Having spent all morning laboring over A Case of the Mondays, I gathered myself to head into the office about noon yesterday. Waiting for me in my inbox when I got to work was a request to trek out to a hospice facility to perform Last Rites for a dying parishioner.
I’ve come to believe that there are no coincidences in the liturgical calendar.
I awoke early on 22 December, just as light was beginning to streak the sky, having completely forgotten that the night before was the longest span of darkness for the year before and the year to come. Something made me realize it as I came awake in bed, and I hoped it was a sign that light is starting to break into the ice jam of darkness in my own mind, bringing to an end the exhausting and isolating but yearly phase of grey. Continue reading →
When I reached the top of the cathedrals in Chartres and Strasbourg, gorgeous, expansive views awaited. But in each place, it wasn’t just the long distance vision that greeted me, but deeper revelations which wouldn’t have been so clear from the ground.
In Chartres, there were life-sized statues, intricate gargoyles, and mischievous little creatures crawling (in stone) all over the upper reaches of the Gothic spire. What good did they do up there, completely hidden from the ground? Even in the cathedral’s heyday, how many people scaled the tower and once up top, noticed the intricate stonework? They were made and fitted up there because the stone workers knew that God could always see their work; their efforts were for God’s glory and God’s delight–not primarily for fellow humans to enjoy.
At Strasbourg, going up to the spire landing allowed a view of the surrounding mountains, land where my ancestral family had lived for years before immigrating to the US in the mid-1800s. Seeing the land that is, in a way, in my bones and my being helped me understand why I’d so fallen in love with the Blue Ridge mountains back home in North Carolina–where I’ve come from, and maybe a bit of who I am.