Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Wednesday after Lent III--March 18, 2009
It's a beautiful spring day in March! Welcome the spring by taking advantage of this day in some way. Take a walk, breath in the air. If you are caught in the office all day, make an evening walk a reality. Eat dinner on the patio. Make a quick trip out to spy a star or two. Herald the spring! More tomorrow....I'm going outside!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday after Lent III--March 17, 2009
St Patrick's E-Mail Jig
Remember the sabbath day and keep it holy.
Happy St Patrick's Day! Today I find myself in Western Maryland and everyone is wearing green. When I am in Western Maryland, there is a feeling of being in a monastic frame of mind. Our house does not have landline phone service, television service or an internet connection. The cellphone service depends on the weather--and how thick the air is---really! Voicemail messages are delayed for a few hours. At the house, it really does have a sense of being away from it all. I have a sense of Sabbath---and this is because I am more separated from modern technology. I can access it, but I have to make an effort.
If I want to check my e-mail, I have to go to the local library where there is free wireless service. I can work on sermons, letters, teaching outlines and more from home off-line but cannot use the internet. That means that I can only really check my e-mail once a day--if that often. If I had been at home or the office in Baltimore today, I would have checked my e-mail at least twice and probably three times by now. If we are always connected, can there ever be a time of Sabbath? So, whenever I am here, I wonder what it would be if I had a discipline of checking my e-mail once a day---even when in Baltimore. When the e-mail or web is available at all times, it is so easy just to check one more time within the space of an hour or so. Before I know it, time that could be used to research and write or complete a project that takes good concentrated work is gone. Is checking e-mail frequently a sign of acedia or sloth? Sometimes I think it is. A way to procrastinate and keep from the important work at hand.
Do you have a discipline with e-mail that allows you to use its benefits and not get caught in the addiction of constant contact?
Ah well, it's time to leave the library and go home. No more checking in for today. Time for some sabbath.
Remember the sabbath day and keep it holy.
Happy St Patrick's Day! Today I find myself in Western Maryland and everyone is wearing green. When I am in Western Maryland, there is a feeling of being in a monastic frame of mind. Our house does not have landline phone service, television service or an internet connection. The cellphone service depends on the weather--and how thick the air is---really! Voicemail messages are delayed for a few hours. At the house, it really does have a sense of being away from it all. I have a sense of Sabbath---and this is because I am more separated from modern technology. I can access it, but I have to make an effort.
If I want to check my e-mail, I have to go to the local library where there is free wireless service. I can work on sermons, letters, teaching outlines and more from home off-line but cannot use the internet. That means that I can only really check my e-mail once a day--if that often. If I had been at home or the office in Baltimore today, I would have checked my e-mail at least twice and probably three times by now. If we are always connected, can there ever be a time of Sabbath? So, whenever I am here, I wonder what it would be if I had a discipline of checking my e-mail once a day---even when in Baltimore. When the e-mail or web is available at all times, it is so easy just to check one more time within the space of an hour or so. Before I know it, time that could be used to research and write or complete a project that takes good concentrated work is gone. Is checking e-mail frequently a sign of acedia or sloth? Sometimes I think it is. A way to procrastinate and keep from the important work at hand.
Do you have a discipline with e-mail that allows you to use its benefits and not get caught in the addiction of constant contact?
Ah well, it's time to leave the library and go home. No more checking in for today. Time for some sabbath.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Monday after Lent III--March 16, 2009
Urban Amish or Ubermotivated?
His disciples remembered that it was written, "Zeal for your house will consume me." John 2:17
Yesterday's lectionary readings for the Third Sunday of Lent were intense. The Ten Commandments, Paul's famous lines about the cross being a stumbling block, and Jesus turning over the tables in the temple. There was law and judgment bristling in the air. In the midst of the readings was Psalm 19. Lovely Psalm 19 that reminds us that "the law is perfect and revives the soul." Say what?
In my sermon, I decided to argue that, yes indeedy, the law does revive the soul. And here's my angle...the law is essential to combat one of the great temptations of human living...the sin of acedia. Say what times two? What was that word? ACEDIA. According to Kathleen Norris in her recent, intriguing book Acedia and Me, acedia was thought to be the eighth deadly sin---until the powers that be came up with seven. In its Greek root, acedia means "the absence of care." A person afflicted with acedia refuses to care, but, more often than not, is incapable of doing so. Acedia was the great temptation of the ancient mothers and fathers of the desert. It is the great enemy of us all.
