Category Archives: Easter

Eastertide

14 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by in Easter, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christ is Risen! Christ is risen indeed!

The culmination of the explosion of colors–Eastertide, six weeks of celebration! And Matisse expresses the melange of hues and tints in such varied ways. And so it is with Easter Day when we read in the gospels that the attending. loving followers of Jesus, left the tomb “afraid yet filled with joy.” (Matthew-NIV)

According to the SALT reflection guide for the holy season, Matisse wasn’t explicitly religious, but his commentary was full of spiritual reflection: In my own way I have always sung the glory of God and creation, he says. He writes from a life filled with promise and hardship both, the joy and the sorrow, the success and the defeat, the gift and the loss. And that is the life we re-enter this Easter season–paradoxical, uncharted, light and dark. Like the women leaving the tomb, I am also “afraid yet filled wih joy.”

So many things seem frightening in the world around me, Even a cursory scanning of the daily news can send my blood pressure soaring. I continue to lose people, old touchstones and familiar ways of doing things. I can become anxious, as Wendell Berry notes, in fear of what my life my children’s life might be. Certainly the beloved ones of the risen Christ had no idea what would lie before them in the days ahead. So Easter doesn’t mean an erasure of everything scary, evil or problematic.

However, Easter is a celebration that alongside and above the fear, I can be filled with joy! Anne Sexton writes, There is joy is all! and it is true! She names the small but essential components of ordinary life, and its joy emanating from them, and lead her into a great prayer of thanksgiving. It is my practice to do this daily: the iris, the rose, the dog, the coffee, the phone call, the note in the mail, the text from my granddaughter, tha care that my spouse gives me daily, the new idea popping up. But Easter joy goes beyond that. I have learned from wise teachers that Easter tells us as humans that there are no final defeats. Death is not the last word. As I age this reality is more and more comforting: my living and loving will not be for nothing. There is joy in being a human, in living a life, in loving another, in walking with the Mystery we call God!

These next weeks of Eastertide I am rejoicing, with as many colors as I can perceive, right alongside the fear, the horror of the real in political spheres, the unknown that still looms. Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed.

Advertisement

Eastering

02 Thursday Jun 2022

Posted by in Easter, paying attention, Spirit, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

,

“Practice resurrection.”

Wendell Berry, “Manifesto:A Mad Farmer’s Liberation Front”

I have long thought of Easter as one time annual celebration, when in fact this year I have clung to the liturgical season, Eastertide, lasting from Easter Day six weeks until the coming of Pentecost, which this year comes next Sunday. This season is also contiguous with a host of our family celebrations–some significant birthdays, an important graduation, Mothers’ Day, and the opening of parade of visitors from out of state, feeling free to move around the country again.

This year the season has also coincided with a string of tragic and poignant events in the world and out country: war in Ukraine, an early start to hurricane season, long lasting fires, the continuing trajectories, up and down, of COVID, mass shootings, and personal losses, hurts and slights. So to be “eastering,” for me has been to keep learning to look for signs of new life, to dare to risk new life in my own dailiness, to celebrate them, while at the same time grieving for the individuals and communities and states and environment of the world that God made.

My “eastering” observations became the noticing over the whole six weeks of Eastertide of the slow, sweet ways in which life, new life, was emerging in dailiness and usual experiences of those I met (primarily on-line or in written communiques). I saw the process of mourning become one of resolution and deep gratitude. I watched hope deepen, windows of the soul open, new identities claimed, in spite of the grief and horror all around. There was slow healing in body and Spirit taking place. And there was a letting go of “old stories” that no longer were useful. I was amazed to see energy given to finding community, working for justice and peace. I loved the witness of those who are persisting in hope, reaching out to and for those who are ill-treated, neglected, oppressed and excluded. And it all happened right along side the terrible things!

I will honor the celebration of the coming of the Spirit this weekend, but recognize that She has been at work all along, teaching, healing, encouraging, giving wisdom and power. For my part in this turn into this extraordinary, Ordinary Time, I am brought back to this word of wisdom from Marvin Hiles that I have carried with me for many years:

To live sweetly in the bitter day,

to shape beauty among the grotesque,

to exult in the littles and to declare in the midst of brokenness a wholeness that comes now and ultimately!

May the Spirit descend on me and all of us to empower the quiet work of “eastering!”

