We must practice forgiveness…

Sermon given this morning at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA.

Today it’s all about forgiveness…

Forgiveness is central in the Gospel. We speak a good deal about love but forgiveness is elemental. Think of how often Jesus assured people that their sins were forgiven. God sent him to tell us that good news and that we must forgive one another. It’s right in the Lord’s Prayer – “as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Forgiveness is at the heart of the Eucharist. We confess our sins and receive the comfort of absolution before we come to the table. It’s embedded in the Nicene Creed – that ancient summary of our faith. We believe in “the forgiveness of sins.” Then, in the midst of the Great Thanksgiving we hear: “Drink this, all of you: This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for all for the forgiveness of sins.”

In our readings this morning we have a wonderful juxtaposition of personalities.  If we take a look at the unforgiving slave in the Gospel and at Joseph in our OT reading side by side, we can see where we often are and where we would rather be.

Jesus tells Peter a parable of the unforgiving slave to flesh out his answer about forgiveness. Thank God for Peter and his questions. Because he wanted to show off some holiness, we were given a powerful parable. Peter thought he was being incredibly big-hearted with his suggestion to forgive 7 times. When Jesus says, 77 times, he realizes that this is not the day he’ll get a star on his collar!

Like the slave, we forget how much we have been forgiven. We fail to pass the gift of forgiveness on to one another. Instead of forgiving one another from our heart, we get stuck in our pain or our self-righteousness.

If we’ve been deeply hurt by the sins of another, that takes time and requires God’s healing power. We can’t always get to forgiveness as quickly as we’d like. Profound wounds of the body or spirit require attention. I bless God for people who become priests, social workers and psychotherapists. Jesus continues to heal through them.

But getting stuck in self-righteousness is another pickle entirely. The slave in our parable today is definitely stuck. He has been forgiven so much – a debt, in biblical terms, of many years worth of wages. When faced with the guy down the street who owes him a day’s pay, the steward seems to forget the scope of the mercy he’s been shown. In 21^st century terms, after being forgiven the cost of Will and Kate’s royal wedding, he hangs his friend out to dry for the price of a Big Mac and fries.

Like the slave who forgot how much was forgiven him, we can focus on the sins of others like bugs under a microscope. Some people have raised the grudge to an art form. Popular culture has glorified vengeance. There’s even a hit TV show called, “Revenge.”

Withholding forgiveness can seem to make us powerful and in control of something. The reality is just the opposite. When we cannot forgive, we are held hostage. Our energy for loving gets syphoned off – misdirected into the past instead of our present.

Joseph is our wisdom figure today. Unlike the unforgiving slave, Joseph is able to release the debt his brothers owe him. Attempted fratricide is no small sin. Yet, Joseph knows his place in the order of things. “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God?” Joseph understands that his brothers are human beings and in need of God’s mercy. His gift of forgiveness makes reconciliation possible. Instead of this gaping hole in his heart, he now has a family again. Only God’s grace at work in his soul could make such lavish love possible.

Forgiveness as a spiritual practice. We have been forgiven and yet we often fail to forgive.  Joan Chittister, a Benedictine writer/prophet reflected on the Creed in one of her books. “Perhaps forgiveness is the last thing mentioned in the Creed because it is the last thing learned in life. Perhaps none of us can understand the forgiveness of God until we ourselves have learned to forgive.”[i]

What if we could forgive everything? All the time. In every situation and circumstance. The big stuff and the little stuff with equal abandon?

That’s the real good news this morning. Between the unforgiving steward and Joseph there is a learning curve. We can get better at forgiving others. But we have to practice. It’s not easy and it often feels counter-intuitive, but we can get better at this if we try.

In his book, Falling Upward, Fr. Richard Rohr says “…all spirituality is merely the imitation of God.”[ii] That makes sense to me. All our searching, all the techniques for prayer and the study of the Scriptures – it’s to help us be more like God. And, if God has forgiven the sins of the world through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, then it’s our job to forgive the sins of our sister or brother and, forgive ourselves for being as human as everyone else.

The spiritual practice of forgiveness helps us to remember that we are all in this together. There is no better place to get some practice than Christian community. There is much to forgive and be forgiven here. So we come week after week to this table where all that is broken may be healed. We come because we love God and we need God’s forgiving love in our lives.

Fr. Richard Rohr writes: “Every time that God forgives us, God is saying that God’s own rules do not matter as much as the relationship that God wants to create with us.”[iii]

The relationship over rules. Good advice, right?

“Not 7 times, but I say to you, but seventy-seven times.”

