Friday, July 13, 2007

spanning the gap: a foot in each of my life's continents...and hanging on...


Keeping one's balance is basic to the art of dancing...to place weight on the appropriate foot when something comes whirling your way...to be grounded in your center, lest one do the splits.

I've recently pictured myself spanning two continents, one foot on each. It's obviously not a solid feeling - rather a 'stretch' that calls for muscle tone to control, navigate. Much, I think, the way CS Lewis' protagonists in Perelandra, the second book in his space trilogy, might have felt at nightfall: living on a pristine planet made of floating islands; forbidden to succumb to their strongest desire for security and continuity; required to fall asleep on separate islands, not knowing how far apart they'll be when the currents deliver them to separate destinations by morning. Wishing they could span the gap and hang on.

Clinging. Floating. Finding balance. I'm holding two worlds together with tightly curled toes. The Present. The Future.

One of the blessings of having given 'two months notice' is that we have had that amount of time to spend with our precious congregants at St. John's - time to travel the road to separation together, to feel our way through this unexpected territory with it gradually becoming more familiar to all, though no less bittersweet. With finality still far off...the last hug, the last tear, the last sermon, the final hymn. They're not now.

Yet...now they almost are. This past weekend: A lovely, grand banquet of an evening on Friday. The sweetness of the cool Delta breeze wafting over a patio prelude to a Mardi Gras theme (one of the popular traditions we brought with us from Louisiana!); a bountiful dinner, with church family and friends; a tear-wrenching retrospective DVD presentation; official gifts, wonderful words, the bread of love broken in myriad ways.. Even a clever hymn parody from the choir!

A festive brunch after church on Sunday generously gave more opportunities for enjoyment, gratitude and love for what has been built in our hearts for 13 years. An unfathomable gift given: an amazing memory book of the worship, the vaulted space and the extraordinary people we have shared, walked in, loved. The book defies description.

Interiorly, the events of the past weekend brought an awareness, a seismic rumbling, an expectation of the coming tectonic shift. It's not about consciously measuring how I'm balancing the leaving & the going - two sides of the same coin. It's not even about being fully present here or imagining life there. Within my toe-curling, hanging-on-for-dear-life, balancing of two continental life islands, I suddenly felt the peace of being firmly planted on both. The floating islands yield their individual centers of balance and rest under my weary feet.

Seismic shifts often separate, sending flailing land masses into a new orbit. But in this case, the movement is toward center. In the soul's eye, the two islands are slowly moving toward each other. And, soon...very soon, it will not be a leap, but a mere though grace-filled step off of the Present life into the Future life. Those on the shores -- so close they could wave -- fill out the scene of the expansive Body of Christ, one side with open hands and a silk-faced memory book offered, looking east, and the other with open hands and perhaps a good deal of wonderings and expectations, looking west and ready to receive.

No, Sunday's service was not the final one -- though it did include the final sermon reference to The Cubs! The last hymn, Come, Labor On, offered opportunity for remembering the very beginning of Fr. C's journey in his ordination some eighteen years ago, as well as rejoicing in past ministries, clasping the unbelievably blessed years in Stockton AND envisioning the arrival on the shores of Warsaw to take up a new Labor of Love.

Come, Labor On. But it's not the final hymn.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

the gift of ministry

I call you, as a little gray bird,
to move about the earth on spidery legs,
with a voice as soft as the sound of the dew,
quite defenseless,
weighing less than a hiccough.

But all around you are troops
of drooling, ravening wolves,
ready to devour anything at all,
anyone at all,
especially tiny, helpless birds.
The speeding feet of enemy wolves
thunder in the dirt;
their voices howl,
they are wild with hunger.
They are mad, insane.
They hate your song.
They cannot fly.

And you, My little bird,
are called to loose the bonds of wickedness
these wolves promote as normal living.
I call to you, "Undo the chains!
Set the oppressed free."
The wolves have chewed, devoured, held captive,
made homeless, stripped and starved My people.
And My people have allowed it.
They sigh, "That's life."
But then they raise their voices like trumpets,
and they screech for help in the night.
Whom shall I send, My little gray dove?
I send you.

You go into all the world and tell them
of the higher places to soar;
sing them My new song;
bring the light to the darkness.
Because you ride on the heights,
your wings have become like those of an eagle,
yet you will not boast of the strength
of chariots or horses.

You can soar above the clouds
as a flame of fire.
Never lose heart!
I give you the words,
the strength, the anointing;
the Gift.

Soar with Me.

Author unknown