A Holy Week Meditation

I was raised Roman Catholic and grew up in Orchard Park, New York near the city of Buffalo. I remember many details of Holy Week during my childhood. Two are somewhat amusing! A tradition my grandmother had was to serve Easter dinner rolls with butter that was sculpted by a local baker into the shape of a small lamb. My brothers and I competed vigorously each year for the head of the lamb that we spread on our dinner roll. I also recall one Easter that we received a late and heavy (even by Buffalo standards!) snow storm on Easter Saturday. This put to rest any hope of Easter bonnets for my sisters. They had to travel to church in snow jackets and wool hats!

To be honest, I also carry a heavy burden from one of those early childhood Holy Weeks. One Easter Saturday, my grandfather, Stephen, died suddenly in the night at the early age of 65. At the time, he was quite possibly my entire world. I grew up surrounded by him and spent many impressionable and wonderful hours and days together with him. I still remember vividly my father breaking the news to my five brothers and sisters on Easter morning. I recall him saying how important it was to stay strong for my mom who loved him dearly. I don’t remember much after that, but the smell of lilies bring me back to that time.

Fast forward to Palm Sunday, 2015, the beginning of Holy Week. My journey has brought me to an incredible place called Christ Church Cathedral in Lexington, Kentucky. How blessed I am to be here and serving God and His Church in this remarkable community of faith!

This past Sunday afternoon, the Choir of Men and Boys sang Fauré’s masterpiece Requiem. There is a place in the music where the choir boys enter the musical texture on the word Lux which translates to the word Light in English. I believe it is the centerpiece of the composition. It urges listeners and singers alike to remember that life is transitory. We are called to remember that someday, we will enter the kingdom of heaven surrounded by the saints in light. This is what Christ gave us by His death on Calvary. This is what Christ gave us that first Easter Sunday by His resurrection from the dead.

I am blessed each day to wake and work surrounded by family, friends, choristers, and wonderful Cathedral colleagues. I realize that someday, hopefully a long time from now, God will call me home. As my grandfather experienced on what was my most difficult Easter, I too will see again all those whom I’ve cherished in my life. All those who have gone home to God. I hope the first face I see is my grandfather’s; we will have a lot of catching up to do.

Thanks be to God for the greatest gift ever given - His Son.

Let It Be With Me

The angel of the Lord announced unto Mary, and she conceived by the Holy Ghost

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.  Amen.

Today we take a break from Lent.  We take a break from our fast, from our solemnity, and from everything that this penitential season entails.  Why?  Because today is the Feast of the Annunciation! And while the season of Lent calls us into preparation through prayer and fasting, today is a day for feasting,  for taking the ‘Alleluias’ out and celebrating.

So what are we celebrating today, exactly?  The Annunciation marks the occasion on which the angel Gabriel came to a poor, young Palestinian woman and told her that she would become the theotokos, the “God-bearer.”  With this action the whole of human history was turned on its head.  It was not in majesty, riches, or pomp & circumstances that God chose to be born into this world.  Rather, God decided to enter the world in loneliness, poverty, and great humility.  By entering this world like all of us, God took on all of our struggles, fears, and joys.  And whereas every other deity had always dwelt far away from humanity, this God—our God—chose to be in relationship with humanity; God’s story became our story and vice versa.  And it all began with the message of an angel to a young girl named Mary.  THAT is what we celebrate today!

This new thing that God was working in Mary’s life must have certainly been frightening; in fact, in every other occasion that an angel meets a human in Scripture, the angel has to remind the human not to be afraid.  However, Mary’s fears are put at ease with her incredible faith.  “Let it be with me,” she says.  Let it be with me.

I wonder what new thing God is doing in you right this moment.  I wonder what heavenly work is being nurtured within you.  Maybe it is frightening.  Still, I pray that you will have Mary’s courage to say yes to it.  Let it be with you.  Let it be with me.  Let whatever new thing God is creating be with us.

So today, as we step away from Lent, I pray that you will celebrate whatever new thing God is stirring up inside of you.  I pray that you will use this day to look around you and see the glory of God’s creation and shout in joy and thanks for the abundance of God’s goodness that lies all around you.  And yes, dust off those ‘Alleluias’ today!

God’s blessings be upon you as you continue your Lenten journey and as we turn the corner toward Jerusalem, the cross, and glory.  But for today, celebrate God’s goodness in you and around you!  Alleluia!!

The Annunciation (Henry Ossawa Tanner, 1898)

The Gift of Silence

Silence is a rare and precious gift, that too often we forget to take advantage of. With the constant noise that bombards our lives, from music and television to phone calls and street noise, we so infrequently find ourselves in the midst of silence. At least this is true for me. I get in my car, and turn on the radio. I go to work and talk with my co-workers. I walk down the street and call a friend. I go home and chat with my Husband. I get bored and turn on the TV. It is the rare moment that I find myself in the midst of silence, and the even rarer moment that I seek it out.

This truth hit me last week. As, the sun has come out and warmth returned to our lives, I ventured into the great outdoors for an afternoon run. This past winter I have been holed up in the comfort of a climate controlled gym, complete with fellow gym goers, televisions, music, and noise galore. So, as I found myself outside with only my thoughts and the birds, I began to get a bit antsy. I had not been silent for so long in quite some time, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. But, the longer I let myself sink into the depths of silence the more I began to enjoy it.

The Cathedral Youth found this to be true as well this past Sunday. This Lent in Youth Group we have been doing a series on creative forms of prayer. Last week we practiced the “Doodle Prayer”, from Sybil MacBeth’s book Praying in Color. As we practiced this interactive form of the prayer the youth were asked to keep silent (which I originally feared would be an impossible task). After a little squirming and resistance the room was suddenly filled only with the sound of markers on paper, and for ten whole minutes the youth sat in silence with their attention turned towards praying through doodles. It was a miraculous experience, and what was even more astounding was the fact that they stated they actually enjoyed the silence (they even requested to have more activities of this nature).

