Sacred Transitions

A dewy bone-chilling cold. Hints of blue sky dancing with fog and cloud. Hints of blossoms ready to burst forth. Grass an emerald green. This morning was the graveside service for the mother of a friend - someone discerning a call to join our community. Prayer; words of remembrance; and soft chant: and may the angels take you up to paradise...

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day: a celebration of Irish culture. But more. A celebration of the many cultures and ancestors who helped shape who we are today. Tomorrow is the Solemnity of St. Joseph: a remembrance of all the (step-)fathers and grandfathers who loved us and challenged us; protected us and encouraged us. We are not alone: in tribe nor in father figures. Today we sisters remembered Mechtild of Magdeburg, a thirteenth-century beguine who preached extensively. Her book is called The Flowing Light of the Godhead. The passing of time, in all its intricacies, is sacred. Let us notice and remember.

Sacredness of Death

The rain fell gently today. Messy, cold, disruptive and yet beautiful. Reminds me of Richard. A close friend of more than 35 years had called me yesterday morning to speak of her continued grief and challenges in journeying with her dying father; she and her mother, siblings and extended family. While on the phone the call came in - her father had gently passed away. More quiet tears. Messy because we should not want someone to die; messy because Richard had been in a waking coma for more than 9 months; messy because the best and the worst in each of them emerged. Yet death is sacred, gentle while violent, a journey. Let the tears flow.