Bread, Wine, Salt

I love Liturgy. It’s one of the reasons I am an Episcopalian. But there’s no doubt that because we say the same words week after week, year after year, we sometimes say them without giving much thought to what they really mean. In the Apostles creed, the one that we use every time there is a baptism, we say I believe in the Holy Spirit,     the holy catholic Church,     the communion of saints,     the forgiveness of sins     the resurrection of the body,     and the life everlasting. My guess is that most of you are like me, and don’t give a lot of thought to the resurrection of the body most of the time. And when we do think about it, we don’t think of resurrection in our current bodies. We imagine better bodies, taller, thinner, stronger bodies, bodies that don’t ache when it rains or wheeze when the flowers bloom, bodies that don’t grow malignancies, bodies without depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder. One of the thi...

"Breathe in and out." That's what I'd tell them, the parents who woke this morning, if they slept at all, still living the nightmare from yesterday, if I had occasion to speak with them, if they asked me how they should go on. But they are many states away, and I don't know them. I'm fairly sure they don't want my opinion. But you are here, which means you probably know me, and might care about my opinion.  I've written about grief a good deal. I don't have any new insights since my last bout of sermonizing. So here is a run down of what I've written already: I don't know what to say , reprint, originally from December 2009 How the story of Job teaches us what to do when our friends are hurting. On the Phone , August 2010 What to say to people who are grieving. What it means to Pray , August 2010 If prayer doesn't come easily, or if you think you can't pray, this is a simple way to start. When the Lid is Taken Off...

This is from my personal archives, and was published in my parish newsletter in November, 2009 Many years ago I went to the funeral of a young man. He was my boyfriend's friend, and I didn't know anyone there, certainly not the young man's family. As I walked through the receiving line, the man's mother pulled me into a tight hug. I said the only thing I could think of: “I'm so sorry for your loss.” It felt inadequate. Surely there was something else I should have said. There are plenty of guides for people who are grieving. There are fewer resources for the friends and acquaintances. Well-meaning and loving people are often at a loss for what to say and what to do. Afraid of doing something wrong, they don't do anything at all. The result is that the bereaved feel abandoned, which adds more pain and sometimes anger to an already bad situation. So what should we do when we are called to support others? Most people are familiar with the story of Job, a righ...

Three times I have been the voice on the other end of the line with nothing to say.  Twice it was on purpose. The first time I was just in the church office working on the utterly un-Spiritual task of  data entry.  The phone rang.  I was the only person there.  The woman on the other end needed a priest.  We had no priest.  Our priest had left and our Interim hadn't started yet and I was the financial secretary.  It was Friday afternoon.  I didn't know who was on call.  I would find out.  Someone would call her by Monday.  Would that be okay? "I guess."  Said the woman on the phone.  She was breaking. "Are you okay right now?"  And the answer poured out.  Her twins were born catastrophically early and were hooked up to every machine imaginable and she just didn't know how it was that life kept moving. "How do you go on?" And so I told her about my lost boy, and about breathing.  "You just get ...