When I recently saw these two pictures they struck me deeply. I was seeing things that I hadn’t considered before; hadn’t noticed, but then when I’d finally seen what was there all along, it was like a revelation. A  sunrise. A shining spiritual moment.

I was attending a weekend retreat back in November, and there are several moments spent in the chapel where this mural is. I look at it throughout the day over several days and months when I am in residence or visiting for a day program.

On the first morning we had just concluded our prayer service and I was sitting in quiet contemplation when I noticed the colored lines on Mary’s dress. I tilted my head one way and then the other, examining from afar the lines on the dress. Had they always been there? A bluish grey and pinky peach, a subtle blending showing the fabric folds creating a three-dimensional aspect to the flat painting.

Finally, I asked the director: have those lines on Mary’s dress always been there? She laughed. Yes, they’ve always been there. I’ve never noticed them before, and she shrugged in that way and we both agreed that sometimes we notice things that have always been right in front of us.

For the rest of the weekend, each time I went into the chapel, I stopped or stayed a bit longer wondering how I missed the nuance, the exceptional detail. I was so enthralled with my “discovery” that I bought one of the Mary prayer cards from the gift shop so I could contemplate and meditate on this newly noticed piece of spirituality.

I arrived early to mass on January the First, the Solemnity of Mary, a holy day of obligation. I had done my morning readings and was waiting, listening to the choir practice and was simply looking around. I’ve been in this church several times a week since 2012, and I still enjoy looking at the wall hangings, the tabernacle, our new prayer candles, and whatever ever else catches my eye, almost nothing for the first time.

I looked carefully at Jesus in the manger, and made a joke about the Wise Men being lazy this year, as no one had moved them slightly closer in preparation for Epiphany. I continued to look at the manger, thinking about that birth day long ago when the crucifix behind the altar caught my eye. Again, not for the first time, this crucifix has been here since before I started attending services here, but there was something this day that grabbed my attention in a quiet way, a subtle way.

In my line of sight was both the Nativity and the Crucifixion. The beginning and the midpoint in the lives and story of Jesus. In front of me, he was just born, seeing the world through new eyes, hearing his mother’s voice for the first time, the smell and sounds of the surrounding space ever so new to him, and just beyond that, not the end although it was the end of his earthly life. The moment when darkness fell in the middle of the day. The day the earth seemingly stood still. And in front of me, simultaneously was his life and his death, that moment of faith when we aren’t quite sure what’s coming next. His disciples surely didn’t know, and certainly we think we know, but the details are still a bit fuzzy.

And this is the beginning of my new year. I’ll be trying to find the things I’ve missed, notice the things that are seemingly right in front of me, or hidden away inside. I will try to keep my eyes and my heart open.