something that this great English mystic wrote to us about with such effect.
Comments
It doesn’t matter what we ‘see’
When God or non-God lives in me
Be it on the Earth or in the Sky
God is Is-ness.
Does it matter why?
By andavane on 29th June 2017 - 5:33
A wonderful description of a beautiful moment that will live on in the heart ... moments that are, thankfully, there for us all no matter where we are. I enjoyed reading it and also the poem by George Fox.
By Lesley Dawson on 2nd March 2018 - 11:09
Oh, my apologies. I thought the poem was by George Fox. On looking again, I can see clearly that it’s not. Ooops!
By Lesley Dawson on 2nd March 2018 - 11:11
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