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[i] Joan Chittister, The Search for Belief,

[ii] Rohr, 103.

[iii] Richard Rohr, Falling Upward, (Sanfrancisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 2011) 56-57

We are overwhelmed…

I can’t stop thinking about the families of Malaysia Airlines flight #370.  I don’t worry for the passengers.  I know God has them.  I suspect the families are allowing this reality to sink in slowly – bit by bit, as the mind can handle such trauma.  This is their Good Friday.  They are all carrying the cross uphill – suffering immense pain and heading toward agony.

I saw several jokes about the missing plane on Facebook.  It took my breath away.  It seemed so incomprehensible to me at first – like someone in Malaysia making fun of our “9/11.”  It didn’t make me angry.  It made me curious.  What is going on in us when we go there – when we make light of someone’s worst nightmare?  I think it has to do with being overwhelmed.  I think humor defends us from unimaginable grief.  I think as long as we can make a joke about something, we keep it at a safe distance – under some kind of imaginary control.  The truth is that whether we are making jokes or haunted by the angry, grieving families – we are all overwhelmed by this tragedy.

People die everyday – many through violence or tragic circumstance.  Children go “missing” and are never found.  This missing plane seems to contain all of it – the fear, the anger, the sorrow.  As news commentators recycle the same breadcrumb of information and family members scream and collapse, we would do well to close our eyes and pray.  As the world moves closer to the kingdom of God, the truth of our oneness – our connection to one another – has become clear.  We who pray understand that we are those grieving, angry loved ones.  We can touch their pain and help them to bear it.  We can crowd the path to Golgotha or we can help Jesus carry the cross.  We can watch the pain and tell ourselves it cannot touch us, or we can take a moment to wipe a bloody, tear-stained face.  We are already part of this tragedy – whether we admit to it or not.  If we could all use the love inside us to strengthen and comfort these people half a world away, something of the meaning of Good Friday will become known to us.  Simon and Veronica will live again in us if we are willing to touch the pain of strangers heading for the worst day of their lives.

Lenten hope and love to you all…

Vicki

“The End of the Innocence”…

I was born and baptized in November of 1963.  My life has always been tied to his death.  As I celebrate 50 years of life, the nation marks a sad “golden” anniversary of the death of President John F. Kennedy.  We watched the PBS “American Experience” special, several documentaries on the History Channel and look forward to additional coverage on MSNBC tomorrow evening.  All of the old footage, the new interviews and the continuing speculation still hold our attention.  We will never stop wondering “who” and “why.”  I suspect there will be no end to the books and made-for-television movies.   What interests me more, now, is not the event but the emotional and spiritual consequences of November 22, 1963.

Something in us died that day.  The soul of a nation experienced the Paschal Mystery together in this brutal, meaningless, all too public death.  A tsunami of grief washed over us from coast to coast.  Kennedy’s requiem became a national liturgy the likes of which we did not see again until “9/11.” Many scholars have suggested that we have never been the same and I would agree.  It was, for many, “the end of the innocence.”[1]  I can hear Don Henley singing:

“Remember when the days were long

And rolled beneath a deep blue sky

Didn’t have a care in the world

With mommy and daddy standin’ by

But “happily ever after” fails

And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales…”[2]

The death of John F. Kennedy forced us to confront some painful realities.  No one is ever really “safe.”  Yes, bad things happen all the time to good people.  We must all face death one day. We were forced to face together the fragility of our lives and turn to one another and to God for strength and comfort.  Like the women at the foot of the cross, we watched something horrific happen together.  Like the friends of Jesus, we clung to one another in grief and fear.  As in any personal encounter with the Paschal Mystery, it pierced the heart of America.

But the events of November 1963 were not definitive.  We did not stop living, loving, hoping, working or praying for a better world.  The death of JFK marks a new beginning.  The last 50 years have been studded with joy and suffering, war and peace, failure and discovery.  We are a people embracing a new millennium with hope.  President Kennedy would surely delight in the space shuttle, the iPad, the first African-American president and the effort being made to give all people access to quality health care.

Perhaps, the best way for us to mark this anniversary is to live with greater purpose.  It’s time for us, as a nation, to live in resurrection mode – to bring light and peace to every corner of the earth. May we come to view November 22^nd as a call to service of one another and to the world.  JFK’s legacy must be more than endless reels of 8mm film.  It must be a future of hope and a personal commitment to relieve the suffering of others.  It must be part of the larger movement of the American consciousness in which the whole world is embraced.  In the fall of 1963, we had a profound experience of suffering and death.  Fifty years later we can glimpse the resurrection in the best of what we have become.  Our lost innocence has been replaced with a collective wisdom.  We owe it to our world to live from that place of grace.  We owe it to one another to live with integrity and do justice – not because we are Americans, but because we share the human condition.  So, God bless America and God bless the whole world – no exceptions!

