Nothing that's worth it happens quickly, does it? I was reminded of this today when I went to a quaint historical society outing literally across the street from my father's house with my daughter. There were all sorts of exihibits, American Revolutionary songs,  and  history buffs.

But the thing that most got my attention was an older man hammering away at a forge. My daughter and I quickly became enthralled as he did his thing. Plunging the old steel into the coals. Stoking the fire until the rod was red hot. Banging skillfully upon it to mold its shape. And dousing the final product, a leaf, in water. It was a process that took at least 20 minutes per smithed piece. But even the simplest of things he made had a beauty to them one is hard-pressed to see in our quick-fix, assembly-lined ways of being today.

It was funny too, in a way. As the blacksmith explained what he was doing, he would occasionally look back on the crowd with a gleam in his eye and say, "You know, this can't be rushed if you're in a hurry!" We all laughed, everytime!

What is it about such old arts that make them just a quaint thing in our minds? Is it that we live in a world where foundries have long-replaced and outdone the blacksmith's craft? Maybe. The same could certainly be said about the Church and the way we "train" people in the art of feeding their spirits. Much about THAT process has been quick-fixed and assembly-lined too.

But even in the Church, like being enthralled by a so-called bygone age smith, we too find ourselves stopping and looking. Stopping and looking within. Beyond the impurities of bad theology. Beyond the impurities of fearing Christian others who've long been practicing being spiritual. More and more folks seem to be realizing that the new way of getting Sunday quick-fixes with no steady "heating, hammering and dousing of the soul" the rest of the week is not working well, if at all. An awakening, perhaps?

For me, my own spiritual path isn't marked by expecting a reward (at least, I hope not!), like a cool steel leaf. It feels to be, rather, this sometimes dim but nevertheless growing awareness that in the process, I am being shaped. And it  also feels to be the case that nothing this meaningful can be rushed. The moments of awareness of the spiritual-smithing process is the closest thing to a reward; being shaped brings joy into life's rhythms.

What do you think?

Dea+