Notes for the Week Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost August 23 2020

Dear friends,

During this COVID-tide, we hear people echoing our own thoughts more and more:  one day seems like another……what day of this week is this?  At the same time, each day brings with it the same old anxieties, confusion and mixed up messages, as we continue to keep on keeping on with all our normal worldly challenges, expectations and challenges, expected or not. 

 We look around and realize that we are not alone.  No matter what part of he world we call home, or our circumstances, our lot is shared.  We wear our masks, we long to see, hold and hug our loved ones, we miss sitting around a table, sharing a meal with old friends. And we miss sitting in our favorite pew at church, temple, mosque or synagogue, simply being together as one.

 All this thinking that we share about our current existence and the constant awareness we carry as part of our subconscious recognition of its reality, leads us to find outlets for relief.  Our gardens have never looked so beautiful or so bountiful.  Various piles of this and that which have accumulated over the years are being sorted out (or being re-created!)  Closets are being cleaned.  Rooms are being painted.  Our masks are becoming more elaborate and creative, and if we’re still stuck with wearing them at Halloween, one can only imagine how much!

 So, we do not lose heart.  We are learning to live into a new way of being, beginning with each day as it unfolds anew.  A new day brings with it new possibility and a fresh start with fresh perspective, if we choose to receive it that way.  

One poem that I love, speaks to the coming day, and all that is held within it.  John O’Donohue, an Irish poet with a Celtic heart, wrote a poem that I shared with the Vestry earlier this week, and I have received a request to share it here.  It is the kind of poem that one reads slowly, to settle one’s mind before sleep at the end of the day.  If ever I feel myself becoming a little too caught up in my own anxieties, frustrations, or concerns, I turn to this poem, and find spiritual renewal through the poet’s words.

I can sense the Spirit softly offering hope, curiosity and thankfulness with which to greet the coming dawn.   I pray it may provide the same uplifting, peace-filled contentment for you, as you journey through the days ahead.

We journey together,

Mother Esme+

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word. (1982 Hymnal #8)