It seems to me that acedia can flourish not just in the solitude of self in the desert but in the solitude of self in the modern world. In fact, Norris writes that "acedia is not a relic of the fourth century or a hang-up of some wierd monks, but a force we ignore at our peril...Our busyness can't disguise the suspicion that we are being steadily diminished, not so much living as passing time in a desert of our own devising."
In my sermon, I talked about the ubermotivated--how our blackberries and cells, our twittering and blogging (gulp), our FaceBooking and multitasking--can keep us so busy that we have no time to sift fact from fiction, the important from the unimportant, what we should care about from the irrelevant. How do we know where we should place our zeal and passion if we don't have any space to think about such things? That is assuming that we are not so tired from our hectic lifestyle that we have any energy left to summon up an iota of passion or zeal.
Of course, there is the way of the desert...becoming the urban Amish. I just heard about that term--it is someone who eschews electronic mediums for personal, old-fashioned forms of communication---letter writing, meeting in person. However, I don't think this is totally realistic. First off, you'll still have to deal with acedia because the monks of the ancient desert didn't have any of these tools and still battled the "noonday demon." More importantly, our electronic medium are hugely valuable communication tools. It would be folly on many levels to leave them by the wayside and separate oneself from the world. So...here's the tragic gap topic for this week: What's the middle ground between ubermotivated and urban amish? How do we battle the demon of acedia in this modern age? I think the law and tradition have a gift to give us. That's my blogging topic for the third week of Lent. Stay tuned and tell me what you think.
His disciples remembered that it was written, "Zeal for your house will consume me." John 2:17
Yesterday's lectionary readings for the Third Sunday of Lent were intense. The Ten Commandments, Paul's famous lines about the cross being a stumbling block, and Jesus turning over the tables in the temple. There was law and judgment bristling in the air. In the midst of the readings was Psalm 19. Lovely Psalm 19 that reminds us that "the law is perfect and revives the soul." Say what?
In my sermon, I decided to argue that, yes indeedy, the law does revive the soul. And here's my angle...the law is essential to combat one of the great temptations of human living...the sin of acedia. Say what times two? What was that word? ACEDIA. According to Kathleen Norris in her recent, intriguing book Acedia and Me, acedia was thought to be the eighth deadly sin---until the powers that be came up with seven. In its Greek root, acedia means "the absence of care." A person afflicted with acedia refuses to care, but, more often than not, is incapable of doing so. Acedia was the great temptation of the ancient mothers and fathers of the desert. It is the great enemy of us all.
It seems to me that acedia can flourish not just in the solitude of self in the desert but in the solitude of self in the modern world. In fact, Norris writes that "acedia is not a relic of the fourth century or a hang-up of some wierd monks, but a force we ignore at our peril...Our busyness can't disguise the suspicion that we are being steadily diminished, not so much living as passing time in a desert of our own devising."
In my sermon, I talked about the ubermotivated--how our blackberries and cells, our twittering and blogging (gulp), our FaceBooking and multitasking--can keep us so busy that we have no time to sift fact from fiction, the important from the unimportant, what we should care about from the irrelevant. How do we know where we should place our zeal and passion if we don't have any space to think about such things? That is assuming that we are not so tired from our hectic lifestyle that we have any energy left to summon up an iota of passion or zeal.
Of course, there is the way of the desert...becoming the urban Amish. I just heard about that term--it is someone who eschews electronic mediums for personal, old-fashioned forms of communication---letter writing, meeting in person. However, I don't think this is totally realistic. First off, you'll still have to deal with acedia because the monks of the ancient desert didn't have any of these tools and still battled the "noonday demon." More importantly, our electronic medium are hugely valuable communication tools. It would be folly on many levels to leave them by the wayside and separate oneself from the world. So...here's the tragic gap topic for this week: What's the middle ground between ubermotivated and urban amish? How do we battle the demon of acedia in this modern age? I think the law and tradition have a gift to give us. That's my blogging topic for the third week of Lent. Stay tuned and tell me what you think.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday after Lent II--March 13, 2009
The Treasures of Nature
Ask the creatures, they will tell you. Job 12
Treasures of the heart are certainly those we love. For me, another deep source of treasure is found in nature. For many cultures, animals are markers of the presence of the Holy Spirit. When I was installed as Rector of Memorial, a bat flew from the rafters, down the center aisle and out the front door during the sermon. I got a call from a colleague the next day that this was a sign of the Holy Spirit. I've had folks share with me that after a loved one died, a bird or animal visited them for a few days...perching on the window or appearing in the yard. These persons were sure it was their loved one saying that everything was going to be all right.
