Last night, I went to St. Stephen’s Compline Service. It is a brief service of music and chanting offered by candlelight as a measure of peace. I needed some peace. All those in my life need some peace. Indeed, don’t we all feel the heaviness of mind, body, and spirit in the world right now? It feels like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. There is an ongoing weight that begs for attention and intention and prayer… ongoing prayer that is as steadfast as breathing.
And so, I came to this sanctuary, to let go. I entered the darkness. I opened my eyes and my heart to the warmth of the gentle candlelight. I let my soul drink in the sacredness of human voice creating heavenly sound. I prayed without words. I prayed by being there, by letting my skin feel the holy closeness of God. I pulled back the shield that guards the heart from too much pain, and I welcomed what God had to let in.
And then there was shouting and cursing. A man filled with anger and pain found his way into this holy place and shattered the peace. He was frightening. Immediately, quiet souls from each corner of the church gathered their loved ones and left. There was a sense of urgency, of fear that shooting could be the next shattering. I didn’t leave, but I moved. I moved away from the center aisle, and positioned myself behind one of the strong pillars. And I watched as parishioners encircled this troubled one and escorted him out the door.
I love this church. I find God here, and each time I come, I leave thankful. This church reminds me that I am created in the image of God. And as I am assured that God is love, I trust that we are each filled with that offering. Sometimes the world causes me to forget this life-affirming fact. And something in the world stumbled up the weary soul who had to shout his wounds in church last night.
It would be easy to summarize his explosion. We could guess he was on drugs. We could call him crazy. We could hope he sits in jail and suffers the consequences of his actions. We could hold him at bay and see him as vastly different from us. We could condemn him and be done with it.
And yet, we pray each week for those who have no one to pray for them. We are dismissed each week by the words: Go out into the world in peace, have courage, hold on to what is good, return no one evil for evil, strengthen the faint-hearted, support the weak, help the suffering, honor everyone, love and serve God, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.
I am so very thankful that no one was hurt in that small circle of light. I am thankful that prayers continued. I could have really done without one more troubled soul in my life, but there I was with my shield down, and God made sure I wrestled with this angel. This man came to our church with a story, his story. He found his way to what is known as a loving and holy place and he poured out the ugly contents of his brokenness. Surely the shards of his pain have come to us to pierce us into deeper understandings and greater love for those who are broken-hearted. Perhaps he came, like Jacob’s angel, to help us realize just how blessed we are.
And so, I came to this sanctuary, to let go. I entered the darkness. I opened my eyes and my heart to the warmth of the gentle candlelight. I let my soul drink in the sacredness of human voice creating heavenly sound. I prayed without words. I prayed by being there, by letting my skin feel the holy closeness of God. I pulled back the shield that guards the heart from too much pain, and I welcomed what God had to let in.
And then there was shouting and cursing. A man filled with anger and pain found his way into this holy place and shattered the peace. He was frightening. Immediately, quiet souls from each corner of the church gathered their loved ones and left. There was a sense of urgency, of fear that shooting could be the next shattering. I didn’t leave, but I moved. I moved away from the center aisle, and positioned myself behind one of the strong pillars. And I watched as parishioners encircled this troubled one and escorted him out the door.
I love this church. I find God here, and each time I come, I leave thankful. This church reminds me that I am created in the image of God. And as I am assured that God is love, I trust that we are each filled with that offering. Sometimes the world causes me to forget this life-affirming fact. And something in the world stumbled up the weary soul who had to shout his wounds in church last night.
It would be easy to summarize his explosion. We could guess he was on drugs. We could call him crazy. We could hope he sits in jail and suffers the consequences of his actions. We could hold him at bay and see him as vastly different from us. We could condemn him and be done with it.
And yet, we pray each week for those who have no one to pray for them. We are dismissed each week by the words: Go out into the world in peace, have courage, hold on to what is good, return no one evil for evil, strengthen the faint-hearted, support the weak, help the suffering, honor everyone, love and serve God, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.
I am so very thankful that no one was hurt in that small circle of light. I am thankful that prayers continued. I could have really done without one more troubled soul in my life, but there I was with my shield down, and God made sure I wrestled with this angel. This man came to our church with a story, his story. He found his way to what is known as a loving and holy place and he poured out the ugly contents of his brokenness. Surely the shards of his pain have come to us to pierce us into deeper understandings and greater love for those who are broken-hearted. Perhaps he came, like Jacob’s angel, to help us realize just how blessed we are.
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