Wonderings--January 5

Isn't it strange what we remember? And more than that, isn't it interesting how our memories are triggered? Let me explain. . . 

Today I had the pleasure of taking communion to another member of Bethesda who is unable to worship with us physically right now. Nettie and her daughter welcomed me into their home with open arms and we celebrated the sacrament together. They warmly received me into their world. 

We talked about the church and how we are doing during this covid-time. 

They asked about my history; about my seminary experience and my family. 

We talked about Nettie's health and how beautiful today has been. (It is after all 57 degrees and sunny. . . what a blessing during the winter). 

But throughout our conversation one thing nagged against the back of my brain. One memory kept popping up that made my initial question come to bear: our Maltese, Bella. 

You see this family shares the house with Mollie a white, 8-pound, Maltese. Except for the difference in haircut (we kept Bella trimmed short and they prefer Mollie to be more traditionally cut), these two could be sisters. I smiled as Mollie barked and barked while wagging her tail at me. It was so adorable to see her slowly creep up to me, just as Bella would. After all, we are friends, we just haven't met yet. 

I watched Mollie climb into the laps and lick their hands just as Bella did. While painful to witness, it was also a joyful memory. This experience led me back to my first question about how memories are formed and what triggers them. 

Climbing back into my truck my attention rested on Mollie and Bella. But something was different. Sure I still missed Bella, and I suspect that I always will. But gathering around God's word, with someone else, someone who shares my experience and my perspective was meaningful. 

A couple weeks ago I might have felt too emotional to serve the sacrament, but now, with those memories in my heart, and with a commonality with church friends, something was different. I felt different as I drove back to the church.Yes, I was still silent and meditative, but God felt closer. As I thought about the whole experience I concluded that I must have felt this way because of how someone in the community (in this case, the church community), made me feel less isolated by my pain. 

And so this made me wonder about your faith walk. . . I wonder how you have chosen to be so present to another person that their pain, private as it might be, was healed by the balm of God's love and God's silent presence? I wonder if you might be able to find someone to be present for that could help them deal with their own silent pain? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek