Super moon

Posted on July 12, 2014 by harasprice

I am writing outside tonight, enjoying the faint breeze on a warm, southern summer night. I have been awaiting tonight’s supermoon to make an appearance just over the tree line, beckoning me as always.

As I sit and wait, I begin thinking back to last year’s first supermoon. I spent that night serendipitously in the tower of a retreat house, spread out on the floor of the meditation room which had a full-circle window view of the mountains surrounding. The moon was my companion from one horizon to the other as I spent a night lost somewhere between deep meditation and dream-filled sleep. If, in all of my life, I could have planned a place to be for a spiritual experience it would be in that particular set of circumstances. But, I had planned none of it. It just presented to me as a gift of Divine Presence at a time when I was unfolding into a new calling in my life. I went back just now and read the blog entry that I wrote just after that experience. I could close my eyes and viscerally return to that time, which admittedly still does feel like half dream and half reality. An intense contemplative experience can be that way, as I have come to learn more fully in the year since. That will be with me for a lifetime.

Tonight’s supermoon now seems to rise in the sky with a delightfully cool breeze wafting through the warm air. I close my eyes and breathe it in, as I sit in the best possible place to view the moon…which right now happens to be on the wooden boards of my back patio. I am situated between one large planter overflowing with pink and orange lantana in the center of trailing vinca and a climbing mandevilla that shows off its prolific pink blossoms as it reaches out to join a lattice of jasmine; the flowers are still vibrant even here in the moonlight. The luminous moon moves through the branches of a crepe myrtle as it rises into the night sky. It truly is glorious here in the night air, with my own little patch of nature-in-the-city to keep me company.

My mind wanders as I contemplate the moon. Light in the darkness…I know that is what draws me in. The moon is richly symbolic in so many ways, but that is the message that imprints time and again on my spirit. I write so often here about life and loss; hope in the midst of despair; grace and growth emerging from our brokenness. The moon is a symbol to me of these truths and juxtapositions that I hold in my soul. They are divine gifts, and I feel both grateful and responsible for their movement through me as I journey through this life. The full moon always reminds me of this, pulling me fully into the depths of that calling.

My mind travels again, and I am young. I am spending a summer night “camping out” at the farm where my Gramma and Aunt Joyce live. My parents have bought a tiny camper and we will set off for our first actual camping soon. But, that summer night, we were parked in Gramma’s big back yard just practicing. I am just a few weeks into my sixth year. I walk along the yard, next to the barn. I notice that the moonflowers in my Aunt’s garden have just started to open as twilight falls and the moon rises over the open fields and rolling hills of upstate New York. Each moon flower untwists, magically, as night falls. I am pulled in, even then, to the nature and spirit that surrounds me. I caught a glimpse of that, even in my childhood wonder.

The moon rises higher, and I can move to a civilized patio chair now and sit back in contemplation, open to what speaks to my soul tonight. The night is for stillness…let us be still in the presence of God. Words from Night Prayer in A New Zealand Prayerbook fill my thoughts. I smile as I realize how appropriate it is that I recently began a study of Compline, which has been my nightly closing prayer for the past year. Rich with images of darkness, light, and Divine Presence…I am reminded that this, too, is an expression of who I am in the spiritual, religious, and vocational threads of my life that continually weave together.

Beckoning moon, always reminding me of who I am at my core. I bask tonight in the light of a supermoon, and listen for the still, small voice carried on the breeze that speaks so fluently and directly to my soul.

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Lord, it is night.
The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God.
It is night after a long day. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be.
The night is dark. Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you.
The night is quiet. Let the quietness of your peace enfold us, all dear to us, and all who have no peace.
The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen.
-from Night Prayer, A New Zealand Prayerbook

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Moon Window

Posted on July 11, 2014 by harasprice

“At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door
and open the love-window.
The moon won’t use the door,
only the window.”
― Rumi

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Life and Loss

Posted on July 10, 2014 by harasprice

My heart has been heavy this week. A friend and colleague of mine suffered a tragedy many of us would find unimaginable, the sudden death of her 20 year old son during a routine, fun-filled Fourth of July weekend at the lake when he fell from a rope swing onto some rocks. The story has been in the news, but my friend has been in my heart and in my thoughts. Constantly.

