Another Sunday morning and the general struggle to get enthused about worship. Unlike last Sunday morning I went to church today, however I found it hard to focus and had to fight a disgruntled spirit. I sat in the back pew, trying to find a quiet "space" in my head, but the place just buzzed with conversation - no preparation for worship. Next announcements which seemed to go on forever, many of which had already been published, and those that hadn't could have been brief and to the point. Next we were all invited to stand up and greet each other- why? We just came from the coffee hour, to which we will return at the end of "the service" - not worship. The prelude begins, the conversation continues, even the liturgists look disinterested.
Last Sunday's entry in my journal, (included below), expresses my concern. I really am trying to relate to a faith community, but it is hard!
Sunday mornings have become especially difficult for me in retirement. I have not found a church where I can worship. I don't think this comes from arrogance, because it is not that I think my services were anything out of the ordinary, in fact I found it a constant struggle to try to create a worshipful atmosphere. As a worshipper I find it most disconcerting to enter the sanctuary (worship space) and have it feel the same as the supermarket. People hurrying back and forth, agitated conversation, unfinished business, and a general sense that maybe this thing called "worship" will never start.
The organ sounds, the bible is processed, not in basic black tunic by the Beadle, but with man or boy (or maybe even girl) in jeans shorts and sneakers. A disconnect occurs in my brain like a Salvador Dali painting. Another try, another place, a Quaker service, surely quiet here. The screen comes down, a flurry of commercials (well program highlights, and reminders); the Praise singers assemble, the drums and cymbals clang and my brief attempt at prayer is fractured. From church to church I travel searching for a place set apart from the world. A place where with one or two of like mind I can focus on the meaning of life, the awesome universe and acquaint myself with the source of creation.
So today, I arise early, get my coffee and with time to spare decide to finish up the details of our trip to New England. Oops! It is now too late to jump into the shower and get to the local church to participate in "Rally Day" – we won't go there! So what to do – continue with the busyness, no! That is what I claim to be trying to set aside – I want to experience "Sabbath". How to reverence the Creator and nourish the soul?
My husband comes to ask – "well are we going to church?" Sheepishly I say, "I don't think we can make it, it's already 10:00 a.m." We have another cup of coffee, and reflect on what is happening to us. He has been a church musician and attended worship every Sunday of his life, as have I. What is happening to us? Before descending into general discontent that serves no purpose, I suggest that we seek something useful to do. Having just finished the plans for our trip I remember that we need a new Atlas. Well if we don't accomplish anything else, I say, we could drive to the truck stop on I-80 and give Mr. Rand McNally a few dollars for a new Atlas. Good idea, he replies. We finish our coffee and head out. As we venture down the highway the urge to nourish my soul continues, "what if we went to Reiman Gardens in Ames, I've been thinking about it all summer and we've never had the time?" "Good idea, let's do it" he says. We stop at the truck stop, where we find the friendliness refreshing, get another cup of coffee and hit the highway.
The countryside is exquisite. The fields of gold and bronze, and deep velvet green stretch out on both sides of the road disappearing into the deepest blue sky. Black Angus cattle with glossy coats dot the fields, and the occasional flock of sheep grazes on a hillside. It sounds a little bucolic, but it does resemble an oil painting from the 18th century. Lest the scene seems too enchanting the reality of life breaks through as a huge hawk looms a few feet in front of our windshield, massive wings flapping as it rises with prey in it's mouth. A reminder that life has it cycles.
We had a wonderful meal and then went to Reiman Gardens. The butterfly house was just a world of wonder, I have never seen so many different species. We have visited the butterfly house in St Louis but I don't remember so many exotic varieties. This house is tropical, sustained by butterflies from farmers in the rain forest, giving them a living and helping to maintain the rain forest. I need to read a little more about it next time I go. I think the St. Louis butterfly house is native butterflies. Anyway the building was full of brilliantly colored dancing wings of the most glorious iridescent colors, and bright blues, reds, greens and yellows in particular. The camouflage was impressive, and really made one aware of how insects adapt to their environment.
The flower gardens were very interesting and different, mostly annuals and grasses. I will look forward to seeing it in other seasons. We headed home, happy and relaxed and I truly felt that I had communed with the creator, and offered praise and thanksgiving for the gift of the universe.
I still find my personal daily prayer and meditation nourishing, and my visits to Sinsinawa Mound for daily office and Eucharist feed me, but the trips are few and far between. I am looking forward to our trip East, starting Friday and our visit to Weston Priory, always a place where I feel restored. I trust that what I am experiencing is just a phase, sort of a transitional dark night of the soul.
In preparation for our return to Maine I just reread "The House by the Sea" by May Sarton. I am drawn the words she writes in the introduction:
"Solitude, like a long love, deepens with time, and I trust, will not fail me if my own powers of creation diminish. For growing into solitude is one way of growing to the end."
I need solitude and often find it difficult to obtain – aloneness can be accomplished at times, but finding opportunities to enter into the place of deep solitude and dwelling there until the soul is nourished is more difficult. Solitude like wisdom is seeded and harvested in a well cultivated life. It needs to experience all the seasons of living.
A week ago I attended the Wake and Funeral of a wise and humble woman, a Sinsinawa Dominican Sister. Her life was a blessing and example for many. As her friends shared their memories, a similar story emerged. Over the years, at critical times, a manila envelope would arrive by mail from her. The contents in each envelope were similar, but geared to the specific needs of the recipient. Always the envelope contained a beautifully penned personal letter, with words that spoke directly to the heart and needs of the person, a devotional booklet, and several wisdom quotes. Each of us commented that we kept all correspondence and that it continues to nourish us.
