Trust and Listen | by Kim Long, DRE, St. Mary of the Pines Church
I
can not deny that the last two Lents have been difficult for a variety of reasons. I am buoyed today and I didn’t expect that this feeling of renewal would rest in me again. The past two years I have been like a chicken—hunting and pecking at the liturgical year searching for clues, reminders, reassurances that Julian of Norwich’s statement that “all will be well” will hold true for me also. Two weeks ago, right before Holy Week, I had emergency surgery, not life threatening, but serious enough to be sent from my doctor’s office straight to the hospital. No time to pack a bag, change my schedule, no time for much of anything except prayer, phone calls and some text messages. But now Easter has arrived and we have gathered with various groups to celebrate that love is stronger than death. Here is the scene: The sun is shining on my paper, the green leaves of spring providing just enough shade and comfort. I am not in my Easter dress, but rather cut off shorts and a t-shirt. My adult children and assorted family members have scared up an impromptu lacrosse game. Our menu today was no Martha Stewart inspired creation held tightly in the fist of my cooking repertoire. Instead my kids took over, planned a cookout, shopped for the groceries and cooked most of the food. I am sitting on the deck outside feeling, among other things, the humility surgery or illness brings when we are reminded that we are not physically invincible. I am also feeling joy, contentment and a little nostalgia. I wondered, before becoming ill two weeks ago, what I learned this year during Lent? It felt like I had skipped school. Today I
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understand the lesson: trust and letting go. It began with the food planning and the realization that this Easter was going to be spent at home recovering instead of in a lily-filled church. I had to let go of the need to be in control of the “picture perfect outcome” of Easters past; where it will end remains to be seen. The communion of saints played into the lesson also. My parents, who have been dead for several years, were there on the deck through the mediums of genetics and music. The boys made a big effort to bring music to our cookout, and not just any music, but the music I grew up with, the music of my parents, Motown – a strange manifestation of the fact that life goes on and on. Music is special to me. I remember my parents slow dancing with one another in the living room after they thought we were asleep. Keeping watch from our post next to the refrigerator, my siblings and I thought at that moment they looked magical, holy, complete and peaceful.
Motown is playing now and I hear the lyric, “it’s in his kiss, that’s how you know.” And I think of Judas and Jesus and all that passed between two friends in that moment of knowledge, betrayal and forgiveness. Now the Isley Brothers are belting it out, singing about “this old heart of mine” and I see the sacred heart of Jesus and am once again reassured that there is room in his heart for all. Easter as a liturgical season lasts for 50 days, but I don’t often think of each Sunday as a little Easter in those terms. I get a little bogged down in the counting of time. This year I pray that as our cantor reminds us that we are in a certain season, I will recall this warm day full of the promise that letting go and letting God brought me and that I will carry that promise forward each day. Julian of Norwich was spot on, all things ARE well even if they were not particularly conventional this year. Here endeth the lesson. Bless us O Lord and these your gifts which we are learning to accept.