Nativity Catholic Church
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A Break in the Landscape
A "FIRESTARTER" Spiritual Essay by Rev.
Dr. Benjamin
Berinti, C.Pp.S. No one has to read the relentless newspaper articles, nor watch the unending roundtable discussions moderated by local talking heads, nor see the latest surveys to know about overcrowding in Central Florida! Just take a walk or drive anywhere—you pick the place—and the asphalt spreads as far and wide as the eye can see, the matchstick luxury town homes rise seemingly overnight on every patch of once-vacant land you remember, and congestion is so thick on highways, in schools and at the beaches that downing a case of “Mucinex” couldn’t clear our passageways! Everywhere we turn, the landscape becomes more crowded, more “developed” (funny concept, isn’t it?), and less inhabitable. So, it’s wonderful, every now and then, to find a break in the landscape…to move from congestion to calm, from populated to peaceful, from stress to serenity. On my frequent drives to New Smyrna Beach (I wish they were more “frequent” than they are now), I take the back roads from Longwood to this quaint beach community. There’s a beautiful spot along State Route 415 that pops out just beyond the dilapidated edges of Sanford as you drive across the great divide between Seminole and Volusia Counties. It’s an expansive space with flatlands, marshes, wetlands, native palms, and wildlife stretching in every direction. Every time I slice through this sacred space, a space that truly deserves the title “Old Florida,” I exhale a heavy sigh and take in its unspoiled beauty, the rambling freedom it exudes, and I wonder why we can’t have more of it. After all, we desperately need open, natural, unspoiled, majestic spaces, sacred spaces—not only in the physical landscape, but also in our relational, emotional, and spiritual landscapes as well. There is too much “development” and congestion and debris that clog our pathways, strangling our spirits, choking our souls, blocking our vision and quest for beauty and serenity and purpose. Indeed, the landscape of each of our lives is most certainly overpopulated—demands, expectations, commitments, worries, anxieties, financial burdens, child-rearing struggles, job insecurities, health crises, aging-parent responsibilities, practices, and programs. Robert M. Hamma, in his poignant book Landscapes of the Soul: A Spirituality of Place (Ave Maria Press, 1999), underlines our present dilemma: The
environmental and cultural degradation of place has reached a stage where, We desperately need breaks in our landscape. Even Jesus, who knew the landscapes of the human heart better than anyone, created space for himself, and demanded it for his disciples. In the midst of Jesus’ compassionate and self-emptying teaching, preaching, healing, listening, forgiving and loving, Jesus knew the absolute necessity of “breaks in the landscape,” whether a lazy afternoon at the home of Martha, Mary and Lazarus; a quiet prayer-stop on the Mt. of Olives; a nap in the belly of Peter’s fishing vessel; or secluded beach time with companions. Sometimes, the break in the landscape may sneak up on us, jolting us from our complacency like putting our wet finger too close to the wall socket, and we will breathe that sigh, taste that rejuvenation, experience hope as a fleeting burst of wind. However, more often than not, if we truly want to touch the beauty, and power and, refreshing vigor of a break in our landscape, we will have to choose it, be purposeful in seeking it. We will need to be deliberate in confronting the chaos, the clutter, and our overzealous personal and communal demands. We will need to wage our own battle against the “developers” who keep insisting that “more” is better, that density is safety, and that an overpopulated field of commitments and busyness must mean we are truly living. There are times that my favorite swatch of “Old Florida” grabs the corner of my eye and briefly turns my head, as I speed along to New Smyrna Beach; and I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. This little piece of pristine nature, so wondrous to the eye, sends a piercing question right to my soul: when was the last time I made a “break” in the landscape of my daily living?
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