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

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[1] Bruce Hornsby, “The End of the Innocence”

[2] Lyrics taken from http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/don_henley/the_end_of_the_innocence.html

“Coming out”…of the tomb

“Coming out” is an interesting phenomenon.  For three decades I told myself that my sexual orientation was “personal” – that I could just tell one person at a time when I felt it was right.  I think being in full-time ministry in the Roman Catholic Church had a lot to do with that strategy.  As a high school teacher and as a nun, I kept this precious part of me a secret.  My baptismal identity always came first.  My life in Christ and at his service was my priority.  I could not have served in the classroom otherwise.  In the cloister it was a different story.  I shared my orientation with the sisters who were my friends.  That felt right and kept the focus on my monastic life – on the Benedictine identity emerging in my soul.  But I can say now – twelve months later – that speaking this truth to my sisters at my departure healed something in me.

Although I have been engaged in the work of integrating my sexual orientation for nearly 30 years, I really “came out” a year ago at the age of 49.  The emotional context of that action was messy with grief, fear and the joy of having found a love that would be my way to God for the rest of my life.  Now, I can look back at that one sentence and see it as a moment of resurrection – a genuine in breaking of God’s mercy in my life.  “Coming out” to 40 people was the first step in accepting the gift of my life – of really being grateful to God for forming me in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13).  It was the missing piece in my spiritual journey thus far and has given me a taste of the wholeness won for me by Christ in the Paschal Mystery.  I have added my “coming out” to the list of miracles in my life – the glimpses of the Kingdom I have been granted here.  I count this moment as blessing and pray for those who have not been able to say the words out loud.

More frightening than losing a job, LGBT people risk losing relationships when they “come out.”  The fear of losing love keeps many women and men “in the closet.”

Although many teens and young adults have embraced sexual diversity in God’s creative plan, others suffer ridicule, rejection and physical violence.  For some who love “Modern family” and “Ellen,” it’s just a non-issue.  For others it is still a matter of life and death.  Christianity has been co-opted in this sinfulness.  The Word of God has been misused.  It has been used as a hammer instead of a light.  Because of “Christian” values, many LGBT teens are still kicked out of the house to live on city streets.  Some reach the ultimate point of despair.  “Coming out” puts them at risk for suicide. The Huffington Post reported today that, “On the national level, the suicide risk for gay and lesbian youth is far higher than for straight young people, according to a 2011 study by the Massachusetts-based Suicide Prevention Resource Center. The study also found that gays and lesbians between the ages of 15 and 24 are up to three times more likely to report suicidal thoughts and up to seven times more likely to report having attempted suicide than their straight counterparts.”[1]  Father Richard Rohr tweeted this the other day: “Before the truth ‘sets you free,’ it tends to make you miserable.”[2]  It feels especially true for these young people.

We have come a long way since I was a teenager in the 80’s.  The “It Gets Better” Project is reaching out nationally to at-risk youth.  The repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell” in the armed forces has been a major step for us as a nation.  Then, as state after state has begun to legalize marriage for all citizens – regardless of gender – the magnitude of the social shift has given great hope to many who live quiet lives together in the shadows.

Theologically, the shift is still in process.  Many denominations now bless or marry same-gender couples.  Many priests, ministers and rabbis walk proudly in “pride” marches all over the country.  Many clerics are evolving on this issue – listening and praying over a morality grounded in relationship – not body parts.  Some are leading the way.  People like Bishop Gene Robinson, the Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson, the Very Rev. Gary Hall, Dean of Washington National Cathedral, Bishop Desmond Tutu and, surprisingly, Pope Francis, come to mind now as the conversation around sexual orientation and God’s original blessing continues.  The Spirit is swirling…and she delights in creating order in our chaos.

Many have asked if we still need “National Coming Out Day.”  After all, marriage equality is law in 13 states.  50 – 13 = 37.  There are still many who long for the freedom I enjoy in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.  More importantly, there are still women and men who are afraid to lose our love.  If someone “comes out” to you today, you can reflect God’s love back to him or her in your response.  You can make up for years of fear and silence, for ridicule and even violence.  We, as people of faith, understand that perfect love casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). Take it from someone who knows.

