8/9/18
Tuesday evening I was driving down Route 34 to New Haven to see some friends of mine who I used to live with back when I was in Episcopal Service Corps. I was excited, and I had left later than I intended, so the drive was stressful. It seemed like every slow down put my blood pressure up, every other car was someone to watch and be wary of. I arrived at my friends' door frazzled and anxious, a little too talkative, and fully relieved to be out of the car.
Of course, spending time with friends has a certain magic to it. After a long evening of catching up and eating delicious food, I felt restored. Driving home, the difference in how I felt was wildly apparent. Now, I was grateful for the time spent alone in the car. I was breathing deeper. I rolled the windows down and listened to the night sounds around me. Any slow downs that happened on the way were easily forgotten, just a natural part of driving. And you know what? I timed it; both drives were almost exactly the same length of time. All that changed was that I was no longer rushing.
The past decade or so has been one big liminal place for me, as I've transitioned from high school into college into internships and service corps into seminary and now into ministry. Each time I faced a transition, I have wanted nothing more than to quickly get to the other side. Only now am I learning that these transitions will take the time they take. The Spirit will move me and open opportunities in her own good time; nothing I have done has ever sped it up. And each time I have had to wait, the end result was well worth the waiting (such as having the opportunity to serve you, Trinity Church!).
Our parish is on a journey, and has been traveling that journey for a while. Trinity Church is feeling out who we are and who need to be in this neighborhood. I have no doubt that God is at work in our midst, shaping us and guiding us on the journey, partnering with us as we travel. But how do we respond? Do we clench our fists on the wheel, glancing at the clock every minute, frustrated with every slow down and every lane change? Do we have a goal - even a beautiful goal - so firmly set in our minds that the journey there becomes intolerable? Or do we pause, take a deep breath, and remember that this isn't something that we can force? I pray that as we travel as a parish, we can be fully present in the messy, strange liminal places, we can roll down our windows and take it all in, because there is so much grace and beauty in those moments of journeying together.
Blessings, Carrie
Tuesday evening I was driving down Route 34 to New Haven to see some friends of mine who I used to live with back when I was in Episcopal Service Corps. I was excited, and I had left later than I intended, so the drive was stressful. It seemed like every slow down put my blood pressure up, every other car was someone to watch and be wary of. I arrived at my friends' door frazzled and anxious, a little too talkative, and fully relieved to be out of the car.
Of course, spending time with friends has a certain magic to it. After a long evening of catching up and eating delicious food, I felt restored. Driving home, the difference in how I felt was wildly apparent. Now, I was grateful for the time spent alone in the car. I was breathing deeper. I rolled the windows down and listened to the night sounds around me. Any slow downs that happened on the way were easily forgotten, just a natural part of driving. And you know what? I timed it; both drives were almost exactly the same length of time. All that changed was that I was no longer rushing.
The past decade or so has been one big liminal place for me, as I've transitioned from high school into college into internships and service corps into seminary and now into ministry. Each time I faced a transition, I have wanted nothing more than to quickly get to the other side. Only now am I learning that these transitions will take the time they take. The Spirit will move me and open opportunities in her own good time; nothing I have done has ever sped it up. And each time I have had to wait, the end result was well worth the waiting (such as having the opportunity to serve you, Trinity Church!).
Our parish is on a journey, and has been traveling that journey for a while. Trinity Church is feeling out who we are and who need to be in this neighborhood. I have no doubt that God is at work in our midst, shaping us and guiding us on the journey, partnering with us as we travel. But how do we respond? Do we clench our fists on the wheel, glancing at the clock every minute, frustrated with every slow down and every lane change? Do we have a goal - even a beautiful goal - so firmly set in our minds that the journey there becomes intolerable? Or do we pause, take a deep breath, and remember that this isn't something that we can force? I pray that as we travel as a parish, we can be fully present in the messy, strange liminal places, we can roll down our windows and take it all in, because there is so much grace and beauty in those moments of journeying together.
Blessings, Carrie
8/2/18
A Pilgrim's Journey is Never Over
As many of you know, I have recently returned from a month of travel. First was a week of journeying through South Dakota with eight of our young people and two other adult chaperones (my thanks again to Darryl and Sue!), followed by two weeks of personal travel to Idaho and California. At the end of it all, although I was grateful to be back home with all the comforts that entails, I was also profoundly grateful for the time to get away.
Some of our experiences on the Trinity youth pilgrimage involved living and cooking together on a prairie in the sacred Black Hills called the "Pe'Sla" which is the heart of the Black Hills, ducking our heads and journeying deep into the caverns at Wind Cave National Park which is believed by the Lakota to be the birthplace of all humankind, and stopping for midday prayer to pay our respects at the cemetery at Wounded Knee where hundreds of innocent indigenous people were buried following a massacre by the U.S. government.
Our tour guide at Wind Cave, Ranger Alex, spoke about life as an adventure and the mindset required for such a journey. She encouraged us to view things with an open mind, a sense of curiosity, and to treat every place we visit as though it were the first and last time we would ever be there. She was, in short, talking about seeing our lives as a pilgrimage. So while only one of my journeys was officially labelled a "pilgrimage", I see all of them as a pilgrimage of sorts. While I tend to think of pilgrimage as being to specific holy or Christian sites, such as the Holy Land, or the great cathedrals of England, every trip and indeed every moment of our lives can be a pilgrimage if we see them as such.
N.T. Wright's book The Way of the Lord: Christian Pilgrimage Today talks about pilgrimage, physically enacted, “as a metaphor, even a sacrament, for and of the pilgrim’s progress through the present life to the life that is to come” (11). As Christians, we are trained to walk a different road, see the world through different eyes, and practice journeying in this life so that when we undergo the ultimate pilgrimage of death and union with God, we are ready. We mustn't get too comfortable, we mustn't be complacent. And journeying, whether physically or spiritually, can become a time of growth in discipleship and move us to profoundly deep prayer.
So what do clambering into caves in South Dakota, mountain biking in Idaho, and swimming off the coast of California have to do with each other? Each of these experiences was an invitation, a threshold to step over, into deeper communion with God. After all, our God is one who spent time on the road, who walks with us on our earthly journeys be they physical, spiritual, or mental. Each experience can open your eyes to see the hand of the creator in the world, the beauty that exists in every human soul, and the profound impact we have on each other and this world, positive or negative. I pray that as each of us travels in whatever way, we may have the eyes of an adventurer and the heart a pilgrim.
Blessings, Carrie