I have spent my career walking beside grief. I carry stories with me that people have shared in the quiet confines of a counseling office. I carry the range of emotions that flow during loss, from those who are in stunned shock to those who are completely saturated with the intensity of emotions from cumulative losses. I have learned more from these encounters than I have imparted wisdom, of that I am sure. There are no magic words, or simple solutions, or magic tricks. Grief is painful, hard work.

What I do know about loss…and life…is that we don’t have to go through it alone. We don’t have to pretend that we have “risen above” or that somehow we are stronger for not feeling or pretending not to feel. We are born into hands that guide us, and arms that carry us. We learn from the community that raises us, the people who teach us, the friends who support us, and the wise ones who mentor us. We keep learning, and keep leaning, and keep struggling for independence. But, at the end of the day what we need in both life and in loss is each other.

At today’s standing room only service, I stood in the back. I was surrounded by the twenty-something friends and classmates of my friend’s son. An usher asked at one point if some of us wanted to sit in some seats along the side. The younger classmates turned to me (which reminded me of my own age) but I declined. I wanted to be with them, these young and carefree spirits many of whom were for the first time realizing that their generation is not immune to loss. I felt their tears, and gave a few hugs and touched their hands at the passing of the peace. Mostly, I prayed. I prayed for my friend, of course. I prayed for those (like myself) for whom this death resurfaces our own losses and fears. I prayed for those around me for whom life and loss were touching in a way that they had not experienced before. I prayed for the life and loss of this beautiful young adult to have lasting meaning to those of us gathered to be together in person or in thought, saying goodbye.

I know those prayers were heard. Divine Presence is with us in life, and Divine Presence is with us in loss.

Now, I sit at home in my favorite space. I write as I sit with my screen door open to my back yard on a drizzling, rainy summer afternoon. A breeze wafts across my cheek, and I am aware of Spirit. I can hear the coo of my mourning doves. My daughter interrupts my writing to show me a non-sensical YouTube video. Today, I don’t mind at all. I don’t even roll my eyes like I sometimes do. I pause and turn my attention to her. I watch her satirical fake video, “How to Confuse an Idiot” which when I try to push play…predictably…does not. She laughs, and I laugh. I feel Spirit here, too, in the everyday moments of life and parenting that take on renewed meaning. Life is re-prioritized when we confront loss. It reminds us of the importance of fleeting moments of everyday relationship. It compels us to connect and embrace those we love, right here and right now. I realize, as she skips off to pop herself some popcorn, that I have been changed by this loss. I am so grateful for this moment, this daily ordinary small point of light that brightens my life.

Yes, I know my prayers were heard.

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Being With

Posted on July 7, 2014 by harasprice

I started musing on the theme of “being with” on small points of light a few days ago, as I reflected on my recent time at the Wild Goose Festival. My thoughts were jarred listening to Sara Miles give a talk, as I sat with my tween daughter. I was unable to fix the worries she had raised to me earlier that day, nor to resolve the unsettledness in my own spirit having heard and taken in what she had shared with me. All I could do was be with her, and she with me, as we navigated the changes and chances of life together.

Although I don’t have the text of her talk, you can get the general idea of the content by reading this post from Sara Miles. What struck me was how her portrayal of “with” as a theological construct mirrors the talks I give in my own academic circles about community based participatory research (CBPR) as an ideological and methodological construct. I fully embrace CBPR in my academic scholarship. I have invested my own energy in conducting research, writing, and teaching research methods which facilitate partnerships with community. I do not conduct research “on” or “for” or “to.” I research with. It is hard work, it takes a long time…and it changes everyone, including me. Just like ministry. Just like God. As I sat, listening, I could feel my vocational paths being with each other, too.

