Light-Filled Blessings

The season of Christmas is bookended with prophecies of light.

Our holy commemoration of the nativity begins with Isaiah’s commentary about the light of God coming to the people – “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined.” (9.2)

These are powerful words for anyone who has experienced darkness – of body, mind, and spirit. These folks have known the dark; they have sat in it; they have been deeply impacted by it.

And these are the same people who embrace the light with relief when it arrives. They hear the words that are meant to bring us comfort and consolation, to inspire us with the Divine salvific promise of salvation made manifest in the person of the incarnate Christ, to remind us that earthly happiness and eternal joy are joined and enfleshed in the baby Jesus.

The light is here! Let the world rejoice! Even Jesus himself often cites Isaiah’s words in speaking good news to all people.

Yet, in the midst of our celebrations, we know that darkness continues.
And it is into this darkness that we speak light-filled blessings.

For we, as people of the light, have received that great gift of God. And, as people of the light, we know that receiving the light of the Lord is not meant to be an act of accepting a gift without engaging in the work of the light.

Engage we can, and engage we must! It is a part of our vocation to be the light-bearers in the world. To reject the darkness means to have faced it, to overcome the darkness means we have truly encountered it.

As light-bearers, we carry the true light: not an artificial or superficial illumination, but the life-giving and life-changing reality of the light-filled blessing that comes from God. This light cannot be forced, it cannot be denied – and it cannot be limited.

So let’s be sated with those blessings that we receive this season, and in these 12 days of Christmas come up with a way to continue our Christian journey into the Epiphany – for there we will hear Isaiah extend our invitation to active ministry thus equipped with light: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.” (60.1)

Let us truly and deeply, and faithfully, delight in the Light. 

For it is a blessing for us all when we bless the world with God's light. 

Dense

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I’ve found myself reflecting on the word dense this week; not least because I was making Christmas fudge (the easy way – with sweetened condensed milk). Density denotes closely compacted substance, something that has been intensified, concentrated, made heavy, complex.

Dense is a great word for this time of year: in the good, the bad, and the neutral, there is a density we find ourselves in.

Ecclesiastically, we have an intensified number of worship opportunities. Socially, there are abundant invitations to share some good cheer. Liturgically, we are delving deep into complex foundational narratives, and at an increasingly accelerating pace.

All this over a season of days that used to last weeks. Over the past few hundred years we have condensed Christmas – yet do our best to maintain the richness and fullness of traditions and experiences.
(Let’s not ignore that this year, the first (mostly) un-restricted Christmas since COVID-19 hit, many folks are trying to add some ‘extra’ into the season, seeking to make up some ‘special’ for the past few years.)

Emotionally, at Christmas, we face a density of both heavy and hearty memories coinciding with present day efforts and experiences. These temporally concentrated emotions can be just like the fudge’s condensed milk; simultaneously thick and viscous, yet sweet and enjoyable. The very traditions that bring us joy remind us of struggle and loss.

Our emotions are stacked up in our hearts like the presents under the tree: they intrigue us, yet we don’t know what we will be opening. They ought not be ignored, even if they aren’t quite what we expect.

No wonder it’s an overwhelming time of year!

Yet: we are not alone. From the first Christmas, it has been a heavy reality, a time of mixed joy and sorrow, of intense density. Perhaps part of our Christmas journey is not to ignore that reality, but instead to acknowledge and embrace it.

For it is a complex time, a time of journeying through challenge, yet ultimately of great joy for all to hear and receive.

So as we journey through this last week of Advent, let’s be honest with ourselves about the density of our own situations, accept that some slower days may not be a bad thing, and be gentle with ourselves as we embrace all that the season is offering us. For this time too is a gift, stacked with emotions, waiting to be received.

Rest

We’re in the middle of the season of Advent, that magical time of year when we speak about slowing down yet too-easily add things to our to-do lists, all the while time seems to be speeding itself up.

And in the midst of this, our souls cry for rest.

Rest from the pressure of society, rest from the increased social opportunities with friends and families, rest from the expectations we put on ourselves. A rest that speaks of enough, of abundance, of fulfillment.

