Life at its deepest is a spiritual quest

 

Anticipation of the coming autumn season just seems to invite deeper reflection than we might do during the blazing summer months.  I found the following excerpt from the Preface to Autumn: A Spiritual Biography of the Season (Skylight Paths Publishing, 2004, Gary Schmidt and Susan M. Felch, eds.) to be just such a reminder that “life, at its deepest, is a spiritual quest.”

Autumn is that season in between: not summer, though still somewhat like summer, and not winter, though still somewhat like winter.  It is the season that grabs the attention of the moment as we take up our schedules again.  A season of brilliant October leaves and drab November branches, of yellow warm days and cold crystal nights, of blankets around the knees at high school football games, of lovely long shadows of the orange sun at dusk, the smell of dry leaves in the air and the smoke of their burning.  There are pumpkins and the delightful frights of Halloween and Vs of Canada geese honking raucously overhead.  There are the cold rains taking down the last of the leaves, the snow shovels to find just in case, and shorter days with darker mornings as harbingers of winter’s beckoning.

Autumn is a season that teaches us that our lives are made not to run in smooth and easy paths, predictable and even, always known.  Our lives are messy, sometimes scheduled, sometimes random, sometimes prepared for, sometimes taken on the fly as we juggle our own blazing experiences, all of which come at us with their contradictions and with their own joys and sorrows.  And it is the season that reminds us that maybe we are not our own; we neither mark out nor control all the paths we may take.  And like all the seasons, autumn teaches us that beginnings and fulfillment and endings are not negotiable - they are part of the cycle of our experience in this world, the stuff of our daily life.  But our responses to changes, renewals, endings, and the confusing mix of day-to-day moments - this is the stuff of our spiritual life.  Autumn asks us to grapple with this truth that we in North America are often so eager to avoid: that life carries with it a particular uncertainty and that our quest to find the means to live with that knowledge is, at its deepest, a spiritual quest.

-Marc

Duty

Dear friends,

I was surprised by how sad I felt when I learned that Queen Elizabeth died.  After all, I’d never met her; she’s not my queen; and she was 96 years old.  But when I think of Queen Elizabeth, I think of unflagging diligence, and I am awed by the grace with which she carried the very public, ceaseless burden of her role for 70 years.

You may remember the movie The King’s Speech, which came out in 2010.  It’s about Queen Elizabeth’s father, King George VI, who had a terrible speech impediment.  My favorite scene in the movie is this:  King George’s wife carries out a reconnaissance mission on the king’s behalf, visiting a speech therapist who doesn’t know who she is.  Never disclosing her identity, the queen explains that her husband holds an important position that involves giving lots of public addresses, and he needs speech therapy.  The speech therapist says to her, “Maybe he should find a different line of work.”  But of course, that isn’t an option for poor George!

Forced to step up when his brother abdicated the throne, George VI was anointed as king.  English coronations include anointing, which marks the spiritual dimension of the role the monarch takes on.  To serve as England’s king or queen is a sacred duty, a holy responsibility that Queen Elizabeth shouldered in good times and bad.

To serve Jesus Christ is a sacred duty for us as Christians, one we are called to carry out in good times and bad.  We, too, are anointed—by the Holy Spirit, at our baptism.  Like Queen Elizabeth, we have a burden to bear, a sacred duty to perform:  Jesus calls us to take up our cross and follow him.  May we do so with the same kind of grace and diligence that Queen Elizabeth II exemplified throughout her life.

Blessings.  -Anne 

The Prayer Shawl Ministry

 

The first time I encountered Prayer Shawls was in St. Augustine the day after my son’s wedding.  There were about two dozen shawls spread over the rail which were blessed in the middle of the service and then the Rector and two others took a shawl to an elder of the congregation and put it around her shoulders and prayed with her.  I was so moved by this experience – the beauty and variety of the shawls, the corporate nature of the blessing and gifting, the visible way in which a person was wrapped in the love and prayers of the whole parish family.  It was a few years later when I began this ministry in Pennsylvania and twelve years later, I am blessed to be able to continue making shawls for others.   Yes, I am blessed.  Making shawls is a slow process knitting or crocheting one stitch at a time – looping yarn and pulling it through a previous stitch – to make a shawl.  It is done prayerfully – mindful of the recipient, whether known or unknown, each stitch a blessing for that person.  Some people make shawls in silent contemplation.  Others in a small group with conversation about and care for those who will receive them.  I am often with others as I work on a shawl, being prayerful as I begin and end, but talking with others.  It does not matter how we make shawls – what matters is our prayerful intent.  I am blessed.  I have made about 100 shawls in the past 12 years, and I find myself settled, stilled, focused on God and His care for us as I work.  I know people who have deepened their spiritual lives and changed how they listen to people who are sharing their troubles through the process of making shawls.  I treasure the stories of how shawls have made a difference in the lives of recipients.  A woman who received her shawl in the last few months of her life was so affected by the experience that she was buried with it.  An 80+ year old veteran and widower said, “Who would do this for me?”  A woman whose husband was just placed in hospice care used hers as a comfort in his final weeks.   This Sunday we will once again bless shawls.  I invite you to seriously weave your prayers with ours as you gaze upon them during the service.  As you come to Communion, place your hands on them and add your prayers.   These shawls are kept in the parish hall and are available for parishioners to gift to people in need whether illness, life crisis, or transition... the needs are many.  We ask that you pray with the person as you give it, and we love to hear stories about the experience!    There are not many people who are working to make shawls at the moment, and we would always welcome your contribution!  We will teach you to knit or crochet.  You don’t have to come to meetings either, although you are welcome to join us on Tuesdays at 1 PM in the library.   Carol Chamberlain