During my sabbatical, I spent a good deal of time on the outdoors deck at our home in Western Maryland. I continue to make that my reading, writing and journaling spot. Beginning with the sabbatical and continuing on until this day, I feel blessed by the frequent appearance of one of God's creatures. One day, I heard a strange buzz near my head as I read on the deck. When I looked up, there was nothing to be seen. I wondered if it could be a bumblebee or another type of insect. But the noise wasn't quite right. Later in the morning, I heard the noise again. This time I was daydreaming so I spied the noise-maker. It was a beautiful green and blue hummingbird. Its tiny wings whirring, the hummingbird flitted up close to me---so close I could touch it--and then whirred away into the trees. I felt that it was a sign from God. I'n not sure what sign...but a sign to me that all was well. The hummingbird immediately made me happy. Over the past three years, the hummingbird makes a regular appearance when I appear on the deck to read. I have never had a bird come so close before. We are friends. Somehow that hummingbird is trying to teach me--what could be the teaching?
In what ways has a creature of God taught you?
Ask the creatures, they will tell you. Job 12
Treasures of the heart are certainly those we love. For me, another deep source of treasure is found in nature. For many cultures, animals are markers of the presence of the Holy Spirit. When I was installed as Rector of Memorial, a bat flew from the rafters, down the center aisle and out the front door during the sermon. I got a call from a colleague the next day that this was a sign of the Holy Spirit. I've had folks share with me that after a loved one died, a bird or animal visited them for a few days...perching on the window or appearing in the yard. These persons were sure it was their loved one saying that everything was going to be all right.
During my sabbatical, I spent a good deal of time on the outdoors deck at our home in Western Maryland. I continue to make that my reading, writing and journaling spot. Beginning with the sabbatical and continuing on until this day, I feel blessed by the frequent appearance of one of God's creatures. One day, I heard a strange buzz near my head as I read on the deck. When I looked up, there was nothing to be seen. I wondered if it could be a bumblebee or another type of insect. But the noise wasn't quite right. Later in the morning, I heard the noise again. This time I was daydreaming so I spied the noise-maker. It was a beautiful green and blue hummingbird. Its tiny wings whirring, the hummingbird flitted up close to me---so close I could touch it--and then whirred away into the trees. I felt that it was a sign from God. I'n not sure what sign...but a sign to me that all was well. The hummingbird immediately made me happy. Over the past three years, the hummingbird makes a regular appearance when I appear on the deck to read. I have never had a bird come so close before. We are friends. Somehow that hummingbird is trying to teach me--what could be the teaching?
In what ways has a creature of God taught you?
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Thursday after Lent II--March 12, 2009
Treasures that do not fade
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21
Here is one of my favorite scripture passages. As we prepared to move to Africa, this passage became my touchstone as we let go of many of our material possessions through yard sales and gifts to friends rather than put our possessions in storage. This past year, we did a similar move as we moved from a large Rectory to a two-bedroom apartment. At some point, as we pondered whether to keep this chair or that box of saved pictures, I thought back to this passage--a passage that allowed us to make that big move to South Africa.
What really is our treasure? You can always ask yourself: if my house caught on fire, what would I save? The closest I have come to my own answer to that question was the evening of the last burglary at our home in South Africa. We were about a month from moving back to the States and were home for a night in the middle of traveling around the country with friends. We went to dinner and when we returned home, we noticed that our back door had been broken. The steel bars that protected the wooden door were lried apart and the wooden door gashed almost in two. As we entered the house, we saw that nothing had been taken. In a flash, we realized that we had come upon the burglars just as they had begun their evening's work. They were surely hiding in the bushes close by. Fear immediately set in. We knew that we could easily become the victims of serious physical crimes. In my heart, all I wanted to do was to get our children away from the situation. Bryan told us to take one car and drive to a parishioners. He would quickly close up the house. We all got to our parishioner's home safely.