Rest.
It seems incongruous with a society that craves validation, even from strangers, in demonstrating bigger/better/faster/more.
Yet the scriptures invite us to spend this time in repentance, in rejoicing, in returning to the Lord, in replenishment of spirit.

So while it is impractical to suggest we just ignore our cultural traditions (and who would want to?) perhaps we can be intentional about managing a balance of idealistic and realistic; a blending of secular and sacred, a compromise of busy and restorative.

While we may strive for perfection in decorating the house, God invites us to be patient in waiting for the Christ.
While we want to have those ideal presents under the tree, God invites us to be authentically present in our relationships.
While we put energy into planning a photo-worthy table, God invites us to be nourished with a Holy Meal.

While we can enjoy all that the season has to offer, God whispers into our deepest selves that rest can be enjoyed too – rest of body, rest of mind, rest of spirit – as we always learn more of what it means to be waiting in the presence of God. 

PEACE - A Prayer for Advent 2

Written for the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Based Violence; originally posted at https://www.ecumenicalwomenun.org/post/day-12-16-days-of-activism-2022

PRAYER FOR PEACE

Adapted from the prayer attributed to St. Francis by Rev. Laura Marie Piotrowicz

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is gender based violence, let me be an agent for change.

Where there is hatred, place me as a barrier to prevent abuse.

Where there is injury, let me accompany the hurt towards places of healing.

Where there is doubt, open my mind to receive the stories of the oppressed.

Where there is despair, let me advocate for safe spaces.

Where there is darkness, let me stand with other allies to bring the light of your peace – for evil cannot live in the light.

Where there is sadness, let me move with others to overcome that which causes grief.

O Divine Master,

Grant that I may practice compassion without judgement;

To understand the systemic challenges enough to be stirred into action for equality;

To work for a world where love does not hurt.

For in helping our beloved in Christ we see the fullness of humanity;

In accompanying the vulnerable we receive companionship;

In working for gender equality we see the promise of your grace in this life and the next.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace, an agent for change, an advocate for gender justice.

Amen

HOPE - A Prayer for Advent 1

Written for the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Based Violence; originally posted at https://www.ecumenicalwomenun.org/post/day-3-16-days-of-activism-2022 

A PRAYER FOR the FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT

In this season of hope, the Bible tells us of the power of women to bear light to the world, overcoming the darkness in ways that seemed inconceivable: until they were real.

So in this season of Advent, let us listen to the message of hope and possibility, and be filled with the power as women, as girls, as gender-oppressed people.
Help us to move beyond wishful thinking and lean into the hard work of hope: of trusting, trying, and sharing the holiness of hope.

Open our eyes to see the suffering of women and girls in our own communities.
Open our ears to hear the opportunities to dismantle oppressive systems.
Open our mouths as advocates and allies for those whose voices are silenced.
Open our hands to administer the justice that comes from a dismantled patriarchy.
Open our hearts to dwell within a world of hope.

Gracious God, give us the strength to stand together to foster positive change; give us the gentleness needed to comfort the afflicted in our midst; and give us the courage to be the advocates for peace that we pray for. Give us your light to carry into the darkness.
Grant us the audacity of hope, that a world without gender-based violence (yet unknown) is possible: for God is coming and God is with us; Emmanuel. 

Here Be Dragons!

One of the realities of hiking after storm season is that the trails will change. Branches break, rocks tumble, trees can fall. In some instances, the trail will be unchanged; in other times it may divert to an easier pathway around landmarks or to ensure safety. In the case of fallen trees, they often need to be trimmed or removed.

On a hike a few weeks ago, one such fallen tree had been cut so hikers could access the path. What had been a substantial arborial marker at the trailhead had descended into a non-viable barricade – and so it was cut. This is what maintenance looks like; it’s not always what we expect or desire but it is what needs to be done.

The particular tree, in being cut, now resembles a dragon. A friendly dragon, to be sure, but those of us on the trail had all commented on its appearance. Who knew that hidden inside that tree for all those years was a dragon to greet us on entry, and wish us well on our exit, overseeing our path?

