Ladder Marks

“… I can set a little altar, in the world or in my heart. I can stop what I am doing long enough to see where I am, who I am there with, and how awesome the place is. I can flag one more gate to heaven—one more patch of ordinary earth with ladder marks on it—where the divine traffic is heavy when I notice it and even when I do not. I can see it for once, instead of walking right past it, maybe even setting a stone or saying a blessing before I move on to wherever I am due next.” 

— Barbara Brown Taylor, commenting on Jacob’s dream in which he sees a ladder reaching into heaven[i]

Prologue

I was leading a Bible study in the 1980s.   The topic of heaven came up.  An older woman who rarely spoke raised her hand.  I acknowledged her. 

“You know, I’m mad at those astronauts,” she said. 

 “Why?” I asked.    

“Because they went all the way up there and they didn’t find heaven.  Now I don’t know where it went.”

First Mark

I once led an introductory session for a newly formed leadership group in my congregation. I invited them to share a significant experience in their spiritual journeys.  After a time of silence, one woman said she had been very close to her father. When he died, she flew back to Michigan for the memorial service. She was told she could visit the mortuary to view his body if she wished. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel but decided to go.  She went into the viewing room and saw his body lying on the table.  As she looked at his face, she had a clear sense that “he” was not there; she was viewing his body which he’d left behind.  Yet she felt his presence.

Second Mark

Midway through my ministry, I began to periodically lead services that included a time for personal prayer and reflection.  After a brief sermon, I told everyone we were entering a time when they had some options.  They could stay seated and listen to the music we had chosen.  They could use the time for private contemplation.  Or they could go to one of three prayer stations we had set up on the sides and back of the sanctuary.  At each station was a kneeling bench and someone who could pray for them.  I made it clear this was not an “altar call,” and they should do whatever they felt called to do.  If they chose to go to one of the stations, they could tell the person who would be praying for them whatever was on their heart –a concern for themselves or for someone else, or a desire to express gratitude for something in their life.  The music began and I walked to my station. I was surprised at how many people chose to come for prayer.  I remember one woman in her eighties; I knew she had survived cancer and the loss of her husband some years before. As she came closer, she was looking at me and smiling as tears ran down her cheeks.  When she drew close to the bench to kneel, I asked her if she had a request.  “I am just so thankful for my life,” she said. 

When this part of the service concluded, we sang a hymn and dispersed.

In my career I often come home from a service with plenty of adrenalin still flowing.  But on these Sundays, I came home feeling calm.  I hadn’t felt responsible for people’s experiences.  My role had been to simply be present with them as they opened their hearts to God.

Third Mark

I once attended a two-day retreat for end-of-life practitioners at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center. In one segment, the leader asked us to each find a comfortable place in the chapel where we could lie on our backs for a guided meditation.  When we were all comfortable with our eyes closed, he invited us to choose a person from our childhood who seemed to embody wisdom.  I was a bit surprised to “see” my paternal grandmother who had died when I was eight years old. I had just a few memories of her.  I remember she had a garden with snapdragons. I remember she often had Angel Food cake on the center of the dining room table.  And I remember she always listened to me with genuine interest.

I became absorbed in my vision and was no longer listening to the facilitator.  I saw my grandmother working in her garden.  My eight-year-old self came beside her, kneeled, and began to help.  Soon she became weary and needed to go inside.  In the next moment, I was still kneeling beside her, but now in my adult form.  I carefully put my arms under her, lifter her up, and carried her inside; she felt frail and light.  I took her into her bedroom and gently placed her in her bed. I then drew a chair by the bedside and sat quietly beside her. 

I can flag one more gate to heaven—one more patch of ordinary earth with ladder marks on it—where the divine traffic is heavy when I notice it and even when I do not.

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[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Waking Up to God,” Center for Action and Contemplation, March 21, 2024, https://cac.org/daily-meditations/waking-up-to-god/

Image: “Ladder in the Forest,” Alex Zorychta