The next morning we returned home to find everything gone. Since we had sent our large possessions ahead, there was not much furniture to take. However, all our clothes were gone including my stoles and vestments. My cloth bible cover had been ripped from the bible (I still use that bible as my main bible). Towels, sheets, everything was gone. But in that moment I knew that the most important thing--my treasures--were still with me. Bryan, Jack and Anna were all fine--if a little shaken. In the days right after the burglary, I kept repeating, "Everyone is all right. No one was hurt." In South Africa, too often, burglaries and robberies ended in truly horrific violent crime. I felt blessed.
In this tough economic times, what are your treasures? In a moment when you are forced to choose what to take with you, what would you do? What really matters?
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21
Here is one of my favorite scripture passages. As we prepared to move to Africa, this passage became my touchstone as we let go of many of our material possessions through yard sales and gifts to friends rather than put our possessions in storage. This past year, we did a similar move as we moved from a large Rectory to a two-bedroom apartment. At some point, as we pondered whether to keep this chair or that box of saved pictures, I thought back to this passage--a passage that allowed us to make that big move to South Africa.
What really is our treasure? You can always ask yourself: if my house caught on fire, what would I save? The closest I have come to my own answer to that question was the evening of the last burglary at our home in South Africa. We were about a month from moving back to the States and were home for a night in the middle of traveling around the country with friends. We went to dinner and when we returned home, we noticed that our back door had been broken. The steel bars that protected the wooden door were lried apart and the wooden door gashed almost in two. As we entered the house, we saw that nothing had been taken. In a flash, we realized that we had come upon the burglars just as they had begun their evening's work. They were surely hiding in the bushes close by. Fear immediately set in. We knew that we could easily become the victims of serious physical crimes. In my heart, all I wanted to do was to get our children away from the situation. Bryan told us to take one car and drive to a parishioners. He would quickly close up the house. We all got to our parishioner's home safely.
The next morning we returned home to find everything gone. Since we had sent our large possessions ahead, there was not much furniture to take. However, all our clothes were gone including my stoles and vestments. My cloth bible cover had been ripped from the bible (I still use that bible as my main bible). Towels, sheets, everything was gone. But in that moment I knew that the most important thing--my treasures--were still with me. Bryan, Jack and Anna were all fine--if a little shaken. In the days right after the burglary, I kept repeating, "Everyone is all right. No one was hurt." In South Africa, too often, burglaries and robberies ended in truly horrific violent crime. I felt blessed.
In this tough economic times, what are your treasures? In a moment when you are forced to choose what to take with you, what would you do? What really matters?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Wednesday after Lent II--March 11, 2009
The Mighty Leviathan
On the fifth day God said, "Let the waters bring forth living creatures." So the wind awakened the waters into life. Great sea-monsters were born. Gleaming fish swarmed the seas. Winged birds of every kind rose out of the waters. Creeping things crawled from the sea. Wild animals ran free. And the cattle roamed the grasslands. God saw that it was good. Earth was alive with its creatures. And there was evening and morning, creation's fifth day. Translation of Genesis 1 by Philip Newell
Have you ever been fascinated by the Loch Ness Monster? When I was a little girl, there were stories of the great dragon-like sea-creature living at the bottom of the Scottish lake. Like the UFO sightings, there is talk from time to time of something large seen arising on the surface of Loch Ness. Such tales have been around for centuries. Celtic legend recounts that St Columba saw a young boy swimming across the loch (lake) when a great sea monster arose and began swimming after the boy. St Columba rebuked the monster. He does not kill the monster. He does not try to tame the monster. He does his best to keep the monster from using its awesome power for ill instead of good.
We are all fascinated by what lies in the deep--in the dark cave---at the bottom of the well. In Lent, it would be helpful to be fascinated at what lies in the depths of our soul. We'd rather stick to the whereabouts of the Loch Ness monster or Big Foot. What lies in the depths of our souls can be a very powerful force. It can be a force used for good or for ill. It is important that we know what lies there. It is important to confront those parts of ourselves that lie deep inside. For if we do not know the power of our deep, we often are controlled by the power of those memories and feelings. How do we get a handle on this? Is it just to big too handle? Isn't it just better to wonder and marvel about mythic creatures than to wonder and marvel at the mythic creature within?