 
The maintenance was not only necessary, but in doing so, it showed a new thing. So often when we undertake our own maintenance seriously, we too can discover something new – a new opportunity, an unexpected pleasure, a happy surprise. But for us to find those new things, the maintenance must happen.

In our physical bodies, we maintain ourselves with good food, rest, adequate hygiene and grooming. We know that when we look after ourselves well, we make choices and changes: our hair is cut (to avoid becoming scraggly Cousin Itt), our meals are better for us when they are balanced and nutritious (even if the chips appeal), etc. They are small but important aspects of self-maintenance.

So too in our spiritual lives, there are ways that we benefit from maintenance: examining our prayer practices, considering our theologies, embracing our mission… all these things are good, and need regular assessment. They may need to be adjusted, adapted, or altogether changed. What we learned in Sunday school days was wonderful, for the age and stage – but as we develop and mature we are given the gift of possibility: to mature and grow, to discern, to explore: and to maintain a healthy and vibrant spiritual reality.

 
So let’s embrace the possibilities ahead of us, confident that as we journey forward, we may be delightfully surprised by what is hidden within – waiting to be revealed, like a cute dragon in a broken tree. 

Home

Tis the season – of wild geese. The seasons are changing, and with the crispness to the air comes the honking of the geese, as they head about in formation to begin their journey southward to their winter homes.

I’ve seen a lot of geese lately, and they have made me ponder of the homeness of ‘home’. What does home mean? Is it an address? A collection of people? A time on a calendar or clock?

The geese are always heading to their ‘home’ – for home travels with them. Unlike other birds, they wait until they need to move on before they do. When they fly, they intend to stay together - the weakest or slowest bird sets the pace at the start of the V formation. They stop at places that are either known as landmarks, or have a magnetic resonance – and there they remain until all members of the flock are able to fly again with renewed energy and recovery of any ailments.

For geese, home is a concept: it is a (series of) relationship(s), it is the place that nourishes them, it is the place where they take rest for restoration. Home is a concept where no one is excluded or left behind, where the health of everyone is considered, where well-being is a collective assessment. It’s a reality that is created and supported by the entirety of the community.

In short, home is love.

It is the place where love is found, where love is known, where love is shared. A place where
For those of us with faith, home is where we find God – which means that home can be anywhere. It also means that our holy places have been trusted with the honour and obligation to be responsible for maintaining ‘home’ space for all.

For God is already with us: love is already with us. When we see the world through eyes of faith, we realise we are already home even while we are searching for home.

Like the geese: returning home again: for whatever distractions of the world, our innermost souls know the way home – and are leading us there.



Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese”
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Squirrel! moments

My mind can wander. 

In fact, it can leap, race, and prance in many different directions. I can keep focus, but sometimes distractions creep in. (I know I'm not alone!) 

My friends and I refer to these as squirrel moments. Not, ironically, because squirrels are easily distracted - quite the opposite. But as dog people, we've watched our canine companions suddenly lose all focus as a squirrel runs past. Blurting out "squirrel!" is a claim of our loss of focus. 

Squirrels, however, given their precarious positioning on the food chain, are normally quite attentive to their surroundings. The critter in the photo here (seen on a hike this weekend) was alert and responsive to the environment. 

When humans walked past, s/he immobilised and watched them. 

When I stopped to take a photo, said squirrel kept a close eye on me, and chittered as I took a step closer, finally relocating to a higher branch (and issuing me a derisive teeth chattering). 

As other hikers came near with a dog, the sharp-eyed squirrel rapidly disappeared down the tree and into the woods, all thoughts of acorns replaced by survival instinct. 

Squirrels know that being distracted can be dangerous; while we also apply such wisdom to aspects in our lives (like driving or cutting vegetables) we may not always consider our focus on less dangerous activities to be potentially problematic. 

Worship and prayer, for example: these are aspects of our lives onto which we should be maintaining focus and attention. Admittedly, distractions happen even in the midst of prayer, but we are better in our faith and spirituality when we choose to return - and return, and return - to not only the specific of our prayers task but also reminded of the intention of our prayers and praise. 