This theme of “being with” has permeated my soul and remains with me. As I contemplate this theme, two simple moments of “being with” stand out as illustrations, offering small points of light for the journey:

Being With: Giving to Receive

My daughter was three months old the first time I packed her up into my car and drove the 2 1/2 hours south from our comfortable house in a mid-west city into the rural community where I housed the Women’s Wellness Initiative. My vision, when this project began, was to offer a resource of mental health support to women residing in one of the poorest and resource scarce regions of the United States. I quickly learned the year prior that I wasn’t going to accomplish a damn thing trying to do something “for” these women. As a doctoral student, I was learning a lesson that was far more valuable: how to engage with individuals and community to co-create change. So, I scrapped my prior research, abandoned all hope of this project leading to a dissertation (I found other data and other questions for that) and began the process of setting off in a new direction to learn how to research with.

Arriving at the community center, I situated my daughter in a cloth sling around my business attire and filtered in to this room of community leaders I had not met in person before. They knew each other, and they knew people who knew people who knew me. They were willing to give this a shot: to help co-create a program supporting new mothers. And here I was…a new mother, just like them. Maybe that should have occurred to me, but it didn’t. I just didn’t have a sitter for the length of this day, and I was trying to keep breast feeding, and I wasn’t ready to let my baby out of my sight. Again, as I should have realized, just like every person there. What I met when I walked in was a room full of women who immediately wanted to meet the bundle of baby I carried…and then maybe, perhaps, me. Within five minutes someone whom I didn’t even know wanted to hold her, and subsequently took her off into the crowd to meet all the other expectant and new moms. I felt maternal detachment ripping through me like a knife. And yet, I chose trust.

Then, something happened. Someone else showed me their precious little baby, and another woman began to ask questions about infant care. Someone else shared her stories of loss, and how much faith it took for her to try to get pregnant again. Toddlers played with the sling I was wearing and we compared notes on how we managed sleepless nights. I hadn’t even passed out an agenda, or explained who I was. We were simply being with…these other new moms and I…being with our common challenges and joys and fears. That first day, where my traditional research mentoring would suggest we accomplished nothing, was the day I accomplished everything. I learned the value of being with.

Being With: Receiving to Give

A few weeks ago, at Wild Goose, I had gone from a mountaintop of joy to feeling defeated and depleted. I started my morning sitting in the back of the crowd at the main stage, keeping myself in the shade and at what I thought was a safe distance from the evangelical preacher on the agenda. Intellectually, I know that spirituality and faith are expressed in many forms. But, spirtually, I am still recovering from a painful past. I found myself trying to hide the tears that were welling up. My throat had started to close off from pent up emotion as I tried to be present…but ended up suffering…through the preacher’s passionate sermon and alter call. I was right with his content…a call to justice, the use of power to overcome oppression. But, the re-experience of this charismatic delivery was oppressing me, raising old baggage and internal messages from the spiritual pain inflicted on me in my own childhood. I was sitting alone, trying to focus cognitively on the knowledge that others were moved, inspired, and fulfilled by the message and the messenger. But, that was not the case for me. I realized that even among a group of people that I had earlier described as “my tribe” I was not feeling at home. Far, far from it. The cracks of my brokenness were palpable as the inner child in me recoiled unconsciously. I finally walked away, seizing the opportunity to leave and collect myself at the peaceful flow of a river, the rising of morning fog that gave me time to be still, to breathe, to feel unconditional belovedness at the core of my soul again. I had come back to the group just in time for closing Eucharist, but I knew I was fragile, at best.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, my eyes and throat still burning, and began to say the familiar and comforting words opening Holy Eucharist. I sang a response and heard a lovely voice beside me. I turned to smile at an older woman, worshipping alone. She held out her hand, and I happily joined my hand with hers as my partner in worship. We joined with each other in voice, in prayer, in communion. Others joined with us, too. The palpable healing of that “worship with” was a divine gift, a simple but powerful healing moment that reflected God with us, God with me: patient, persistent, unconditional. All from the simple gift of an outstretched hand, an invitation to worship with, received with an open heart into which light could pour freely through the cracks of my brokenness. I was reminded how valuable the gifts of healing are, and in what simple forms this gift presents itself when our hearts are open, when we are willing to receive the gift of being with.