Grace, love and peace…

Vicki

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[1] Aaron Sankin, “LGBTQ Youth Suicide Prevention Program Will Continue At San Francisco Schools Amid Staggering Statistics” Posted: 06/06/2013 4:57 pm EDT The Huffington Post

[2] Richard Rohr, Twitter@RichardRohrOFM, October 8, 2013

God has her…

We went to Sunday Eucharist with my Dad.  The priest was in the midst of his sermon when a woman three rows behind us had a stroke.  “Is anyone here a doctor?” a woman in that pew shouted.  Father stopped preaching and a man singing in the choir moved quickly to the woman who sat staring blankly ahead.  She made a low unintelligible moan and then they helped her to lie down.  The doctor from the choir called 911 and we all heard every word.  Many sat in stunned silence transfixed by the surreal scene.  The three of us joined the majority who did not watch.  We lowered our heads and began to pray.  There was a great silence.  No one spoke.  Even the babies were hushed.  After about 5 minutes the choir began to sing softly, “Jesus, Jesus, beautiful savior, heal us, hold us, and help us find rest.”  We sang this mantra for a long time – maybe 10 minutes before the ambulance arrived.  The prayer continued as the EMS personnel took vitals and moved the woman’s body on to the gurney and out the side door.

I have spent a good deal of my adult life looking for God.  I have felt God come near many times.  It happened often when I was in the monastery and we were at prayer.  It happened several times when I was a student chaplain in a hospital.  Now that I am married, there are moments when God breaks through in the space we call, “us.”  And there have been moments – rare and fleeting encounters in my private prayer – that have felt “full” of God.  Yet, what happened on Sunday was different from all of it.  It’s as if we all felt it as we prayed for the sick one in our midst.  The Presence enveloped us all as we used our love to heal and to bless.  Like Moses come down from Sinai aglow with God, we looked at one another as we left the church – aware that something extraordinary happened in our prayer together.

We’ve been traveling for three days back from SC.  This moment of communion has stayed with me – a blessed assurance of God’s power in our lives.  Perhaps, the greatest gift of this experience is the certainty that we are connected to one another.  We look like separate beings.  We have flesh and bone that seem to contain “us.”  But we are capable of moving out of ourselves for the good of the other.  When we pray we can transcend the boundaries of our bodies – move from isolation to community with the assent of our will.  We can live now as we will live in glory – one Body in Christ.

I am still praying for the woman who fell ill in our midst – and for her family.  Yet, no matter what happens to her, I know God has her.  And, if God has her, God has you and me, too.

Grace, peace and love to you all…

Vicki

A Collect for the Martyrs of 9/11…

GOD of justice,

We remember the innocent men and women who went to work that morning and never came home.

We remember the emergency responders – firemen and women, police and EMT’s – all those who went in as thousands ran out.

We remember the military and civilian workers at their desks in the Pentagon.

We remember the self-less passengers of flight #93 who were able to think about the rest of us – even as they faced certain death.

We know they are all in your care – abiding in the light and peace of your presence.

We ask you to hold their families close this day as the wounds of grief are tugged open by our memorials and newsreels.

GOD of mercy,

We know that remembering is not enough.

Open our hearts to the innocent victims of war throughout the world.

Give us the courage to seek peace – even in the face of evil.

Strengthen us with your Spirit as we struggle to “choose life” – to live beyond our fear.

Make of us a people who can no longer deprive one innocent human being of their life on earth.

We ask this through Christ, our Lord, who knew suffering and death so that we could know unending life.

AMEN.

Cured and curious…

Cancer is such a weird thing.  It isn’t caught or transmitted like a cold or virus.  It comes from within us – an unwanted guest in a carefully balanced internal ecosystem.  My “regular” doctor – who tried valiantly to keep me calm – said that cancer is “cells behaving badly.”  In spite of the shock of my diagnosis, I found it funny.  Cancer cells are still my cells.  They are just on a tear – wreaking havoc in the body like teenagers who have “borrowed” the keys to the car and are headed downtown with someone else’s ID.  Why?  Who knows?  Genetics, environment, stress, diet and lifestyle – it doesn’t really matter after the doctor gives you the diagnosis.  When cancer comes there is no time to wonder “why.”  Tests, more tests, treatment options, decisions, a few more tests – these things demand your full attention and emotional energy.  There is only, “what now?”  But since the surgery I’ve had more time to ponder – to pray it all and consider the ironies and graces of illness.