We are nourished by the regular focus to our spiritual practices, and we strengthen our souls as we extend the care to empty our minds of the world's distractions for a few moments, to connect with the timeless assurance of love and grace. 

For myself, as one who acknowledges those moments of rapid inattention, perhaps the cry of "squirrel!" will shift from a joking statement of distraction to an invitation of focus, especially within the relationship with the divine. 

Squirrel, indeed. 

Living Waters

When waters cease to flow, they can easily become stagnant. Not only an environmental challenge, stagnant waters are a danger to people and animals, as they are easily contaminated and can become a breeding ground for bacteria and disease. Likewise, when waters move too quickly, they also become a hazard, with erosion and flooding; at times poisoning land with hypersalination (near oceans).

Our hydro-cycle is truly amazing, as it continually renews, refreshes, and re-filters our water to keep it healthy.

It’s why our scriptures speak of living waters; the sweet or fresh water (not salty) that is essential for life. To find a natural source of flowing water was to be in a place that could sustain community; it is why places were named after wells, and cities and trade routes established on waterways.

Our traditions depend on water; our rituals and rites expect access to living water: from the waters of baptism to the Eucharistic ablutions, water is presenting to us a reminder of miracle.
In our modern culture where so many of us have access to clean and safe water – at the casual flip of a tap inside our homes – it can be easy to forget how dependent we are on living water.

So we return again and again to the source of the living water: the God of the psalms who leads us to the still waters to be refreshed; the Christ by the well who extends salvation as he requests a cool drink; the spirit who hovers over and touches all of creation as it emerges from the cosmic waters.

The same water that has blessed all of our ancestors continues to bless us; and will continue to bless generations to come. So we embrace the invitation of stewardship of water: not just the chemical elements and the systems and structures that support us (for our attention with our hydrocycle is imperative for all life); but also with the spiritual waters in our lives.

Are we drinking deeply of the waters that are offered? Are we appreciating the freshness of this life-giving resource? In areas where we are stagnant, how might we restore and reform our ways? Do we recognise and respect our seasons of drought, and those of abundance?

Wherever we are in our spiritual journey, let us be assured of the invitation to come and drink, to champion acts of justice that flow like waters, to receive the cleansing properties of this basic God-given gift. May we come to the still waters and drink by our shepherd, so that we do not become stagnant in our expressions of faith. 

Emissions

Just as the leaves are falling from the trees, so too is the ‘fall shed’ happening for pet owners everywhere. With some 200 pounds of canine floofiness, I am regularly cleaning up the soft undercoat that has become décor, seasoning, attire… the defloofage reminds me of a meme that showed a dog’s face and read:
I don’t shed – I emit magical fibres of love.

Emit indeed – and love: indeed!

With people, too, if we are careful about noticing them, we can see what folks are emitting.
Like the pervasive dog hair that seems to multiply and appear unexpectedly, we as humans are constantly sending out parts of ourselves. Our hair, yes; but I refer more to our hearts.

If we are holding anger in our hearts, we are likely to emit a sourness or animosity.
If we are dwelling in a place of hurt, we will be more likely to act in ways that inflict pain.
If we are trapped by a sense of fear, we will emit vibes of anxiety.

Contrarily, when we are comforted in faith, we show the world the power of community.
When we are abiding in love, we are extending the peace of Christ to others.
When we carry joy in our hearts, we emit an invitation for others to join us in happiness.

What we have within is what we have normalised: and it takes reflection and intention to recognise what we are sending into the world; then to consider if that is what we want to be emitting. Should we decide that we want to be sending out some other reality into the world, we can take the initiative and make the effort to do the interior work so that our exterior emissions are aligned.

It's not easy; and it can take trusted relationships and time and the knowledge that we are loved: but we can all come to a place where we know the healing love of God – and emit the love that has been given to us… even as abundantly as my dogs emit their magical fibres of love.

 

Prayer: as basic as basil

Despite some unseasonably gorgeous weather this week, the time of year is here – when the garden’s harvest comes to an end. Fighting against this inevitability (and protecting from overnight frost advisories) I moved my modest herb garden into the sunroom about 2 weeks ago; it has meant that grabbing some chives or mint has become even easier. It also means that my cooking is enjoying a little bit more pizzaz!