Light through Clouds

22 Friday May 2020

Posted by in clouds, Easter, Light, rainbow, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , ,

I have set my bow in the clouds…

I received an anonymous gift in the mail during this upset in our world: a prism to place in my window that catches the Light as it comes, and turns the sunrise into a shower of rainbow dots all over the room, bringing joy and healing to my spirit every day the sun breaks through! From my bed or from my prayer corner for awhile the light shines–beautiful, comforting, healing! In this closing days of Eastertide, I am aware that through the entire holy season beginning with Lent, I have been focused on the clouds–real and metaphorical–that have dominated airways–through the media and through personal stories of grief and loss. Even the Easter we celebrated, virtually, seems remote and covered over.

Yet as I received and have learned how to use my rainbow prism, it has become a symbol for me of another truth, which is that behind and through the Great Grayness–of pandemic, of flood, of corruption, of loss–the Light is shining; none of those griefs can douse it! I have been given Light by witnessing the open hearts for so many to care for the most fragile and endangered members of our community, including former students of mine who routinely put themselves on the line for the hungry, the frightened and the those in despair. I take great joy when I see how creatively and vigilantly another former student in ministry cares for the children and women in her church, from a distance. I am blessed when I am able to participate in music that comes in the worship services on-line each Sunday, with leaders both taking the lead and adding the harmony to what we are invited to sing. I am experiencing new dimensions of my beloved family–their resilience, their creativity, their breadth of curiosity and interest! I was surrounded by a rainbow of joy when out of the blue, I heard from my granddaughter, replete with video, asking me to help on a school project.

Primarily though I see points of Light in my sharing this faith journey with so many others, sheltered in place, chafing at the limitations, anxious about the road ahead, yet still faithful in the struggle to hear, to see, the feel the Light of the Holy on themselves and in the world God loves. Out of the shared struggle comes so many question, so many dead ends, yet so much hope!

The book of Lamentations in the Hebrew Bible is all about that grievous struggle–loss, corruption, limitation–yet right in the middle, I find these words: The steadfast love of the Holy One never ceases/God’s mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning!” Like rainbow prism dots all around my room when the sun breaks through the clouds! I am grateful!

What’s New? Eastertide!

17 Friday May 2019

Posted by in Breath, Easter, Hope, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, ,

I had imagined that that at the beginning of Eastertide, I would be primed to write about the new things that Easter was bringing that made me rejoice. Instead the ensuing days have included a torrent of the unexpected that has required persistence, elasticity and trust in events that were frightening, disheartening and some just sad. So once again I see that Easter is not a magician’s wave of the wand of Resurrection, but a token in trust that after sadness, there is also comfort, after darkness, there is also Light, after despair, there is also Hope.

Blooming on my deck!

The Hope peeks out in the new flower on my deck that I have never had before, a rock purslane, I am told! Each morning and evening it brings joy to my eyes, reaching down to my heart. I have also encountered Hope in the story of someone who did something never before accomplished, never before achieved, and now done once. I met Hope in a conversation that I entered with fearful trepidation, only to discover that Grace had preceded me, and that the way was open for friendly sharing. I saw Hope shining in the long slow process of healing and curing in one with a tenacious malady. And I saw Hope in the developing growth of wisdom, love and beauty of each of my grandchildren. All new gifts of new life this Eastertide!

I have 3 1/2 weeks of Eastertide to go, plenty of time and opportunity to look for ways in which Hope co-exists with the hard, dark things. Today I am looking for the places where Hope is shining in a complete change of plans. I am looking for it in the anticipated end-of-school-year fray, with parties, graduations, relocation and endings. I would love to discover it, even as I grieve that loss of the familiar and the anticipation of the new, even as I mourn the passing of beloved ones to their new life. I would like to sit with Hope, even when the days are gray, the conversations are flat, and all the air has gone out of the inspirational bromides!

Once again I am invited to pay attention, to look, to listen, to wait, even in Eastertide, where the promise of all things are new has been given life. But not yet everything, Carrie Newcomer gives me words: Do you see, do you see, do you see it? Take a breath,/ Oh. the restlessness, The beautiful not yet.

So, I look–on my morning walk, in the erasures in my Dayrunner, in the new texts or e-mail. And I breathe: Breathe on me, Holy Spirit, breathe in me, Breath of God. And I open my heart to Hope wherever she is waiting to appear!

