What We Make Sacred

"Is nothing sacred?"

This question's been on my mind recently. And it's a question that often comes up around change. 

The theater company does a modern adaptation of Charles Dickens, say. The metro gets wifi. That old carriage house becomes a salon, juice bar, coworking space. What was familiar is now less familiar. Or totally unfamiliar. 

Is nothing sacred? op-eds, admirers of what was, perhaps even we, ourselves, wonder. Staying the same, it seems to suggest, is sacred. 

So, here's an idea I've been toying around with: What if we decided that change is sacred?

It is, ultimately, the one thing we're promised in life. Our bodies and our relationships do it. Rabbits, apple orchards, lobster prices do it. Between when you start this and when you finish it, the earth will be further around the sun, the hairs on your head and nails on your fingers will be longer, that peach you'll buy next June will be riper. 

I'm not saying all change is equal, easy, or welcome. Each one of us could probably come up with seven examples of people, places, things that are sacred and should never, ever change.

Except in all likelihood, they will. Everything does. 

Perhaps, then, we can experiment with the idea that change is meaningful, maybe even holy. Or, at the very least, instructive, though not always the lesson we asked to learn.

And then, since everything changes, we may be less inclined to ask, Is nothing sacred? And more inclined to believe that everything is sacred. 

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