Friday, the herbe du jour was basil – into a saucy tomato dish went several fresh leaves. I had picked them by hand, and inadvertently got some basil oil into my skin.

For the rest of the day, I could smell basil. At first I thought the aroma was wafting from the kitchen, until I realised that it was not stronger in there, and in fact the tomato scent was dominant; and despite several hand-washings, the basil scent was emanating from my fingers.

This year, my Epiphany ‘star word’ was fragrance – which I found ironic, as I don’t have a very good sense of smell. However, when I notice a fragrance, I give it particular attention and reflection.

So: olfactory senses engaged, I reflected on the basil. How it was infusing itself into my day; my prayer, my reading, my interactions, my appointments, even my walks with the dogs. It reminded me of the hopeful pervasiveness of prayer: “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.” (Ps 141.2)

And so for the rest of the day, every time I caught a whiff of basil, I took a moment and prayed. Prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of intercession, prayers of petition, prayers of praise. It was an unanticipated benefit of the herbs; to serve as a reminder and invitation to pray. Yet that was the side benefit of the basil that day.

It left me wondering yesterday what other opportunities may come about; what aspects of everyday life can shift our perspective from the busy-ness of our daily routines to the moments of grace-filled prayer. Maybe a fragrance, maybe a sound, maybe a visual cue – the possibilities are literally endless, and can change day to day.

Yet the privilege to recognise the cues – and to respond – is a joy to be found. For when our prayer arise, and infuse the world around us – like incense, or basil oil – our hearts find their rest in the glorious presence of God.

Allo-Aloe!

Many years ago, I was gifted an aloe plant. Aloe is the type of plant that I do well with they do well with a little neglect. Some light, some water, and a lot of being left alone – and suddenly I found myself with an aloe-saurus. You know the type; spikes suddenly everywhere as the greenery tries to climb out of its pot, inserting itself into conversations in the room… Hello aloe!

Aloe is one of those plants that also divides well; a little coaxing and some dirt and voilà; mini plants to give away on the local WeShare group. Which means my aloe is now a reasonable size (likely still too big, but I can do another cull in the future).

Aloe is such a versatile plant. Its gel helps to heal wounds and burns, its juice can help digestion, it has antibiotic qualities, it helps improve air quality – all in all, it’s a wonder plant. And it thrives on neglect. Great!

The thing about aloe: in order to receive all these amazing benefits, it needs to be broken. For new life to grow, the plant needs to be divided; otherwise it becomes stagnant – and without room for roots to grow and seek nourishment, it dies. To access the gel inside, leaves must be broken or cut.

In order to maintain growth and life, a little death needs to occur. Obviously, too much destruction is too much; but the places for cutting or culling can be intentional, and with some time and tending, the brokenness can become a point of strength.

It’s a fitting analogy for life, when things seem to be in a time of heightened challenge: we can forget that well-being isn’t always comfortable. We can lose sight of the verdancy and promise of new growth and new joys if we are limited in focus to the cutting or culling. We can miss out on the healing properties that lie just below the surface if we are too afraid of a cut to seek out the balm that is assured. We can prevent new growth in different areas if we are too afraid to foster new growth; we can forget that a tiny plant next to an aloe-saurus is on its own a full aloe plant, waiting to grow into its full potential.

I’m comforted by my aloe plant; as it is shared, as it is used, as it will continue to be generally neglected in the window by the prayer-chair… for it reminds me of the comfort of hope and the promise of life.

The Happy Place

In a conversation this week, a dear one shared that when she’s having a rough time, her spouse knows how to help: a fluffy coffee treat. Even in the worst of times, the offer of a chai latte brings her to a happy place.

Happy places are important; they bring us out of whatever turmoil we may be feeling. We know they don’t have magical powers, they don’t dissolve pain or make turmoil evaporate.

But they do ground us, bring back happy memories, and remind us that whatever challenges we are going through, there is still goodness in the world.