First – this one’s funny – when they tell you that you have cancer you feel FINE!  Then, after they take it out, you feel like SHIT!  [Yes, I said, “shit.”]  When the pain ends and you get used to the changes in your body, you begin to wonder at how God designed us.  We have this capacity to close every breach, to absorb every bruise.  It’s a particular miracle granted to all of us as imago Dei.  I’m not forgetting my surgeon or the nurses or the medication. [Thank God for the drugs!]  I’m just is awe of God’s wisdom in fashioning us to be so resilient.  It’s as if the resurrection itself is somehow embedded in our flesh and giving us hope – time and time again – that we will rise.

Don’t worry.  This isn’t going to become a “cancer blog.”  It is simply the lens through which I have been seeing God at work in my life.  I appreciate your patience with me as the writing helps me to integrate experience into my journey of faith.

I had cancer.  The tense of that verb is the game-changer!  “She got it all,” some kind voice said.   I think when I heard this the first time – just minutes after waking up from surgery – I wasn’t physically able to “do” joy.  It’s hard to feel healed when you have stitches east to west on your chest and drains pinned to your bandages.  But now – almost one month into the healing – my heart can listen again.  What I am hearing now is clear as a bell.  Everything in my life is a vehicle for God’s grace – even what threatens my body or spirit.  I’m certain that the prayers of so many people have helped me to feel the blessings of this cancer – to perceive the goodness of God throughout.  I have only gratitude now and the certainty that God is blessing us all – all the time – even, and especially – when we are finding our way through the mystery of suffering.

Love to you all,

Vicki

Intercession for the sick…a true “Hallmark” of Christian faith

It’s been two weeks since my last post.  I am cancer-free.  Join me in thanking God and in praying for those who still battle and those who work for a cure.  The last two weeks have been a little dream-like in places.  Anyone who has had a major surgery can tell you that the first couple of days are a drug-induced sleep punctuated with gentle, caring hands and gentle caring voices.  Doctors and nurses continue the healing ministry of Christ and do it with great humility.  “Thank you” just doesn’t cover it.

I have been overwhelmed by the prayers and good wishes of so many people – near and far.  The stack of “get well” cards continues to grow.  I haven’t received so much mail since I took the SAT’s!  The e-mails have touched my heart, as well.  I know that the past two weeks have been kinder and gentler because people of faith have cradled me in prayer.  I’ve been thinking about the act of writing a card or an e-mail to someone in need.  There is power in it – a commitment of the soul to the other.  It begins with the intention to write and takes shape as the medium is selected.  The power of love is engaged as the writer gives the assurance of prayer, the reminder of affection, the assurance of God’s healing power.  I think when we write these kinds of cards or messages, we give God our loving energy for the one in need.  God accepts the gift gladly, I imagine, and adds it to the divine Love flowing into our broken body or bruised spirit.  It make take one minute or twenty minutes to get the words from the heart to paper, but I think this energy given to the other in compassion cannot be measured or limited to the act itself.  We open a door when we reach out in love and that door cannot be closed.  It is a moment of communion – real presence to the other – that reminds both the writer and the reader that we are all connected all the time in the Paschal Mystery.

Sister Hilda Kleiman, OSB, wrote a piece for the American Benedictine Review in which she skillfully crafted a theology of writing.[1]  I refer you to her as the preeminent thinker on the relationship of a word to the Word and the sacredness of the act of writing in the Christian life.  Sound theology feels true.  Sister Hilda understands something primal about the creative act of writing and what it means to be in relationship with God.

As for me I have decided to use this pile of cards and e-mails in grateful prayer.  “What gift can ever repay God’s gift to me (Psalm 116:120)?”[2] I want to assure you all of my prayers in the days ahead.  I will re-read your card or e-mail and lift you up as you have lifted me up in these challenging and grace-filled days.  “Thank you” just doesn’t cover it.  I will pray for your good.

In love and gratitude,

Vicki

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[1] Nimble as the Pen of a Scribe: Toward a Theology of Writing — Parts I; II and III Hilda Kleiman, O.S.B., ABR 1:20-35; 2:173-209.