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Road Trip

Posted on July 5, 2014 by harasprice

My family and I have been on the road this holiday weekend, and I am gearing up for our 13 hour drive back home tomorrow. The road trip has become a way of life for us, after relocating several states away from both sides of our extended families. This time, we have been on the midwest circuit of family and friends, catching up on the ins and outs of daily life and taking in the growth spurts of our children. The time has been relaxed; road trips to places you have lived previously are not for tourism or sightseeing. They are best experienced, in my opinion, as times to arrive and be present and reconnect. I am truly grateful we have been able to do exactly that.

But tonight, I am thinking about the road trip itself.

My first road trips were our family’s summer vacations in a small, pull-along camper. I don’t know how we fit…there was barely enough room for three of us to stand up at once. My father always drove, and my mother always painstakingly navigated those pre-GPS days where the AAA travel guide was of epic importance. I was young, and we would flop a mattress onto the floor of the van and I would ride there with my dolls and animals (I am never quite sure how we survived the 1970’s with our safety violations!). But, I couldn’t sleep for the sheer joy of catching the signs marking states through which we would travel, or seeing mountains or a new landscape for the first time. Road trips still hold that fascination for me, and the expanse of road and sky and scenery keep me both focused, and simultaneously adrift in my thoughts.

On our family road trips now, my spouse and I tend to switch off driving. We have a few rules and rituals that have emerged. First, there are the ritual Panera breakfast stopping points in each direction. Then, there are the characteristic landmarks along the way at which we all take note, and check our progress. Most importantly, we have an unwritten rule that being behind the wheel earns control of the music selection in the car; passengers not appreciating the driver’s selection are free to wear earplugs or headphones and tune in to their own devices. I have a steady line up of show tunes and female singer-songwriters awaiting my shift. I drive, and I listen. This year, I also realized that road trips are yet another time when I seem particularly attuned to Divine Presence.

Road trips, especially those along familiar stretches of highway where I have lived, are like a labyrinth weaving a pilgrimage throughout my life. I have travelled these roads in multiple directions, journeying to places in anticipation and in reflection. At times, I double back along familiar sections, and on others I realize a moment of truth and newness, or I take in a sight that has gone previously unnoticed. Small points of light appear in fragments of memory, or glimpses of inspiration. Driving here, I had flashes of past experience that took on a new meaning, and I even had a glimpse of a new twist on something familiar that I allowed to play out in my mind as a way to blend my vocational paths in the near future. Although road weariness does inevitably begin to take a toll after a while, a road trip that goes well never seems quite as long to me as the hours that pass on the clock. I am grateful when that is the experience (and I try to be patient and hopeful when it isn’t.)

So, early tomorrow morning I will head back East with some coffee and music and family vacation memories. My mind will wander (especially in the passenger’s seat) and when I am driving, I will sing to my Rent soundtrack or perhaps some Dar Williams and make my daughter groan in the back seat as she turns up her iPod playlist. Maybe I will gain some new inspiration, or relive an old memory. Or two, or three. What I do know for certain is that our Sunday drive back toward home will have small points of light abounding, with each curve along prairie roads and mountain passageways marking our spiraling passage through this asphalt labyrinth that is part of our journey of life.

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Faith Mark

Posted on July 2, 2014 by harasprice

… a belated Wild Goose adventure…

My tween daughter was a bit bedraggled at Wild Goose, partly due to the rain and partly due to not quite fitting in with either the “kids” or the “youth.” We had some memorable moments, I must admit. Some shall remain in the domain of mother-daughter conversation, but others were more observable. One of my personal favorite images I retain is of the two of us perching on a pair or rocks, eating kettle corn for lunch while I listened to an amazing talk by Sara Miles on the centrality of being “with.” While I was applying that concept to my vocational ministry at the time I was listening, it has since occurred to me that our mother/daughter dyad was living out the spirit of those words, each of us sharing common ground doing the thing we most wanted (listening/snacking) and choosing to do it together. Being “with” meant meeting each other exactly where we were each at…what a gift.

