There are few things in life that reward patience quite like fireflies.
Now, I realize that younger readers may know them by their more scientifically respectable name: lightning bugs.
When I was growing up, however, they were always fireflies.
And to my mind, they shall remain fireflies until the end of time.
Certain truths simply do not require revision.
Now, one of the curious things about fireflies is that they refuse to operate according to human schedules.
You cannot hurry them.
You cannot order them to appear.
You cannot send them a strongly worded email suggesting that 8:17 p.m. would be a more convenient time for their arrival.
They emerge when they emerge.
Which is to say, they behave very much like grace.
Now, summer evenings have their own peculiar rhythm.
The heat of the day begins to fade.
The shadows lengthen.
The birds gradually quiet.
And somewhere in that transition between day and night, the world seems to take a deep breath.
It is one of my favourite times of day.
Particularly when there is a comfortable chair involved.
Now, I should confess that I am not naturally gifted at waiting.
Like many people, I prefer progress.
I enjoy movement.
I appreciate results.
If something is worth doing, I generally want it done by approximately twenty minutes ago.
Grace continues its work.
Yet summer evenings have a way of teaching a different lesson.
You sit.
You wait.
You watch.
And eventually, if you are paying attention, a tiny flash appears in the darkness.
Then another.
Then another.
Before long the entire yard seems alive with light.
But only if you stayed long enough to notice.
Now, I think prayer often works much the same way.
Many of us approach prayer expecting immediate results.
We offer our concerns.
We present our requests.
And then we sit waiting for God to provide an answer on a timetable that would impress even the most efficient customer service department.
God, however, seldom seems interested in operating according to our preferred schedule.
Instead, prayer invites us into attentiveness.
Patience.
Presence.
The quiet confidence that God is already at work, even when we cannot yet see it.
And that can be difficult.
Because we live in a world that rewards speed.
Instant messages.
Instant purchases.
Instant information.
We have become remarkably skilled at obtaining things quickly.
Wonder, however, generally refuses to be rushed.
So does wisdom.
So does spiritual growth.
So does love.
Now, perhaps that is why summer evenings feel almost sacramental.
They invite us to slow down enough to notice things.
The sound of crickets.
The smell of fresh-cut grass.
The first stars appearing overhead.
The gentle flicker of fireflies dancing through the darkness.
None of these things accomplish anything particularly measurable.
Yet they nourish the soul.
And perhaps that is precisely the point.
Not everything valuable can be measured.
Not everything important can be hurried.
Some gifts must simply be received.
I think that is one of the lessons Ordinary Time keeps teaching us.
God often meets us not in dramatic moments but in quiet ones.
Not only in churches.
Not only in prayer books.
But in backyards.
On porches.
In lawn chairs.
And in the patient watching of summer evenings.
Now, I realize that sitting outside waiting for fireflies may not sound like a particularly ambitious spiritual practice.
There are probably seminars available offering more impressive techniques.
Nevertheless, I commend it to you.
Sit quietly.
Watch carefully.
Be patient.
And allow yourself to be surprised.
Because the God who created the stars also created the tiny lights flickering through the grass.
And that same God continues to fill ordinary life with moments of wonder.
If only we stay long enough to notice.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Teach us the patience to wait,
the wisdom to notice,
and the humility to receive your gifts.
Slow our hurried hearts.
Help us to find wonder in ordinary things,
and to trust that you are at work even when we cannot yet see the light.
And on these summer evenings,
draw us closer to your presence through the beauty of your creation.
Through Christ our Lord.
Amen.