Second Wednesday in Easter: Colored with Grace

The Women touched by Grace have finished their story-telling, and Teri, the Presbyterian pastor who is my co-teacher, and I are doing final planning before we begin teaching our first session in the morning of  The Pastor as Spiritual Mentor.  

I had some time this afternoon to have a massage, a thank you from the grant that funds this program, and a walk around the grounds which of course meant a labyrinth walk. 

I don't know that I've been here at the Monastery when there were more flowers. They are everywhere!

The chapel where we worship is filled with flowers.

Lilacs had been placed on the table where I sat during our morning session.

  

And then there are the grounds of the monastery. 

Covered in grace.   Literally.

Abounding in grace.  Color-full of grace. 

Second Week of Easter: Touched by Grace, again

This is the eleventh year that I've come to Our Lady of Grace, sometimes as a participant of Women Touched by Grace, sometimes as an oblate, sometimes as a teacher of a Women Touched by Grace group.

Women Touched by Grace is an Eli Lilly Sustaining Pastoral Excellence Grant for women clergy.  I was blessed to be part of the first WTBG group which gathered seven times between 2003 and 2006.  As a result of my relationship with the (Benedictine) sisters of Our Lady of Grace Monastery (with whom we shared worship, prayer, and play), I became an oblate of the monastery which has brought me back to monastery at least once every year. The bonus has been that I have been asked to return to facilitate Women Touched by Grace sessions for the second, and now the third group.

I was scheduled to leave Houston early yesterday morning, but when I got to the airport they were looking for volunteers to fly out on the afternoon flight (the flight to Indy the night before had been cancelled, and there were a slew of people yearning to get home).  It was one of those rare times when I could actually take a later flight--so for waiting, I got a $500 travel voucher, a first class ticket on the 1 PM flight, and a morning in the first class lounge.  

My seat mate on the flight was a young mom who was holding her one year old daughter, just three months older than my grandson Jonas. It made for a bit of adventure, but how nice to be able to be a flight grandma for a couple of hours.

So now I'm at the monastery.   Lilacs are blooming.  I have a lovely small room in the guest quarters.  I've walked the labyrinth, prayed the morning office with the sisters, and already had holy rest.

At Morning Praise this morning, the acolyte read from St. Julian of Norwich:

I saw no kind of vengeance in God,

not for a short time

nor for long--

for as I see it,

if God were vengeful 

even for a brief moment

we would never have life, place or being.

In God is endless friendship,

space, life and being.

Second Sunday of the Resurrection: A Gospel for those who wait

At St. Mary's on Holy Saturday, Sharon takes down the Stations of the Cross which surround our iNave and replaces them with Stations of the Resurrection.  These fourteen pieces of art, created by our own Celeste Booker, represent encounters with the resurrected Jesus. The Gospel for the Second Sunday of Easter (John 20.  19--31) are represented by Stations Five and Six. 

Station five is a response to the night of Jesus’ resurrection, last Sunday evening.  The disciples are gathered in the place where they were last in community with Jesus before he was crucified.

I wonder when they returned to this familiar place, a place full of memories of meals and love and washed feet and conversation: were the dishes still on the table?  Were there crumbs left on the floor?

We don’t know who all was there--disciples could have included women and children, too.  We know who wasn’t there—Judas, because he had committed suicide after betraying Jesus.

And Thomas.

We aren’t told why Thomas wasn’t in the room with the other disciples. Was he home tending his family? Had he missed the email blasts and the texts letting him how the disciples were getting together?

Was he too sad?  Too afraid?  Too angry?  Only God knows, but because he wasn’t there, he missed being with Jesus.

And it wasn’t a casual encounter he missed; Jesus gave those gathered disciples words of peace. Jesus gave them his Spirit. What a night to miss church! 

Why-ever Thomas wasn’t there, when he heard who and what he had missed, he had to wait a whole week. Think about that.

Where were you last Sunday night?

Think of all that has happened this past week, and imagine, hearing that Jesus was alive, and knowing you’d missed him. That you might have missed your only opportunity to see him again.  Ever.

7 days.  168 hours.  10,080 minutes.  604,600 seconds.