I was also “with” my own faith community, “with” the random yet connected strangers with whom I shared Compline and Eucharist, “with” spiritual directors and “with” others who prayed for me and for whom I prayed. I was “with” my own history, too…the beautiful and the challenging moments of a faith journey that has meandered and a path that continues to emerge. Questions, not certainty, mark my faith journey. Questions were with us, abounding, embracing, challenging. When all the barriers of daily life come down, our spirits connect without lines of division and we can accept the grace of simply being present. Embracing that beautiful diversity of my companion goose chasers was also the spirit of being “with.”

One of the other fine moments of the weekend was seeing my daughter run down to another talk I was attending to find me, pulling me (literally) into the “Faith Marks” art exhibit to have my tattoo photographed. Considering that most of the things I do (or am) are “not cool” in her eyes these days, I apparently score for having a tattoo. I have written about my Triquetra knot recently here, but it was admittedly fun to be photographed in the midst of my weekend of Wild Goose chasing and to be able to share the story of my faith mark on their web gallery as well. Here is a link (and check out all the other great ink on their site, too!)

http://www.ourfaithmarks.com/images_wg7.html

Now, a few days out from the weekend and after a great deal of processing and thought, I realize that Wild Goose was itself a faith mark for me. It has been so challenging to learn to live my faith “out loud” and to build accessibility, authenticity, and comfort with the winding path of my faith journey. Claiming who we are requires us to revisit the path we have travelled. The weekend had many challenges and many rewards, some of which are only now becoming apparent as I reflect. But, like my tattooed faith mark, they are part of me. My faith mark symbolizes my journey, and its winding and interwoven threads of an infinite divine presence that has been with me all along the journey, throughout this meandering daily path we call life.

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Earth Speaks

Posted on June 30, 2014 by harasprice

I was able to engage in a bit of creative writing at Wild Goose. This was a 10 minute free-write using the biblical creation narrative, from the perspective of any person or thing connected with it. I chose “earth.” The only prompt was to begin, “I am …… ”

I am the earth. Roots have pierced my surface, reaching down for nourishment and water. Feet, the small and the large have been prancing on me, dancing and stomping, digging and scratching, and sometimes burrowing. I am a home to the resting products of creation who use me for slumber. I am the ground on which the snake slithers and over which the waters move. The great immensity that spun me into being still moves on my surfaces and I grow deeper, and more complex. I am that which cannot be tamed.

The snake slithered against me last night, as spirit moved in the soft stillness, and I could feel my waters rise with the pull of the moon. Divine harmony; I know it well in this place that others are calling paradise. But I have been around long enough to know the great void, the expanse of nothing. Now, the complexity of growth winds it’s narrative into my children, the trees. Even their fruits speak out. The snake plots against the great immensity, and finds a willing companion just as much in need and desire for love and attention.

But earth remains….under their feet, and offering up the soil to till their labors. This is the ground on which their longing will populate the surface. The heavens and the earth will bear witness to this saga unfolding, when the taste of fruit that is born from my soil and ripened with sun will give them a hint of the divine order…and divine chaos…which will become this thing that they call life.

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Our Tribe

Posted on June 30, 2014 by harasprice

As one might suspect…no WiFi at Wild Goose. So, tonight I play “catch up” with my written reflections, now that I have returned to civilization.

Friday, June 27

Our mini-van of carpooling children and adults pulled into Wild Goose with a shout of joy. The ride was smooth, Biscuitville offered a delightful satisfying breakfast, and conversation was inspired. But, the first glimpse of the opening day small point of light came for me when someone pointed out, “this is our tribe.”

Yes, yes it is.

My daughter and I went strolling, taking note of the quotes and signs by campsites. She was dressed in tween hipster gear, fedora and multiple necklaces with moons, peace signs, ruins, a cross and a peace dove. I never leave the house myself without putting a labyrinth, a piece of Celtic knot work, or a cross around my own neckline. So, I understand. We said hellos, stopped to read tent signs, took in all the happy enthusiasm of set up.