[2] International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The Psalter (Chicago, IL: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994) 116:12

Going “off the grid”…

There is a tree in our backyard – OK, in the landlord’s backyard.  It is probably four stories high – not quite Rockefeller Center height, but awesome just the same.  Around dinnertime the tree seems to fill with light as the sun moves behind it toward the horizon.  It is a sight that never fails to stir the soul – to remind us of the One who made it.  I am sitting on the deck so as not to miss a moment of it.  I think part of my fascination has to do with what the light does – it illuminates the parts of the tree that just can’t be seen – the underside of branch and leaf.  It lasts for just about 20 minutes – longer than the actual sunset itself.  As the light moves toward the edge of the world, different parts of the tree light up.  When there’s a small breeze, as there is this afternoon, the movement seems quasi-liturgical – as if this is part of creation’s Evening Prayer.  I am praying, too, along with the crickets and the birds who just won’t give up for the day.  “Something’s up” and now it is time for me to ask all of you to pray, too.

Tomorrow morning, I am checking in to a local hospital for a couple of days.  I have breast cancer.  I have had it now since the middle of June.  Twenty-four hours from now, I hope to be cancer-free.  I have thought about writing about this before I went to Berkeley, but I needed some time to sit with it – we needed time.  [The cancer may be in my body, but we have cancer – my wife and I.]  It took several weeks from the initial mammograms, the biopsy and the MRI to get the full picture of things.  Cancer is kind of my family “thing.”  Our narrative is punctuated with malignant tumors – my Mom, my aunt, my sister.   I will join my sister on the survivors list tomorrow afternoon.  This is good news!  We have chosen the most aggressive treatment – the one that means no radiation, no drugs. It’s an excellent plan, I think.

The yearly mammogram saved my life.  If you need one, get it done.  If someone you love needs one, tell them about me – tell them how lucky I am.  I just want this cancer to be a blessing, somehow.  It is part of my journey and that means there are things to be learned and graces to receive, if I am open.  I have been praying relentlessly for persons without health insurance.  I can’t imagine how people get through a major illness without it.  I have been praying for people who are fighting cancer valiantly and losing.  I am praying, too, for those who love someone with cancer.  That, my friends, is probably harder than actually having the disease!  My wife has been so brave and loving.  We have taken turns being not-so-brave and that’s been good, too.  Faith in the One who will be with us is the greatest gift of all.

It will be some time before I can write again.  I didn’t want to just disappear without explanation.  I think God will make something wonderful from this experience.  The new lens of illness has clarified priorities and made simple things so very sweet.  There is so much gratitude for everything and every one!  I feel that God is close, giving great peace and comfort.  I feel a little like our tree – as if I am filling with light before the darkness.  But for us – for persons of faith – darkness is never really dark.  God is always blessing, always working for our good.  Why should this day in my life be any different?

Love to you all…

Vicki

Lost on the way…

A train en route to Santiago jumped the track in the darkness.  Seventy-eight people are known to have died.  The injured persons rescued number 140.  The numbers will shift some, I think, between the injured and the dead.  It is one of the most horrendous rail accidents in Spanish history.  It is also the first to happen during the celebration of the feast of St. James.

Legend has it that the bones of the saint were brought to the church of Santiago de Compostela.  The church remains a place of pilgrimage – holy ground for those who walk for weeks on foot to pray in the sacred shrine of St. James.  A friend walked “the way” just before she entered the monastery.  I was in awe of her – still am.  The walking itself is transformative for many – the process, more than the destination, a conduit to the divine.  There is a wonderful film called, “The Way.”  It is such a story of courage, transformation and the power of community.  It will make you laugh and cry and wonder at the God who brings risen love to us through the stranger.

There will be no feasting at Santiago de Compostela today.  There is silence for the dead and for those who grieve them.  Although many who have gathered for the saint’s day are disappointed, it feels right.  This train wreck is an icon of the suffering world.  It is a reminder to all that death is part of our journey to God.  For many the moment is peaceful – a movement through a doorway into Light.  For some it is a sudden, shocking recognition that the body has been left behind.  We pray for them today as they enter into fullness of life in Christ.  The One who suffered a violent death is there embracing each one.  Christ is also with the ones who remain – the ones wondering “why” and “why not me?”  In those questions they will meet Him.  But they all need our prayers this day.  The living and the dead need our love, our faith to carry them through this profound and unexpected shift of their reality.  We can love them from wherever we are – through Christ.  Prayer is love let loose.

“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies (2 Corinthians 4:7-10).”

We continue on the way…greeting the stranger, sharing our bread, working as if our little bit of love makes all the difference.  We live with the uncertainty each day brings because we have hope.  Because of Jesus we can name the Mystery “love.”  What we know of God in Christ’s life, death and resurrection tells us that we are on our way “home.”  Although this tragedy reminds us all of how fragile our bodies are, it is also a reminder that our souls belong to the God.  No one is ever “lost on the way.”

Mercy, love and peace…

Vicki