Finding a happy place is deeply individual, as we journey through life in our own unique ways. They can be a thing, a sensory experience, a place – whatever will speak to our heart of the love that we need, when we need it. The chai latte brings the warmth of aroma and taste, and those convey the happiness of being known and cared for by the people who will bring their listening ears and open hearts and shoulders to be cried on along with the beverage. A paddle in a canoe is the physical exertion and the communing with nature and the memories of countless friends on countless adventures – a cloud of witnesses along for the ride, as it were. A cherished memento brings a visual and tactile connection that can span time and space – and realms, even.

Our happy ‘place’ is always a gift; as a constant and consistent assurance of love in the world.
And of course, as people of faith, we know that all gifts of love originate from the source of love. And we are not surprised that God wants us to be reminded of love and care and support; in fact we recognise the work of God through the actions of God’s people.

So sometimes, a latte can be almost sacramental: a happy place that is an expression of love from God.

 

The Stillness of Prayer

A few years ago, it seemed that everyone wanted to brag about their skills at multi-tasking – the ability to do more than one thing at a time.

We know that generally, this isn’t particularly effective – rather than do multiple things simultaneously, we flip our attention from one task to another rapidly. This means that no one task is getting full attention; we are more likely to experience errors, and usually the completion of tasks takes longer when we try to do things overlapping. We know this isn’t necessarily terrible in doing some tasks (like listening to music while baking, which may lead to ruined muffins or skipped lyrics). However, in other tasks, such distracted attention can have hazardous results – those who text message while driving are 23 times more likely to be involved in a collision.

Despite this, the world still seems to set high expectations on us, to accomplish increasing numbers of tasks in decreasing timelines. I, for one, have colour-coded my calendar, I have a check-box to-do list each week, I often keep a notepad nearby for when my brain flits to something I know will warrant attention. And with all that, I remain a constant fidgeter, with thoughts that sometimes leap from one to the next, before a completed action occurs.

This, perhaps is the best reason to remove all hopes of multitasking during prayer and worship. We want to give our full focus and attention to God; to be still in the presence of the divine. We don’t want to be concentrating on the project for work during prayers, or contemplating the week’s meal planning and grocery list when studying the scriptures.

It can be counter-cultural, then, to sit still and pray. It can be so rewarding and refreshing, however, to be using our brains in a singular, focused manner: especially when the focus is on fostering our relationship with the one who created us – and knows us fully (brain capacity and skillsets included!).

So as the world invites us into a pattern of bigger/better/faster/more; let’s sit calmly and joyously, with focus, in the presence of the Lord – if only for a few moments each day – for this is the sabbath that God intends for us.

 

Blooming Orchids

In the kitchen at the office lives an orchid plant. The lighting and heat and humidity seem to be the perfect environment for it to thrive. And thrive it does! It is often seen with gorgeous blooms, at times so heavy the stalk bends under their weight. It’s beautiful!

It is not *my* orchid; for I do not have luck with orchids. In fact, I’m known for inadvertently causing their demise. I’m so inept at it, that we joke about my needing to keep social distancing from the plant.

Recently, our Administrator (aka plant wizard) and I were in the kitchen at the same time, and I apologised… for the plant had gone from displaying many blooms to having none – I figured/joked that I must have breathed on it or something.

She assured me the plant was fine – the blooms had fallen, but the plant itself was fine; the leaves were thriving, the air roots poking out, there were even new spikes emerging. The plant was – and is - alive and well. The absence of blooms did not mean illness or death.

Our faith is like this: it encompasses all stages of growth and development. Faith reminds us that even when we aren’t blooming, we may be alive and well. The fruit that is worth bearing, as Jesus invites us to bear and share (Jn 15), can take some time – some tending, some rest, some growing periods.

Our ministries – the work we do – are the roots, they are the leaves, and at times they are the blooms. There is life in all of these; there is health in all phases. As new blooms cannot blossom where others exist, we are called to make way for what is appropriate for the here and now.

If we limit our vision to one mode of beauty (like the flowers), then we miss out on other amazing realities of the whole. If we define success only by one expression, we will be disappointed should that one area fail. If we expect things to stay the same, we are in fact embracing stagnancy, which is the opposite of life.

