WHERE IS GOD?

Justina Bedford rsm

An old man sat on a straight-backed chair at the St Vincent de Paul hostel. His white hair was long, his head bent forward expectantly, as he watched the myriad-coloured birds flitting about his feet. Sensing that he did not hear me or see me, I walked by. Suddenly I felt an urge to stop. I retraced my steps to that frail and aged figure. He raised his eyes as I stood before him. His eyes were as the azure sky. His face lit up with a gentle welcoming smile.

Sir, I asked, where can I find God? To my surprise he responded 'Let us walk back in memory, over the journey you have taken.

As I recounted my days, he interrupted to focus my attention, saying: 'That red rose in your garden, the one you watched closely, admiring its rich vibrant, velvety colour unfold. As you inhaled its breathtaking perfume, what thoughts came to mind? Who was the artist that painted that rose? What was it that breathed life into it?'

'That baby you saw in the cradle, the one who smiled at you. Did you detect the light of love on its face as it watched the sun beaming brightly on it? Did you stop to reflect on the origin of that miracle of life before you?

'You stood under the leafy arms of that gum tree to shelter from the falling rain. Did you notice its leaves faced upwards in openness to the sun's rays? That its roots were hidden beneath the earth's surface? The rain came and went in it's own time? Have you thought about where that rain came from? Why are the tree's roots firmly grounded in the soil?

'You were watching the fascinating colours of those birds along the way. What hand fashioned and added colour to those birds?

'That old couple you saw walking past—have you wondered how love keeps them together? Where does that love comes from? The heart may be a symbol of love, but love itself, what is its source? Is it too much to try to comprehend such mystery?

'Earlier today, you strolled along the beach. You spent time pondering the uniqueness of the various footprints – wondering whose they were, and where they have gone to? Why did the sea so unfeelingly wash them away? Have you taken time to admire the multi shapes and colours of washed-up shells? Who painted those shells? Who turns the tide?

'Now turn your attention to the sky. Who is shaking out its blue-black veil day after day, night after night? Who makes the stars sparkle and shine on people of every race, colour and creed?'

With a sense of awe, I stared at the old man. He asked 'What was that question you asked me?' I repeated my question. He responded: 'Look and you will see. In seeing you will be. And in being you will know that the whole world is charged with the presence of God'. He bowed his head graciously.

I continued on my way, pondering thoughts too deep for words. As I went, the words of a great hymn came flooding back to me: 'O Lord, my God, when I, in awesome wonder, consider all the works thy hands have made ...'

Where do you find God?