“The one who leans on the breast of Jesus will hear the heartbeat of God.”

Those words were spoken by a monk to Roland Walls, founder of the religious order called the “Community of the Transfiguration” in Roslin, Midlothian, Scotland. This simple message was seminal in providing not only the motivation but also the faith foundation for the community. Walls discovered personally what it meant to do so, something we each need to do. I was reminded of this in a very real way recently during my morning meditation.

For the most part I follow the same routine every day. Upon awaking I try to give thanks for something before stepping out of bed. Usually it’s simple, like “opening my eyes to another day.” Then I go and turn the small tea light on in the bookcase which sits in the small second floor den. In addition to books the six shelves also hold small artifacts like a Quaich, a cross and some small stones. On the top shelf sits two photos, one of my father in his army uniform, taken during his time in WWII, the other of my mother who must have been about the same age. After turning on the light I go downstairs and make coffee. While it is brewing I return to sit in my chair facing the bookcase. I greet my parents—I know, it sounds weird. And then say good morning to Jesus, whose face is found in a painting which hangs on the wall just to the right of the bookcase. The painting is not of the crucified Jesus, or Jesus with children or Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane or holding a little lamb on His shoulder, rather it is a painting of Jesus smiling.

The Smiling Jesus. It’s a print of an original done by an artist in New Mexico. Former parishioners gave it to me years ago. During the many house moves that have occurred in the intervening years I’ve jettisoned a lot of junk, but that painting has remained and always been given a prominent place. It is truly a treasure. I enjoy looking at the smiling face of Jesus. Looking at it makes me see God a bit differently, and imagine that God sees me differently as well.

So what does all of this have to do with leaning on the breast of Jesus? One morning quite recently I noticed something that I had never seen before; I saw the dim photo of my mother reflected in that painting. But not just anywhere in the painting, but you guessed it, squarely in the chest of Jesus. It was as if she was resting on his breast. I was mesmerized, and also amazed that I hadn’t noticed it before. It was as if her photo was superimposed on the painting. It was both comforting and symbolic. Comforting in that it I took it as reassurance that mom is resting with God. Symbolic in the reminder that it is what I desperately long for, here and hereafter in eternity. But how? How is this done? How might I rest on the breast of Jesus and hear the heartbeat of God? And how might you?