March 11
Isaiah 61: 2-3
To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD And the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, 3To grant those who mourn in Zion, Giving them a garland instead of ashes, The oil of gladness instead of mourning, The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
In the book, “Fumbling; A journey of love, adventure, and renewal on the Camino De Santiago,” the author Kerry Egan is seeking something, but she isn’t sure what. She travels, with her friend, along the ancient path of a pilgrim as she searches within herself and discovers what she is holding deep inside, grief. Grief over the death of her father the previous year. One of the most compelling scenes from the book comes early in the first chapter. Sitting in the back of a Catholic church during Mass she finds the comfort of a ministry of presence.
“I knelt in the back of the church, my forehead on the top lip of the smooth, varnished pew in front of me…I hadn’t noticed that the evening’s pilgrim’s Mass had ended. I’d been crying for a long time, and I was startled and confused when I first sensed a gentle hovering presence all around me…Five or six old Spanish women in black cotton housedresses and thick glasses, with wrinkled necks and lips fallen in on themselves, crept down the aisles and slid across the pews toward me …Very slowly and wordlessly moving closer, the women were encircling where I sat, until they stopped, scattered in the pews twelve or so feet from me. The women said nothing, never got too close. They didn’t make any motion to comfort or interrupt me, and though they could not know why I was crying , the did not ask…They just sat, breathing deep and long sighs, murmuring as they said their prayers around me, clicking their rosary beads as they settled their heavy bodies into the pews. Slow breath in and a pause. A steady exhale. A rest. And then it began again. Their steady breathing steadied my own, and with ragged gulps I stopped crying. Just as slowly and silently as they came, they made their way away from me and out the door.”
In our grief we seek comfort from the ache of our loss. Grief comes and goes, it has no definitive beginning nor ending. It just is. And often our comfort comes from unsuspected places. Let it flow over you. Amen.
Prayer: Almighty God, you are the great comforter. Help us to rest in your embrace as we grieve our loss. Let us not be hasty in our healing and overlook the deeper emotion. Help us to be vulnerable and open to our loss. Heal our wounds merciful God. In Christ’s name we pray. AMEN.
Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.”
Carrie Jones, Captivate
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