Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Dear God,

Portiuncula. I had seen the word somewhere. Italy. St. Francis, it was associated with St. Francis. Of course, these were the Franciscan Sisters. San Damiano. Oh, my goodness, San Damiano. Assisi. The small two bedroom retreat house was called San Damiano, the name of the first church St. Francis ever repaired after his calling of God to repair churches.

We walked into the house to find signs of St. Francis everywhere. In the dining room the cross beneath which he sat to meditate and pray. The living area a picture of St. Francis with his arms outstretched, the sun and moon above his head. Colorful birds, butterflies and animals at his feet. In the bedroom an icon. St. Francis, his presence so very visible. My favorite saint.

I had walked away from work so very weary. My concerns for my flock, my travel the day before, two long days, actually weeks getting ready for our annual report. My worry over sick friends and lost ones too. I was ready for this retreat. All the more beautiful that I sat on a couch in a house filled with St. Francis. And in my own view out the window in a cottage nestled among trees and cows at pasture, I could see the monastery housing the Franciscan sisters. Nearby is a building where our own Carmelites now reside in retirement. We will worship with them tomorrow.

Later a rip-roaring fire with colorful flames licking high and a balsam cedar Yankee candle wafting its scent through the holy space, my friends and I talked, recounting the goodness of God, the countless ways our lives have been touched, inspired, transformed, helped, guided, and held during 20 years of covenanting together. Our lives have been moulded by a power from on high, your power, Loving God. We named them, our transformations, a family reunited, a child made whole, discovering the hidden treasure tucked inside by God at birth, the relationships with a monastic community whose prayers lifted us all, newfound courage, a new spouse, unconditional love, forgiveness, from you and ourselves. On and on it went as I sat on the couch and my friend rocked back and forth, the sweet sounds of our other friend asleep in the bedroom.

All your work, all your ministry, all your love, we acknowledged all this as the movement of your spirit. I would not have known to follow this path, I thought to myself and finally saying it aloud. How could I have fashioned a spirit life this way without my colleagues? How could I have ever faced the utter loneliness of lost love, a fractured family, a church in trouble? I could not, but your generosity drew us together, revealing a path to follow where the secrets of the universe, the mysteries of the cosmos, and the hopes of the human soul would diverge and then come together. The whispering sounds of the Master would alter our being bringing tears, the healing cleansing of the human heart and mind. The soul’s uncluttering, finding its greatest joy in you. As the fire died down, we reiterated once more the goodness of the Lord.

God, Most Holy,
loving, faithful
and kind,
to you
we owe
our complete loyalty.
You have
fashioned us
anew,
calling for sin
to be forgiven,
for our lostness
to dissipate,
leaving space
to be found.
You have released
our pain,
easing the salve
of salvation
into our wounds.
You have
called us
into wholeness,
reminding us
that your love
can heal
the greatest sinner,
the least holy,
the worst injured,
the poorest soul.
We pour out
our blessings
to you,
God Most High
in grateful thanksgiving.

Love, Andrea