Thomas is the disciple who says what others think but are too shy to say. When Jesus and the disciples hear that Lazarus has died, it is Thomas who says, Let us also go, that we may die with him.

Thomas is the one who asks the questions others are too afraid to ask.

When Jesus says that the disciples know where he is going, and that he is going to prepare a place for them, it is Thomas who asks, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

I like Thomas.  A lot.  I think God does, too.  I think that God likes when we ask questions.  Hard questions.  Seemingly foolish questions. I think that God likes when we’re looking for God and trying to understand who God is. I think that God likes when we seek a relationship with God.

Thomas does all this.

When Thomas says, unless I see and touch Jesus, I’m not going to believe,  remember what believing means is John’s Gospel: Believing means having a relationship with God.

Thomas wants a relationship with Jesus, not some easy statement of faith. Thomas doesn’t want a second hand experience of Jesus. Thomas is saying I want to be with Jesus.

That’s what God wants for each of us.

For us to seek and have a relationship with Jesus.  For us to be found by Jesus.

Thomas has to wait 10 days after Jesus’ death, but Thomas does get what he yearns for--a real life encounter with Jesus. It’s represented by station number six of our Stations of the Resurrection.

Our Gospel today reminds those of us who ask hard questions that we are in good company.  Those of us who are waiting are in good company, too.

Thomas waits, and he gets to touch Jesus. Thomas waits, and he receives Jesus’ word of peace. Thomas waits, and he will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, Christ’s own Spirit, even if missed receiving it the evening of the resurrection, he will receive it six weeks later on the Feast of Pentecost.

One of the things that gives me pause when I stand and ponder our Stations of the Resurrection and look at the gold cross front and center of each Station is what I see reflected in the cross. Myself. Literally. We are all invited in our waiting and longing and fear and questions and uncertainty and hopefulness to find our heart's desire, Jesus.  It is always a yes. 

Easter Friday: Keeping Sabbath

Sabbath means to cease to work.  Do you know how hard that is?  Friday is typically my Sabbath, although every now and then something gets in the way.   I truly try to keep Sabbath as a spiritual discipline, and today, Easter Friday, was marked on my calendar in green as Sabbath.

Of course, getting my mind to stop working is a whole other issue.  Although the last three days I've started early and worked late, my head is full today of things left undone.

I decided to start the day with a walk.  I planned a short walk around the neighborhood, only a few blocks or so, but as I was nearing Laneview, I noticed that the gate to the green space at the end of Balcrest was left open.

Here's the conundrum:  although there is a sign that clearly says "no trespassing" there are other signs pointing out walking trails.  Which is it?  The road at the end of Balcrest leads to the water storage unit for the neighborhood, and after my dad died a few years ago, the only walking I could do was down this tree-lined road listening to Irish blessings and prayers on my iPod.

I decided to trespass and walk a little farther, and  I was immediately washed with the wonderful smell of spring flowers.  I decided to walk a little more, and when I rounded the curb, there was a sign indicating the beginning of a walking trails through the green space.

So I was off on an adventure.  I didn't know where I'd end up; I had the sun to let me know which way was north, and I knew that eventually on the other side of the trees was Cypress Creek, so how lost could I get?

Not at all.  My little walk up and down the streets of my neighborhood took me on a nearly hour hike through woods and trees and along a beautiful waterway.  The smell of flowers, birds flitting across my path, lush green.  A very good way to cease to work.

When I was on my Sabbatical two years ago, one of my plans was to walk the paths on this green space along Cypress Creek.  I never got around to it.  But on this Sabbath, I found a
path and I walked it.

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!

Easter Monday: a poem

At the tomb II

His offering made us see what could be done

With flesh and blood.  First we had eaten from

His gestures--wine and bread--and what we'd been

Was gone.  We knew that we belonged to him.

Then, waiting with our grief beside the tomb,

We were made humble, our faces wet.

We wanted his return, we wanted him,

The way he made our truth immediate.

But he was gone, and what would happen now?

We felt the loss that he'd inherited,

The loss we'd given him, that pierced him through.

There, we were bound by all that wasn't said.

And, finally, realizing what was known,

We closed our eyes, and saw him rise through stone.

Kim Bridgeford, quoted in  Christian Century,  April 2, 2014