During our childhood when we heard our elders proclaim “silence is golden” we most likely rolled our eyes and ignored their statement. But, when we are given the opportunity to surround ourselves in the beauty of silence, and take on it’s contemplative and peace filled nature, we are able to see the richness it truly has to offer. As we come towards the end of Lent, nearing Holy Week, I invite you to make space and time for silence and the many gifts it has to offer in the midst of our noise filled lives.

An Unexpected Sabbath

          The latest of the snowstorms to hit Kentucky has  gifted me with an unexpected sabbath. My son and daughter-in-law are at home, so baby Elizabeth is there with her parents. The 14 inches of snow, coupled with the way my car sits low to the ground, has ensured that I am not going to be travelling anywhere outside my yard today. My few chores completed and another cup of tea brewed, I sit in the sunroom where my four sleeping dogs lie asleep.

          I recognize this probably is not a very popular thing to say, but I love the snow. I love the purity of its whiteness and the hush of daily life the snow brings with it. I enjoy watching the dogs, from the  short-legged Beagle/Bassett to the loping Walker Coon Hound, romp across the yard. I appreciate that a beautiful part of God's creation can bring me to a dead stop in the business of my life.

          You see, even when I have a sabbath day, I often spend it running errands, doing laundry, visiting the dentist or keeping some other appointment that I don't ordinarily have time to do. The day does not belong to God anymore that it belongs to me. It belongs to the business of life.

          When I was in high school, I had a good friend who was an Orthodox Jew. One weekend, I went to stay with her family while my parents were out of town. As sundown neared Friday afternoon, Rebeccah reminded me to get my shower finished, my hair washed and dried, my clothes ready for Saturday. You see, when the Sabbath began, when those three starts came out to shine in the evening sky, all work in Rebeccah's family came to an end, not to be started again until the end of the Sabbath. After dinner, we did not watch TV, we did no homework, we did not even turn out the hallway light when we went to sleep. We had entered into God's time, not our own. Saturday morning, we ate pastries left out from the night before, we changed from our pajamas into our Saturday best and then walked to synagogue. We walked back to Rebeccah's following the morning service and ate the rest of the food that had been set out the night before. It was not until the Sabbath was ended that we headed out to dinner in the family car, addressed waiting homework and returned to our time.

          I have not thought of Rebeccah for years, but my weekend at her house has lingered today in my mind as I watch and embrace the glory of God's creation. I have sat and watched the birds crowd about the feeders I filled for them during the early start of yesterday's snowfall. I have held Sam, the 60+-pound dog I adopted at the Blessing of the Animals, up in my lap for nearly an hour as he has snuffled and snored in his sleep. I have caught up reading the daily meditations in the Lenten book a friend sent to me. I have watched squirrels jump  from branch to branch and tree to tree.

After the six-day creation of the universe and all that is there in it, on the seventh day, God rested and saw that it was good. On this day of an unexpected Sabbath, in the hushed silence of  my view here in the sunroom, God's creation is indeed good.  In the future,  may I not be so willing to give up my Sabbath day. Thanks be to God!

A Child's Grief

     Children’s Chapel is often a safe place where children bring their concerns about death.  Recently we noted a very important passing.  Clay had not been to church for a few Sundays but it was very important to him that he and his family come on a particular day.  The previous night, Clay’s beautiful neon, yellow/green glofish did not look well.  He just looked like he did not have much energy and needed to rest.  The family feared that he would not make it thus were quite surprised when a few hours later, Glowy seemed like he was going to pull through.  On awakening the next morning, Glowy had died.   Clay knew that praying at church was something that he needed to do.

     Clay’s mother had alerted me to the death so when I saw Clay at the back of the church before the service began, we talked a little about Glowy’s death.  He seemed ok and he asked if he could be one of the children who would take up the bread or the wine.  Of course I said.  We processed in to Children’s Chapel where Ms. Tracey was telling the story.  An usher comes to let us know when the sermon is over in the big church so that we know when to come back in.  When Mr. Thompson came in, I told Clay and the other child to go with him so they would be in time to take down the elements.  With that, big tears began to stream down his face.  He put his face in his hands and would not go.  I realized that we had not gotten to the prayer part of our service and he really needed to pray.  Bernie said he would take the children into the church in just a few minutes so that we could pray.  Not only did we need to pray for Glowy but Clay had also had a birthday.  All of the children and adults gathered around Clay to say the birthday prayer and then to pray for Glowy.  We also prayed that God would help Clay in his sadness.  He left with peace and a smile on his face.  Clay reminded all of us how important it is to grieve, and what a crucial element the body of Christ is in the grieving process.

     When my father died a very wise friend told me to grieve well.  I did – riding the waves up and down until I came to a place of healing.   The community held me often in this process.  It is important that we give our children a safe place to express their emotions concerning their many losses.  Children struggle with the same existential issues that we do.  They need to learn the gifts in grieving well while they are young. 

     There are many places at Christ Church Cathedral that provide the safe place to explore those sometimes scary emotions.  Children’s Chapel, Sunday School and individual conversations can help children  go through this very normal and healthy process.  I have many resources in my office that I share.  Remember to not hide your own grief with children.  If you do, it teaches them to hide their own emotions.

     Grieve well dear friends whether it is loss due to moving, possessions, broken relationships, or death.  Grieving well brings us to resurrection – the fullness of life that God promises.  Thank you Clay for the reminder.

God’s peace