Easter Sabbath

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in celebrations, Easter, grace, Holy Week, rest, sabbath, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

,

HolySaturdayThe gospel of Luke tells us that after all the profound and intense events of the days of Holy Week, those who loved and followed Jesus, “On the sabbath…rested according to the commandments.” I am entering into that rest today, Holy Saturday. I am taking sabbath in my spirit. It’s not as if I don’t know that there are things that need to be done. But I am intending to let my spirit be at rest. Marva Dawn in her important book, Keeping the Sabbath Wholly, identifies four movements of Sabbath that I am observing inwardly today.

Ceasing: This Easter Saturday I am ceasing from anxiety about tomorrow–whether all the connections will be made, whether the food will suit everybody, whether we will get to church early enough to get a seat, whether or not I have remembered to reach out to everyone. I have done or will do all that can be done, and will no longer worry about what’s undone.

Resting: In between the things I still need to do to make life livable, I will rest–short respites of listening to Bach, a brief snooze before company arrives, a quick reading of a chapter of mystery, a time to sit and gaze at the beautiful back yard in bloom. For a brief shining moment here and there, I will rest my body as well as my spirit.

Embracing: I am opening my arms and heart to the beauty and gifts that are offered to me–an unexpected warm e-mail from abroad from an old friend, a top of the morning snuggle with my beloved, a granddaughter who is coming to decorate for tomorrow. All are welcome in my heart today, gifts from the One who gives good gifts continually. I also intend to welcome the gifts I don’t yet know about!

Feasting: The feasting on food will happen tomorrow in the main, but today, a Sabbath, I am feasting on sacred music, the new bloom of roses, the aroma of Black-Bottom cupcakes, a nostalgic recipe from my children’s birthday parties, the softness of my throw rug and the dog’s silky ears, and the taste of the extra chocolate chips that don’t quite make it into the batter. I am also feasting of the awareness that for this day there is a Grace in not having to do anything to make thing all right, not at home, not in the Church, not in the world. Jesus is at rest, out of pain; I can be too. Tomorrow all the energy and power of Easter will compel me forward again to celebrate, to rejoice, and to let that energy become action for change in the world. But today I am observing sabbath.

I am resting in anticipation of the good news to come!

 

 

 

 

 

Seasoning Eastertide!

22 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in blessing, doing good, Easter, paying attention

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

,

I was deeply disappointed last Sunday, Easter Day, when I was felled by a vicious 5 day cold that knocked me so flat that, for my sake and the welfare of the community I could neither join a worshiping congregation, nor serve a festive dinner to my family. All the elements of Easter baskets are lying unopened in the grocery bag, the cards are unwritten, and the one lily is languishing. I became very heartened, however, when I realized that in the liturgical calendar in some traditions Eastertide is 50 days, not just One Big Day! So I have time, time to celebrate and rejoice, time to ponder the gospel accounts of the post-Resurrection accounts of Jesus life with his friends, and especially to notice where Easter is happening, where new life is springing forth, where the signs of hope and Light are evident for the fist time or recurring again.

The seasoning of Easter keeps coming day after day even in this first week after the celebration day. I have heard a story of someone completely bereft who suddenly received comfort after it seemed like there was no comfort to be had. I witnessed hope and energy take root in one who had been mired in despair for months, but who now had a sense of agency and power to keep moving toward hope. I was present when a group of friends gathered, bringing with them the predictable crises of their separate lives, and as they reflected on the love demonstrated in resurrection and the promise of new life, the joy and grace between them deepened, widened and hope was palpable, despite the incessant toll of Awful Things in the lives of our world.

So I am looking around for the Season of Easter with vigilance and scrutiny during this Eastertide, these remaining 44 days. I have already heard of a new job, a mended friendship, a lifting of dullness, an easing of conflict, and I am witnessing acts of mercy and justice all around me in the neighborhood, in the Church and in the world.

So I ask how I can contribute to this new life that we celebrated last Sunday. Paying attention is my primary practice–the the salesperson the barrista, the server, the mail carrier. Each of them is worthy of receiving the Light of Easter, even if it is just a warm and attentive exchange over business. I am also aware that there are places that need care where I must to be present–in person, by phone or by e-mail; all I have to bring is my presence and my hope. To give advice is not nearly as alive and joyful an Easter flavor as it is to show up in some way. I am also hoping to stretch out to give what the Jewish traditions calls mitzvahs, those acts of hospitality and grace in which there is no possibility of payback or reciprocity. I feel as if the seasoning in my own heart in celebrating Easter once again replenishes me for that kind of extension and effort.