Faith reminds us to seek out signs of life as they are, and where they are: and to embrace the actual beauty and the potential therein – we never know what blooms may come with just a little care.

Every Stitch a Prayer

"Crochet" CC BY-NC 2.0 by Pathlost. Source: Flickr

A number of years ago, I learned to crochet.
It was an inelegant effort, awkward and clumsy with stitches of substantially varied size and tension.

I’m still not very good; I like to consider new patterns and stitches, but a lizard bookmark or a simple throw seem to be the extent of my ability.

However: a simple throw can be so much more than that. Some months ago, a small but committed group of us started making prayer shawls. Sometimes we gather together at the Hall, other times we are stitching on our own from the comfort of our sofas.

And once they are ready, they are brought to the church to be blessed; on the altar, as part of the Offering of the church.

We pray for the shawl or lap quit; and we ask God to bless the people who will receive them.
I then have the immense privilege of distributing these shawls: to people in hospital or care homes, or in times of grief or to acclimatise to a new living situation.

Whatever the circumstances, the shawls are a gift of love and prayers. We hope that when the recipient touches or wears the shawl/quilt, they will feel the warmth of Christ and the comfort of the church. It is intended as a gift of love; it is received as such.

For as so many other gifts that we have to share – when they are given, the imperfect stitches don’t matter – but the act of caring does.

Every Movement is a Blessing

Greenville Daily Photo/Public Domain

On a recent walk, I was recognising my frustration in the lingering fatigue and decreased energy post-COVID. I passed a man exercising in the park (he was doing lunges with a kettlebell!!), and after the general congenialities, I made some comment that it was better him than me! We both smiled, and then he said:

Every movement is a blessing.

What a refreshing re-set. Every movement is a blessing.

The rest of my walk, I meditated on movement – the actions that I take for granted (petting the dogs), the ones I miss (going for a run), the unexpected ones (sneezing – it’s a full-body experience for me).

Movement can bring positive sensations – a deep breath in the sunshine, or hugging a friend. They can also highlight challenge – the creaks of the knees in the morning, the soreness of the back after picking too many blueberries. The movements can be for the full body (the third nocturnal trip to the loo) or tiny (eyes adjusting to a different direction); they can be complicated (learning to dance) or simple (stretching).

Movement: we do it all the time. It’s what our bodies were designed for!

Yet the opportunity to remain mindful of the divine presence in the midst of it – can be a re-focusing event to keep us in that grateful space that our bodies can provide.

So whatever our relationship is with our bodies; whatever aches and pains we have (or absence thereof), whatever scars or wounds or imperfections or normalities we have: our bodies move.

And every movement is a blessing.

Therefore we are basking in blessing every moment.
What a gift indeed. 

Giving Up The Ghost

Last weekend, I had the privilege to co-officiate a memorial service and butterfly release at ElderDog. It’s a moving tribute where folks (and pups) gather together to remember those canine and human companions that we have said good-bye to, and to honour their passing with the release of a butterfly.

It’s a special community in a beautiful setting for a moving service.

As butterflies were fluttering by, my mind went to the idiomatic “giving up the ghost” as a description. While we recognise this expression to mean that something has broken or that someone has died, the noun ‘ghost’ has evolved from its original intention.

Rooted in the Germanic and Old English, ‘ghost’ (as it appears in early English Bibles) is not meant to represent a phantasm or Halloween-inspired apparition; but rather it serves as a description for the seat of life or intelligence; a soul or spirit distinct from the body.

As such, we can imagine the release of such a being from all the bonds of this life. I imagine such freedom to be a celebration of liberation, a lightness of being that can dance on the breeze in its ethereal state.

In other words, I can imagine a spirit released moving freely and joyously like a butterfly. Wings opening, antennae pulsating as they feel fresh air, tongue tasting nectar as they sip a floral meal.
As we watched the butterflies we had released move among the fauna, in gentle movements, they reminded us all of the freedom of an unencumbered soul. They brought comfort to the moments of grief, and joy to the lightness of our embodied souls.

What a gift to see a physical interpretation of ‘giving up the ghost’ as part of the ongoing circle of life.