The power of liturgy--especially the power of Lent and Holy Week--can help us to touch that powerful deep within us. As we move closer to the most sacred week of the Christian year, we can prepare through opening our hearts and souls to God in prayer. That's what the Lenten discipline is really all about--getting in touch with our deep. Just a few minutes of silence or prayer time in the morning or evening can be enough. Coming to Sunday worship is even better. Preparing ourselves to attend the drama of the Holy Week services is a sure bet to touch the deep. Learning to be still before God and opening to God's Spirit allows us to relinquish the death grip we have on the deepest part of ourselves--the deepest part that is most holy and most powerful. The deepest part that we most fear but is the way to wholeness and life.
Is there sometime that you feel in touch with the deep within? Have you felt it within a worship service? Have you felt it in the vastness of God's creation and creatures?
On the fifth day God said, "Let the waters bring forth living creatures." So the wind awakened the waters into life. Great sea-monsters were born. Gleaming fish swarmed the seas. Winged birds of every kind rose out of the waters. Creeping things crawled from the sea. Wild animals ran free. And the cattle roamed the grasslands. God saw that it was good. Earth was alive with its creatures. And there was evening and morning, creation's fifth day. Translation of Genesis 1 by Philip Newell
Have you ever been fascinated by the Loch Ness Monster? When I was a little girl, there were stories of the great dragon-like sea-creature living at the bottom of the Scottish lake. Like the UFO sightings, there is talk from time to time of something large seen arising on the surface of Loch Ness. Such tales have been around for centuries. Celtic legend recounts that St Columba saw a young boy swimming across the loch (lake) when a great sea monster arose and began swimming after the boy. St Columba rebuked the monster. He does not kill the monster. He does not try to tame the monster. He does his best to keep the monster from using its awesome power for ill instead of good.
We are all fascinated by what lies in the deep--in the dark cave---at the bottom of the well. In Lent, it would be helpful to be fascinated at what lies in the depths of our soul. We'd rather stick to the whereabouts of the Loch Ness monster or Big Foot. What lies in the depths of our souls can be a very powerful force. It can be a force used for good or for ill. It is important that we know what lies there. It is important to confront those parts of ourselves that lie deep inside. For if we do not know the power of our deep, we often are controlled by the power of those memories and feelings. How do we get a handle on this? Is it just to big too handle? Isn't it just better to wonder and marvel about mythic creatures than to wonder and marvel at the mythic creature within?
The power of liturgy--especially the power of Lent and Holy Week--can help us to touch that powerful deep within us. As we move closer to the most sacred week of the Christian year, we can prepare through opening our hearts and souls to God in prayer. That's what the Lenten discipline is really all about--getting in touch with our deep. Just a few minutes of silence or prayer time in the morning or evening can be enough. Coming to Sunday worship is even better. Preparing ourselves to attend the drama of the Holy Week services is a sure bet to touch the deep. Learning to be still before God and opening to God's Spirit allows us to relinquish the death grip we have on the deepest part of ourselves--the deepest part that is most holy and most powerful. The deepest part that we most fear but is the way to wholeness and life.
Is there sometime that you feel in touch with the deep within? Have you felt it within a worship service? Have you felt it in the vastness of God's creation and creatures?
Monday, March 9, 2009
Monday after Lent II--March 9, 2009
Treasures from the Well
Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel will save it. Mark 8:35-36
Sometimes the times that are most difficult in our lives are the most critical to our spiritual growth. The crosses that we each carry in our lives are strange treasures. Margaret Silf, an Ignatian spiritual writer, talks about "going to the well" of our lives. A well is a place where we find the water that gives us life; yet, a well is dark, deep and frightening. For the Celtic Christians, a well was a sacred place. As Silf says, the well "is the source of life that is only reached by descending into the depths of a deep, dark shaft....To risk the journey to the bottom of the well demands courage. For many of us, that journey into darkness only happens when circumstances force us into an encounter with "rock bottom." Must such an encounter be negative?" (Margaret Silf, Sacred Spaces: Stations on a Celtic Way).