My garden, blooming to beat the band, with new surprises every morning, is the tangible prompt to me to be receiving and giving the seasoning of Easter right now. Every morning I look for a new blossom! In our journey the dying is not the last word; there is new life after death. And as long as I am alive, whether or not I can get to the Big Band celebrations of Easter Day or not, I can use these days of Eastertide to take in the glory and the power of Christ’s resurrection, and then to sprinkle and spice all these gifts that new life brings–love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, and gentleness–while I do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with the Risen One.

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Where Am I?

23 Saturday Apr 2016

Posted by in daily examen, Easter, listening, Mindfulness, paying attention, presence, silence

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

images-1

Yesterday a friend emerged from surgery; another one is going in tomorrow.

One friends left for her summer location; another left on an extended trip to see loved ones.

I drive south to reconnect with a long time friend. I drive east to share breakfast with my daughter. I go north to attend a meeting.

I have a conference call on tap for the morning. I need to make some appointments with doctors. I have to have a prescription refilled. I need to take a rain check.

But where am I–my heart, my mind, my soul?

I remember Carmen Bernos de Gasztolde’s “The Prayer of the Butterfly”from her Prayers from the Ark:

Lord!/ Where was I?/ Oh yes! This flower, this sun, /thank you! Your world is beautiful!/This scent of roses…/where was I?/ A drop of dew/ rolls to sparkle in a lily’s heart./ I have to go…/ Where? I do not know!/ The wind has painted fancies/ on my wings./Fancies…/ Where was I?/ Oh yes! Lord,/ I had something to tell you.

When my worlds are so much with me, I have a hard time keeping track of myself! Every world is interesting–fascinating or compelling or demanding, yet if I can’t locate my own center of being, I don’t have much to bring to the worlds I navigate.

In this Eastertide I am needing to practice once again paying attention first thing in the morning and last thing at night to where I am. I begin with my body–what space do I occupy? how does it feel? where are the comfortable or sore places that inform me of my state of being? I then attend to my heart–what feelings am I aware of? if I stay longer, what else is there? Then I move to my wider location: what is happening or has happened today? what will I or did I do? what crossed my mind? captured my attention? keeps pulling on my focus? I almost always need to do this in silence, alone–often with my candle lit, reminding me that the Light of the Holy never goes out. I also need to take time, enough time to let the mud settle, to let unattended hope and fears surface, to develop a sense of proportion and place.

It is a continuing amazement and distress to me that I have to practice this over and over, I am always a beginner. My Butterfly Mind has such strong wings, and rides so hard on the updrafts! So I need to come back to what I know for sure: The Holy One knows not only who I am, but where I am. In Psalm 139, the poet declares:

O God, You search me and know me inside out./ You know my comings and goings. / You understand my thought completely.                                                   (Swallow’s Nest,  Psalm 139:1)

If I want to know where I am, I need every day to begin with the One who knows. And the Spirit is willing to lead me into knowing, even after sleeping. When I awake, I am still with you. (KJV, Psalm 139: 18, b).

Yesterday the Gratefulness.org website posted this thought of the day:

 You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope. ~ THOMAS MERTON

It is in the time of silence of beginning and closing the day where the recognition of that which Merton calls for begins to speak, and it is there where the Spirit who knows me inside and out can guide my awareness, can replenish me for this present moment, and empower me with courage, faith and hope once again.

For each new day and night, thanks be to God!

Seeing What’s New Within

16 Saturday May 2015

Posted by in Easter, examen, seeing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

strasbourg-cath-rose1404I have been looking all around me to see signs of new life this Eastertide, and have been energized and delighted by what I have seen. With Ascension Day, we turn into the last days of this season which will end with Pentecost. It is time to look inside to see what the power of the Resurrection has done in me. The ancient practice of  Examen is one I use often, especially in the evenings when I can reflect on the day. However, today I can do the examen with an eyes to gratitude in this Easter season: what am I noticing that has been given new life by the Presence of the Spirit?

At my stage of life I have a longitudinal view over the decades of my journey with the Risen Christ that gives me great joy:

  • I can see that much of my fearfulness as a young person has been transformed into a more familiar trust, something I never imagine would have happened.
  • I notice that my trigger-speed judgement of others—where they belong, what their motives are, how they are to blame–has been mercifully slowed down, even held in abeyance, until I know more, can see more, and realize once again that I am not given the role of judge.
  • In concert with that, I have been given much more compassion, as I am learning to bless even the ones who cause my grief. I know it only as a gift, not a result of good intentions or will power.

