Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Joy from Different Places

This summer has been an odd one. I started it out  by being confirmed into my church, going away for an incredibly intensive retreat, and then being ordained as an interfaith minister. Those three things left me feeling rather adrift, in a lot of ways, once I returned to home. Of course, I didn't return HOME because we don't have one right now; I came to stay at the parsonage of our church, a place that has given me time and quiet to figure out a few things about myself and the situation we're in. It's also given me pause, made me think about how I want to live my life, and "what I want to be when I grow up."

Every summer for as long as I can remember, I've had some sort of garden. Most of the time it wasn't much more than a tomato plant and some radishes, maybe a handful of sunflowers. The last several years, though, have been spent in more intensive gardening. I hadn't realized how spiritual that had become for me until this summer, when I was once again relegated to a handful of tomato plants in pots.

I've been out tending to my tomatoes every day since the heat wave started. I came up with a redneck drip irrigation system (empty plastic pop bottles with tiny holes in the bottom, filled with water and left to sit in the tomato pot). I've told them what good tomato plants they are. I've weeded, although really it was only a handful of tiny things that must have blown in from elsewhere. They got good soil to begin with and so haven't needed much amending or soil loosening. It just seems kind of anti-climactic I guess.

I had originally hoped to transplant the tomatoes to our new home, and let them spread out there. When that house fell through, my hopes dropped, too. Now we're looking at a new house, which I am hoping will very soon be our home, and I find myself picking up again, hoping and praying. If we can get in by August 5th, I will be able to plant a few tiny things to save for winter: lettuce, radishes, and spinach. I will probably try some short carrots and some beets as well, though a very small patch because I will need to be able to cover them with something to save them from the early frosts. Still, it would be something.

I am heading into the early autumn season with nothing canned or frozen for winter's consumption, and I admit it has me somewhat shaken. At the very least I've always had beans and tomatoes, but even those are not present this year. I'll have to buy tomato sauce all winter, and I won't be able to do my birthday special and open up a "jar of summer" to eat. It makes me very sad, and also brings home the knowledge that when I preserve food, I'm also preserving prayers.

When I open a home-canned tomato sauce jar, full of my own tomatoes, onions, peppers, and herbs, I am opening a summer day full of memories and love, sweat and hard work. I'm also opening a prayer made months ago, letting it loose into a darker, less sunshiny day. Summer prayers have special magic to them, I think, because they're full of vitamin D and suntan lotion and the smell of beach and sand. When mid-winter comes by and I crack the seal on something delicious, I let out all those memories and emotions, along with the simple goodness of my own veggies.

This year, why don't you preserve some prayers? You needn't have a huge garden to do it. Just pick up a handful of ripe tomatoes at your local farm stand or co-op, take them home, and process them in the time-honored way. I think I will see if I can get a bushel of over-ripe tomatoes for canning. Perhaps we can get an end-of-summer deal...

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Helping with Communion

I was the lay reader at church this morning, and I was prepared for that. I got in early, read over the piece, made sure I had the pronunciations correct, and marked the big pulpit bible so that I could find my spot easily. I felt smug that I was all ready for things! I had forgotten it was Communion Sunday, but that wasn't a big deal, per se. I had slept well, I had a good night, I spent a couple of days with the family, and all was going great in my world!

Then, it came time for Communion, and Pastor David motioned for me to come up and help him. Okay, I thought, I've done this many times before. Old hat! I can do this! I got up, helped him move the Communion table into place, and listened quietly as he read the Communion story. All was going great right up until he handed me the plate of bread. He wanted me to say the blessing!

I have served Communion many times before. I have taken Communion many times before. I have never blessed the elements of Communion before, though. As an ordained minister, I have the right to do so now, and I was aware of that right but unprepared for the actuality of having that plate of bread in my hands. Even more so, I was not prepared for what happened next.

As I stood holding the bread itself, ready to break it in half and say the words about "...do this in remembrance of me..." I suddenly was struck with the sense of being on the edge of a whirlwind. A great rush of energy came into me, through me, and to the bread, leaving me quite speechless. It felt like a long time, though I don't think it was (no one was giving me funny looks), that I stood there holding the broken bread and grasping for what it was I was supposed to say. I could not speak. After a few moments, Pastor David took the plate from me and spoke the ritual words, for which I was eternally grateful. Then he blessed the wine and we served the congregation and one another.

I cannot properly explain the feeling I had during that blessing. It was a true blessing, I give you that! I was still buzzing from the rush of it until a few minutes ago. So I suppose I can say with authority now that at least some Communion meals are quite energy-filled and Spirit filled. Wow.

That was not what I was expecting. And yet... it was right.