Over my life, I have found that the "well experiences" in my life, the crosses that I am called to bear, have been transformative for me. At first, the experiences seemed only negative. After some time, I find that transformative treasures lie within a time of loss or suffering. This past week is always a difficult week of the year. The first week of March contains the anniversaries of the deaths of both my parents. Each year I have to work hard to fight the feelings of loss and grief--even many years out from the actual events. However, if I can stay especially close to God through prayer--even and especially when I am feeling low--grace happens in a tremendous, miraculous way to bring me hope. This year, on March 7th, the anniversary of my mother's death, I was honored to officiate at the funeral of Anne Irvin.
Anne Irvin is the mother of Anne Madison. Anne Madison is the creative genius behind the Anglican rosary beads. Her mother, Anne, came to Memorial to live with Anne and her husband Greg about five years ago. She has suffered from confusion and frailty. After a slow physical and mential decline, she died last Sunday. Her funeral was a celebration of a life well lived. A life that involved being a single mother, a cellist, a teacher, a weaver. Anne loved Cursillo. Her funeral was a celebration of her life. As Monty Howard sang the Cursillo song "Des Colores," I found myself smiling with joy as I walked down the communion rail. As the sun streamed through the church windows, I realized again that God's love and the love of those we see no longer surrounds us always. I realized that every time I celebrate the life of someone who has died as their parish priest, I am made whole in my own grief and loss just a bit more. Some folks would say: how could you be at a funeral on March 7th? I've realized that a funeral full of joy was the very best place for me to be last Saturday. For those "well" experiences in our lives, sometimes the only place to heal again is to go to the well. The place of deep feeling. The place of deep loss. To realize that at "rock bottom," there is God's love.
How do you find a place to heal from loss? What do you do to find hope and the love of God on an anniversary of a loss?
Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel will save it. Mark 8:35-36
Sometimes the times that are most difficult in our lives are the most critical to our spiritual growth. The crosses that we each carry in our lives are strange treasures. Margaret Silf, an Ignatian spiritual writer, talks about "going to the well" of our lives. A well is a place where we find the water that gives us life; yet, a well is dark, deep and frightening. For the Celtic Christians, a well was a sacred place. As Silf says, the well "is the source of life that is only reached by descending into the depths of a deep, dark shaft....To risk the journey to the bottom of the well demands courage. For many of us, that journey into darkness only happens when circumstances force us into an encounter with "rock bottom." Must such an encounter be negative?" (Margaret Silf, Sacred Spaces: Stations on a Celtic Way).
Over my life, I have found that the "well experiences" in my life, the crosses that I am called to bear, have been transformative for me. At first, the experiences seemed only negative. After some time, I find that transformative treasures lie within a time of loss or suffering. This past week is always a difficult week of the year. The first week of March contains the anniversaries of the deaths of both my parents. Each year I have to work hard to fight the feelings of loss and grief--even many years out from the actual events. However, if I can stay especially close to God through prayer--even and especially when I am feeling low--grace happens in a tremendous, miraculous way to bring me hope. This year, on March 7th, the anniversary of my mother's death, I was honored to officiate at the funeral of Anne Irvin.
Anne Irvin is the mother of Anne Madison. Anne Madison is the creative genius behind the Anglican rosary beads. Her mother, Anne, came to Memorial to live with Anne and her husband Greg about five years ago. She has suffered from confusion and frailty. After a slow physical and mential decline, she died last Sunday. Her funeral was a celebration of a life well lived. A life that involved being a single mother, a cellist, a teacher, a weaver. Anne loved Cursillo. Her funeral was a celebration of her life. As Monty Howard sang the Cursillo song "Des Colores," I found myself smiling with joy as I walked down the communion rail. As the sun streamed through the church windows, I realized again that God's love and the love of those we see no longer surrounds us always. I realized that every time I celebrate the life of someone who has died as their parish priest, I am made whole in my own grief and loss just a bit more. Some folks would say: how could you be at a funeral on March 7th? I've realized that a funeral full of joy was the very best place for me to be last Saturday. For those "well" experiences in our lives, sometimes the only place to heal again is to go to the well. The place of deep feeling. The place of deep loss. To realize that at "rock bottom," there is God's love.
How do you find a place to heal from loss? What do you do to find hope and the love of God on an anniversary of a loss?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)