But I notice changes in me with the clear awareness that God is not finished with me yet. I am living in a chapter of my life in which frailty, brokenness and death are much more pronounced in me, in the people I love and in the world. They come relentlessly, not only to my elders, but to contemporaries and to younger friends. I see tiny seedlings of new life in me, but they need nurture and nourishment. I find I am needing to pray for the graces to ground me as I accompany those I love through the valley of the shadow:

  • I need stamina to remain faithful in my loving when the road is long and unpredictable, and takes unexpected directions, and when people I presume to know do quite baffling things.
  • I need deeper trust that the Holy One is continuing to make a way where I don’t always see a a way.
  • I need to focus on the things most necessary, and not get diverted by things that don’t point me in the right direction, that take me away from first loves, that engage me in fretting and wringing my hands.
  • I also need to let laughter ring widely and deeply and frequently in my spirit. I want to cultivate that Sarah-spirit, whose laughter might occasionally be inappropriate, but ultimately is a sign of rejoicing in the complex universe that is beloved of God, with thousands of nuances, surprises and curiosities.
  • I want to cultivate that peaceful way of navigating the world that embodies the knowledge with Lady Julian that all will be well, and all be well and all manner of things will be well.

The coming of rain this week to our parched landscape has reminded me that small shoots of new life require several things: the sunshine of hilarity and gladness because my mourning is so repeatedly turned to laughter; the soaking of the spirit from those who risk telling me the truth; and the rich soil of those who walk and wrestle the journey of Spirit with me. All together they may continue to produce in me a harvest that produces an aroma and a beauty of a rose, or like a rose window, allow the Light of the Risen Christ to shine through. I pray it is so!

Photo of Strasbourg Cathedral, Rose Window.

Seeing What’s New in Your Call

04 Monday May 2015

Posted by in Discernment, doing good, Easter

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, ,

images-6In Eastertide 2015 I am looking for what new things the Resurrection is bringing forth in the world and in me. What am I called to do in light of the promise of new life? I have gotten all wrapped up this week in wondering how to talk about Call and vocation…and then this this week happened–what a week! The country of Nepal is staggering is unbelievable grief, destitution and bafflement after a huge earthquake has killed thousand of people, has cut off many from life-giving supply line and has razed place after place that people called home. It almost defies imagination! What am I to do?

Another evening falls, and a section of Baltimore goes up in smoke manifesting years of tension in the area between the residents and police. There are tears, there is fear, there is rage, there are too many news media covering the events and non-events. And the anguish is horrifying and palpable. Again what am I to do?

I am a woman with choices–retired, educated, housed and fed. I live in a multi-ethnic, multi-cultural neighborhood in a huge metropolitan city in Southern California, and I have lived here for over 30 years. The challenges of this metropolis are enormous. What am I called to do?

Two stories from sacred texts have grounded me this week. The first is the story of Moses in Exodus 3 in which he encounters an angel wrapped in a bush that won’t stop burning, and is told that this is holy ground. Doing what I know to do, yet, yet turning aside to see what is new, is the dynamic in which my call is uncovered. It is here shepherding the flocks that Moses discovered what the next right steps were for his call.

The other story that tugs at my heart has similarities. After the resurrection the disciples don’t know what to do or where to go, so they return to the familiar family business of fishing. And once again, that is the place of Holy encounter–Jesus invites them to breakfast on the beach, and then lets them discover their call in a Q and A with Peter; it is command  to to feed his sheep as an act of Love. It seems very generic–but it is an ample directive, suitable to almost any place that each one of them will find himself. To feed in a spiritual sense is to welcome, to nourish, to take care of–for Love’s sake.

So this last week unfolded with opportunities to recognize Holy Ground underneath me and with ways to express Love to those who were brought to me: for the rescue, recovery and healing of Nepal, there were opportunities to give and to pray, some with specific need and names; for Baltimore, I had the chance to be grateful for the spiritual community leadership that arose gave witness and strength to the slow evolution toward calm. Each of those sites is Holy Ground–God is there in the carnage and struggle to heal. What is more, I only need to be aware of turning aside to nurture and nourish those given to me each day in the name of Love. I found that one day after another there were requests for prayers to be offered–for one in surgery, for one in despair, for one who is dying, another in treatment, someone in transition–and often the call for the day prompted an action–a letter to a senator, a wee gift sent for encouragement, a date for a phone call, a card for remembering, a check to help defray the expenses. Some of the connections were surprising! I was grateful that my pace could be measured enough to slow down, see if the call had my name on it, and then respond.

