Monday, June 30, 2008

Dearest God,

All roads lead to you. Every path turns and twists ultimately leading to your feet.

These days away for retreat and education have been days when following you were the only option. An intentional decision, a deep awareness, a desire of the heart, a willingness in the soul to listen, to put one step in front of the other constantly looking for signs of your own print led me always to you.

I walked into the dining room carrying a bag of heavy stuff to be distributed among those who had space in their suitcase. But on top were the elements of faith...the juice and the bread, my bible and sheets of paper. As I cleared the table for five, it was transformed into an altar. I asked the server if we could use one of the candles. She climbed up on a chair and lifted up the three wick candle and handed it to me. I lighted the candle and waited for my fellow travelers to join me.

I opened with prayer then asked each pilgrim to read seven verses from Psalm 104. Each read the words of praise designed just for you. And then I took the bread and broke it just like you did 2,000 years ago. I lifted the cup remembering the words of your son. We passed it to one another with the words "...the body of Christ, his blood..." I read a fax I had just received from Indiana. They were my own words from July 20, 2006, my letter written to you about one of my favorite shut ins. "Dear God..."

I urged my pilgrim journeyors to continue the story of faith. I had written about a woman of faith living in a broken down, bruised, old body that couldn't carry her any longer. I asked them to write down their reflections of their spiritual travel, to share it in our newsletter, to tell the world the workings of your hand. They each held a piece of paper in their hands as one read a prayer from Thomas Merton. "Tell the story," I encouraged, "keep telling the story."

I realize every day you urge us to tell the story; otherwise, it will simply die within us. Not shared, only hoarded for one's own edification, it loses its mystical power. "Tell the story and faith continues." I told them.

As I have received their own words written on the page, I once again realize the power of the story. A beautiful retelling of the "stories of Jesus." A wonder, truly, a wonder of faith.

Let me sing
the stories
of faith,
dear God.
Lead me
to sing.
Let the melodies
formed at creation
flow out of my mouth.
Sing the stories
of faith,
dear God,
sing them
through me.
May the high song
of praise
lead me
to you.

Love, Andrea