I felt inspired to write an opening poem this first night at the goose:

My tribe was arriving
In mini-vans and cars with crammed full hatches
Early birds all set up, hanging their welcome signs
And some of us piling in, finding our space of ground.

My daughter and I walked, saying hellos
Her hipster tween-ness of black skirts and Converse
With jangling necklaces of runes, doves, and moons
And my own labyrinth around my neck, marking my every step.

“This is my tribe”

Yes, without a doubt we are all connected
My tribe of questions, doubters, seekers and geese.
Those of whom who liberate this weekend,
The spirit of justice pulsing in our veins.

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Goose Chase

Posted on June 25, 2014 by harasprice

Just ask anyone in my family: as a rule, I don’t like geese. My spouse has watched, laughing hysterically, as a goose chased me across a park in St. Louis and, as I describe it, tried to peck my eyes out. OK, so maybe it was just squawking loudly in the direction of my face. But, seeing goose tongue and teeth does make a memorable and lasting impression. Over the years, my daughter has jokingly teased me whenever we have a goose siting, “Mom…look…it’s going to chase you!”

While I don’t actually have goose phobia, I admittedly have a general dislike for the squawking, long-neck water fowl. This began during the summer I worked as a camp counselor in upstate New York. A gaggle of Canadian Geese found their way onto the small lake around which our camp was built. In one long weekend of indulgence, they feasted all day and excreted all night. I drew the short straw in the counselor lottery (literally) and it was my job to scoop all the goose poop from the front yard of the dining hall. I filled three huge lawn trash barrels with goose excrement that day. So, I think I have a right to hold a bit of a grudge.

And yet, here I am, less than 24 hours from a total camped-out weekend immersion into the Wild Goose Festival. In spite of my checkered history with its winged namesake, I am totally excited.  I am ready to forge a new relationship with the goose.

In fact, I am hoping for a wild goose chase.

I have no idea what kind (if any) internet or network connection I will have out in the woods with throngs of other progressive, spiritual, artsy, justice-seeking types…but my plan is to keep on blogging here, as “live time” as possible, about the small points of light I encounter. I shall be chasing the spirit of the goose this time, and taking in this opportunity to fully immerse myself in experience.  I may be a couple years past my camping prime, but this thing is all about who I am at my core.  So, I am going to just run with that…

Since I am told the festival’s namesake…the wild goose…is a Celtic metaphor for the a Holy Spirit, I already know I have been caught many times. Without a doubt, Spirit has caught me off guard, unaware, at my most vulnerable.  Every time, the result has been more incredible than I could have imagined. The twists and turns of the journey have rocked my plans multiple times, and I am aware of all that wondrous chaos emerging again in the midst of my journey right now. I would have it no other way. I know not to be afraid; my eyes have never been pecked out, I have never been thrown off a cliff and in fact, I have learned to welcome the adventure of learning new patterns of flight and finding new dimensions of healing, growth, and service that emerge from every encounter.

So, these next days, I will let the spirit of the wild goose lead. I will delight in telling the tales of my goose chase, whenever I catch a glimpse of that spirit. I hope that some of you will stay tuned here to see what emerges in story, poetry, and photography. And, if you have a chance, give a little squawk of support…or say a prayer…for me on this wild goose chase on which I am about to embark.

 

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Out Loud

Posted on June 22, 2014 by harasprice

Today, with great joy, I had the privilege of announcing the call of a new rector for the church community that I so dearly love. This is the happy news I have holding in my heart, and it has been nothing short of miraculous to be a part of this process coming together. The synchronicity and life events, non-coincidental timing and nudging of the spirit to action, friends who are friends of friends coming full circle back into our lives, serendipitous real estate and employment opportunities…there have been moments where Divine Presence has been felt as if a mighty wind and not a still, small voice. I am grateful beyond words, and my spirit and faith have been richly blessed.