As long as I have life and breath, I am given opportunity to respond to the Call of the Holy, as long as I claim Holy Ground and do what i do for Love’s sake.

Seeing What’s New–through Mystery

26 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by in Easter, letting go, mystery

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

StaveChruch

                      for Carol and Dennis who asked…

I am profoundly aware in Eastertide that so much of a faith journey is Mystery. We often recite the Mystery of Faith when we gather at the table for communion: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ is coming again! Yet I am surrounded by a mystery-intolerant culture, both public discourse and in personal conversation. I am very apt to leap to ask the questions of proof, of evidence, or reason before I can be still with the unknowing or Mystery. Yet over and over again, I am faced with intimations of the “Mystery we call God,” and Easter illuminates and poses the challenge all over again. I am comforted when I read from spiritual teacher Esther DeWaal, when she says in her book Lost in Wonder, I try to walk in reverence, taking off my shoes, remembering that this is holy ground, and having to accept that there is much I shall never fully know. (122)

I don’t see myself as a Mystic, especially when I read Julian or Mechtild, yet I have had enough encounters with the Mystery to recognize it when I encounter it. Neither am I a relaxed traveler, although I really savor and delight in the gifts I encounter when I am on a trip. Yet, one day close to the end of a trip to Norway, I was particularly anxious and fretful. We had spent the days afloat on a beautiful fjord, and were headed to a lovely hotel, but the road signs were unclear, and one of our party had a longing to follow a trail to a stave church in Urnes on Sogn og Fjordne that we had not seen yet, a UNESCO World heritage site. Our detour took small side roads, and required waiting for a small ferry that carried only a few cars at a time and seemed to move on its own schedule. Although the day has been full of sunshine and light, it seemed to darken while we waited for the ferry. At last we crossed to the hill and up to the stave church, centuries old, adorned with carvings on its side, honoring its pride of place at the top of the fjord. As we waited for the guided tour to begin, I looked back down the fjord to see an impressive storm gathering and coming our way. Although our guide was winsome and articulate, the Celtic carvings on the exterior wall intricate and mysterious, and the narrative of the people here new to me, my anxiety was focused on the looming storm. The group filed into the pews of the small dark church, and just as we did, the storm hit the building: lightning lit up the gloom, winds pushed the simple chandelier until it was horizontal with the floor, rain teemed down with an intensity that I had never experienced, and we could see and feel the tall staves rocking the building. My own interior distress became gargantuan–because of my newly implanted artificial lenses, I could not transition from light to dark very well, so could not see clearly; the woman in front of me was translating the guide’s lecture from English to Norwegian, so i could not hear. I was sitting in the middle of the pew, so could not get out. I felt frightened and alone. I was terrified.

It was at that moment, realizing my utter inability to save myself, that I gave up, and in an experience for which I have no adequate words, I dropped into God. As I have tried to use words subsequently to relate what happened, I might say that I surrendered to the Mystery we call God. Or that I “let go and let God.” But I had no other resources, and something primal is me propelled and/or allowed me to relax into the familiar Hands of the Holy that would not let me go. I heard no words, no familiar Scripture or image came to mind, but I knew that I was safe and that I would be all right. The Presence was as strong and palpable to me as the wind, the storm and the shaking church.

In a matter of minutes the tour was over, the storm subsided, and we walked out into a sunshiny afternoon on the hill overlooking the fjord. None of my traveling companions knew of my terror, my sense of helplessness, nor that I had encountered the Holy in a riveting way that could be a touchstone for me when I encountered moment of great fear and and certainty. I could not speak of it for a long time. Yet I was changed.

As I go back to that moment, I recall how often I had recited these words from Psalm 139:

If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your right hand shall hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light round me become night,even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, and darkness as is light to you.” (9-12).

That reality had been alive in my body and spirit in those dark and light moments in the stave church at the end of the fjord. And I still can’t explain it adequately, or understand it. Yet I know what I know about what happened to and in me. It is a mystery, and it is Mystery. I pray to keep staying open to the possibility.