This week Dr Kania embarks on a delightful suite of reflections that provide practical insights into applied spirituality. In large measure spirituality, and general good health, is linked to the frame of mind through which we view life. Andrew's reflections are broadly looking at those things which help form our mindset or "frame of mind". As always, along the way, his essays also provide interesting historical observations.

Prior to his succumbing to the tragedy of total deafness, the German composer Beethoven, while in the city of Köln for a concert tour, was walking the ancient cobbled streets. In the days before photography, paparazzi and publicity posters, Beethoven was free to walk in anonymity and obscurity, taking in the sights before him. It was while on one of these long evening strolls, that the development of the Piano Sonata would change forever.

From out of an old house Beethoven could hear his Piano Sonata in F, being played on a harpsichord. Remarking to his friend as to how well the piece was performed, Beethoven soon after heard the sobbing of a young girl coming from the same building. The little girl's voice cried out: "I cannot play anymore. It is so beautiful, it is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh, what would I not give to go to the concert at Köln!" Knocking on the door Beethoven asked entry into the house — it was the home of a cobbler. Explaining to the cobbler, who he was, and that he heard such beautiful playing, Beethoven walked over to the young girl at the harpsichord and sat down beside her. Turning so as to speak to her, the famous composer realized that the maestro was a little blind girl, barely in her teens, the daughter of the cobbler. A little way from the harpsichord sat a boy, younger than the girl — big eyes fixed on the large frame of Beethoven. That evening, the cobbler's daughter and Beethoven played together; a broad bull-frame beside a shy and slight child. Tears of joy streamed down the girl's face.

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	After reading this commentary you may wish to listen to a rendition of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. You can listen to or download a free mp3 of Melbourne artist Paul Copeland playing the complete sonata at www.mp3.com.au

As the night drew on and noticing how moved the little girl was by the music, Beethoven announced that he would like to compose a gift for the girl, a piece to remember the evening. Food was brought out; a candle flickered, and Beethoven's travelling companion opened the shutters allowing for a ray of moonlight to pour through. There, in a cobbler's dwelling, beside a blind girl, Beethoven composed, all the while painting in sound, the vision that was before his eyes; the moon shining in the heavens, it's light touching the scene ever so gently; there he was painting for a girl an image of beauty, for a child whose eyes had known nothing but darkness. That evening, Beethoven gave to a little blind girl, and through her to the world, one of the finest pieces ever written for the piano: The Moonlight Sonata. A genius of modern music had stopped to take time out of his busy schedule, to see the beauty in the ordinary; he learning from a little girl how truly wonderful is the gift of sight, and of sound.

Finding God in the ordinary...

God comes to us in much the same way as the composer to the little blind girl in Köln. We have been granted so many talents to use in this life, and sometimes we come to the belief that we are alone in our darkness, with our talents and our limitations. It is in such moments when we cry out to God, that we so often see His face in the simple things of the world around; in nature, in our neighbour, in a change of events, in a movement of our innermost spirit.

So often in the New Testament we see Christ taking a simple event, and making it glorious through His participation. A fig tree (Luke 13: 6-9) is used to highlight a powerful teaching on the need to be faithful to our calling; a woman drawing water from the well (John 4: 4-42), has her life changed irrevocably; God is so often found in simplicity, in the mundane — in the everyday. It is as if in drawing on these events, God is teaching us that nothing in our lives is ever so mundane, that does not have God replete throughout it.

History teaches us that greatness so often honoured, takes its beginnings in the seeds of simplicity: Issac Newton discovers gravity by an apple falling on his head, Robert the Bruce learns perseverance before Bannockburn by watching a spider weave a web, Archimedes takes a bath and leaves having discovered the law of displacement; blind Homer is led from town to town speaking folk-tales which become the basis for modern literature; a child is born in impoverished circumstances in Bethlehem to become the greatest force in the history of humanity. For such reasons this child of Bethlehem when he became a man exhorted: 'I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and of earth, for hiding these things from the learned and the clever and revealing them to little children.Yes, Father, for that is what it pleased you to do." (Matthew 11: 25-26, The New Jerusalem Bible)

	An Extra Reflection
	Totally unrelated to Andrew's commentary other than that I found this while looking for a photo of Elijah. You might be interested in this delightful short story by Jeri Westerson, entitled Catching up with Elijah, that appeared in St Anthony Messenger Magazine in April 2006. It does capture though this sense Andrew is seeking to convey that God is found in the ordinary. You can read the short story at the author's delightful website: www.freewebs.com/ westerson/ catchingelijah.htm

We travel so as to gain fresh experiences, to broaden our minds, to experience life anew, yet how frequently do we fail to see the intricate frameworks of our lives, the many times that God's face passes us by each day, within the frustrated and distracting events of each of our so often termed 'mundane' lives?

That evening in Köln, Beethoven could quite easily have listened, and then gone with his friend for a drink at the tavern. But the spirit had moved inside him, and he recognised what Divinity was able to pour through him in such a context. There was no lightning bolt, no angelic chorus, no vision of a Saint, just the call within, to sit and give for one moment, a glimpse of paradise to a girl locked in physical darkness.

In the Old Testament we hear of the prophet Elijah waiting for God to call on him in a cave. A wild roar issued, but Elijah understood that God had not come on this wind. Following this, the earth was shaken and rocks tumbled, but Elijah felt in his soul, that God had not arrived in the earthquake. A fire then burned fiercely all around, but Elijah knew that God was not in the blaze. All of a sudden, there was silence and as the Book of Kings completes the story: "And when Elijah heard this, he covered his face with his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then a voice came to him, which said, 'What are you doing here Elijah?'" (1 Kings 19: 11 - 13, The New Jerusalem Bible) In the simplicity of silence, there God had arrived.

God is everywhere in our life — everywhere. Yet we climb high peaks waiting for a vision on God from on high, failing to understand as did Elijah and Beethoven, that each step to the peak is sacred, and each part of the journey has God whispering to us across the silence: "What are you doing here?"

IMAGE SOURCES: The pastoral image used in the main header for this article comes from stock.xchng – Photographer: Tim & Annette, Metepec, Mexico. Clicking on the other images will take you to the original source.

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©2007 Dr Andrew Thomas Kania

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