There was another small point of light today, though, in the midst of all of the vibrant enthusiasm. In front of my whole congregation, I prayed.

It’s not that I have any particular issue with prayer. Praying is a regular part of my daily, contemplative practice, and I read prayers and quote blessings all the time when I write or when I am in small gatherings of people that I know well. I can happily read and recite prayers in liturgy, and I love the language of beautifully written blessings and quiet vespers to bring my busy days to stillness. Out loud, spontaneous prayer has been another thing entirely. Over the past few months, I have been praying more freely, perhaps at an occasional food pantry opening, or to close a vestry meeting. I never expected to hear myself offering up leading our congregation in prayer for our new rector, her current, congregation, and our whole parish. But, I did. And as I stood this morning in the sacred space of a hand-in-hand “shape” of all present in our congregation and began to pray, something happened.

I was calm, and my words poured from my heart and spirit into the immensity of divine presence.

I recalled, at that moment, the very last time that I had prayed out loud in a large group, openly, with such a quiet confidence of spirit. I was eighteen, a first semester sophomore. It was my Christian Ethics course at Houghton, and we began every class with a prayer. The college was very traditional, and my teacher was a legendary instructor there who was anything but progressive. I had built a carefully constructed, ethical argument in my final paper for the term in support of inclusive language. This was a “Father-God” kind of place, and my feminist leanings and progressive, inclusive theology were getting me into a lot of hot water. I sat toward the back of the lecture hall, seeing a stack of papers ready to be returned. He held one up and pointed in my direction, “The Ethics of Inclusive Language in Contemporary Christianity” he said, reading my paper and motioning me to come to the lectern to pick it up. “Why don’t you stay in the front of the room and open our class in prayer while you are here.”

And so, I did.

It was the last prayer I ever publicly prayed for many years. I prayed from my heart and soul that day, too, with deep conviction and authentic language. The words that I prayed flowed naturally from my spirit. After my “Amen” the room was silent, and no one was making eye contact with me. I took my seat. I put my paper in my bag, assuming it was going to make me cry to see whatever grade had been assigned. I would deal with that later. The class resumed, I took notes, and afterwards I went to mandatory chapel where the male speaker proclaimed a message where women should be “seen and not heard” in the church. I stood up, and walked out with one final declaration: this woman had seen and heard enough. The last straws were about to break in this third and final attempt I was making to reconcile my faith with the organizational church that surrounded me. That was the day I walked away.

The irony is, my grade on that paper was an A. My professor stated he disagreed theologically and personally with every point I made, but that my logic was clear which, ultimately, was what he was grading. It was the most begrudged A he ever gave, I think. My logic was all that remained by the time that chapter of my journey came to a close. My spirit was so wounded after so many years of rejection. What guided me through the next decades of my life was the safe space of reason. Spirituality and intuitive wisdom were my companions only in my own solitude, in the hushed quiet of prayers where only the Holy Spirit could hear me and the truth of my heart could be fully known. Never, ever, again in public.

Until now.

I have written a bit about this most recent chapter of my journey, about crossing the threshold of forgiveness into grace. What I have come to realize is that grace has always been present, even when I felt overwhelmed by failed institutions and judgmental individuals and organizations. God is larger, God is persistent, God is present. And so, when time and study and words of comfort from diverse and multifaceted expressions of faith filled my soul, God was there. When an inclusive welcome was offered to me before I was fully ready to receive it: God was there. When I prayed silently at a quiet Compline and placed my questions on the alter of uncertainty before Divine Presence, God was there. And as I was confirmed by choice, and learned to unfold into grace and say a divine yes to leading and serving in my community of faith, God was there. And God was there today, is with me now and enfolds us still with the intimacy and immensity of Divine Presence.

Today, I was able to step into that presence again with grace, humility, and wonder. It was a seemingly simple offering, rich in complexity only in the shadows of my own experiences. All of that melted, as it does, in the light of Divine Presence. The fervent prayers of the hearts and souls of those joined hand in hand remained, and blessed us all.

And in it, the small point of light of prayer shone brightly.

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