Fascinatingly complex and interesting few days. Found myself teaching once again at the monastery this last weekend. We are approaching the end of the academic year so students undergoing their training for ministry inevitably feel stressed with exams approaching and assignments due. In amongst the gathering of so many individuals for a weekend of formational learning, there was a sense of commonality and from that, over time, community will grow.
We were exploring themes around soul befrinding this weekend and active listening. We were challeneged to think more deeply after a powerful lecture entitled Looking at the back of God. A timely reminder that to enjoy the light and joy of pilgrimage, obedience and blessing - we must also acknowledge in our deepest heart place the darkness - the inner vulnerability of not knowing - of recognising the inconsistency and sometimes the banality of an uncritical faith position.
Connections came for me in lacing up past and present.
Old resonances and new interpretations.
Stimulating and invigorating - a rare moment of feeling fully at home in self and in the moment.
Invitations and thwarted ambitions came into my mind.
Years ago, as a young curate, I longed more than anything else to join a spirituality group in my Diocese. For all sorts of reasons it did not happen. I felt left out. I can remember subsequently describing the group in the most hurtful terms as The Magic Circle and implying some of what they did was little more than spiritual masturbation. These days I can look back and see how hard I took the exclusion - and how little, at the time I was able to appreciate the subtleness of the love in the choices made. I wasn't being excluded but I wasn't being encouraged to hot house and grow too quickly either. I needed at that time to concentrate on other things; getting on top of the full-time demands of ministry as a Curate; taking good care of myself and those I love; finding my own style and emphasis - realising something of the uniqueness of calling. Hard to accept that others had got my number and that their advice was both wise and timely. Thank you.
This weekend took me full circle and I had much to celebrate and give thanks for. I was caught during a rare, still, quiet moment before one of the morning Offices at the weekend delighting in just how many wise people have encouraged, supported and positively celebrated the journey I have chosen.
An Archdeacon who chaired my selection conference - and from whom a birthday parcel was received this morning - in preparation for my 46th nativity on Saturday. The priest who taught me so much about pastoral care when I was a lay assistant and later a Reader in training. Dead now, I can remember him saying quite simply - listen well and pray hard for those you meet, but most especially for yourself.
A lay woman who supported and nurtured me through training for ministry and beyond.
A priest who became my spiritual director and taught me about silence and how to sit still.
A Bishop who ordained a young rabbit in the headlights of an ordinand and then facilitated her growth, becoming after his retirement, her soul friend for a while.
So many saints for the Kingdom. Rooted, earthed, real people who are not frighten to be who they are in the fullest sense and by doing so gave me permission to do the same.
Just today I was in touch with the Curate of the church I attended as an adult convert to Christianity. Memories of well-constructed sermons and thoughtful teaching, flooded my mind.
So many, many things to remember and give thanks for.
I felt such a strong connectedness this weekend that I am still exploring it in my deepest being.
Just for now:
The expectation
in the silence
is that the reaching out is to be
anticipated.
When all is said
and done,
I have taken the time
to be here.
The very least,
I expected
was that you would turn up.
Be around
for the connecting to,
the acknowledging and working up
of existence.
The longed for silence
has been shattered
by searing, aggitated nothingness.
Mismatching anxiety and insecurity.
suppressing
expectation of presence.
Then into the disturbance,
through the cocophany of interuption
comes an expression unanticipated.
The silence contorted is
dispersed by healing mumberances.
The words of compassionate engagement,
empathic encompassing.
The thoughts fill the ether
and flutter lightly on the air.
Gathered in my intensity
the angels sit, holding hands as protection.
Securing for me space to grapple with the Divine
and wrestle gods to the ground.
And in the absence
there is no answer
just the bruised, tender reminder of engagement.
Yet, in the being and the giving,
hope has been found.
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