Friday, March 2, 2007

Dearest God,

Gray skies. Wet, sloppy landscape. Barren trees.

During Lent our bishop leads a worship service just for pastors. I always vacillate. It's not a long drive, an hour and a half, but it is a commitment for at least half a day. I have other duties to accomplish. But, it is a command performance.

Rain was spitting as I left home. When I got off the interstate onto a state road traveling south, I noticed the stands of trees hugging the ground. At first they looked empty, vulnerable. But as the terrain changed somewhat into rolling hills, I saw something something else. I gazed from side to side, taking a panoramic sweep of the countryside.

The trees with their limbs and branches rising up appeared ready to burst. Their winter wait nearly over, they are poised, ready to explode with color. In weeks, maybe days, we won't be able to see through the trees. Green will creep along the ground, rising up to the tree tops. Tiny buds, then blossoms, flowering scents will break their long silence. Creation will once again, at last, display her beauty. A symphony of color will play their tunes and we who have grown dead during the season will come to life ourselves.

Drinking in the hopes of spring, I caught a glimpse of the church. I turned in, then walked toward the sanctuary, carrying my coat as the brisk winds whipped 'round me. I grabbed a cup of coffee as the sound of ministers talking filled the room. As I took my first sip, Ann poured herself a cup as well. I spoke first, then she told me about her back condition. "I can show you a back exercise that will help relieve some of your pain." I told her.

We left the fellowship hall in search of an open classroom. Putting down the coffee cups we eased our way to the floor. I explained each careful move. Ann closed her eyes, extending her arms out, her palms up; we grew quiet as she gently shifted, relaxing her lower back. A few minutes later I gave instructions on getting back up.

Somewhat relieved of pain, Ann and I moved to the sanctuary. The sound of Lent filled the space. And we began to sing. I could hear a voice near me, another to the side, and my own voice. We chanted the liturgical responses, then the Bishop stood to speak. "I pray that God will give you power through his Spirit to be strong in your inner selves." He read from Ephesians. He preached and inspired us as we listened intently.

Then he offered us the sacrament. The supper, the Holy meal of Jesus. We gathered at the kneeling rail and we received the gift.

Within minutes we lifted our voices in song. This time we were different. We were no longer many voices, but one. One powerful voice for God. A gathering of clergy, worn by the vicissitudes of ministry and the needs of people, we breathed in the new life waiting for us in the holy communion. We too were alive!

Metamorphosis.
Rain brings life
to the dry ground.
God's Word
brings new life
to a weary people.
Music and a meal,
made sacred
by the Great Giver,
gives hope
and faith
and strength.
Transformation
at the feet
of God.

Love always, Andrea