mysterious happenings pt 2

Sunday, 8 June 2008

I showed up at church half an hour early this morning. Silly, I know, but I somehow convinced myself that church started at 10:30 and not 11. Easily done, I suppose, after such sporadic church attendance recently and so many years previously spent at churches with earlier start times, but still.

Anyway, this morning was one of those days when I felt I had to go to church. It was as if I had no choice. I was craving the quiet and the liturgy and the space, and just needed to be there. (I was also hoping to pick up the latest copy of Inspires because my photograph of the window is on the front cover, but the magazines hadn't arrived yet so I'll just have to wait.) Since I was there early, I wandered in the garden for a few minutes, taking a couple of pictures and then went inside into the stillness. I glanced down at the readings:

"For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings."
- Hosea 6:6

"Hoping against hope, [Abraham] believed that he would become 'the father of many nations,' according to what was said, 'So numerous shall your descendants be.' He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb. No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."
- Romans 4:18-21

"Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she said to herself, 'If only I touch his cloak, I will be made well.' Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, 'Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.' And instantly the woman was made well."
-Matthew 9:20-22

That was the first time that I teared up this morning, not so much at the words themselves (although the images of barrenness and bleeding did not go unnoticed), but the peace which they seemed to hold for me.

The sermon was about threshold moments and about the way God uses our gifts, and it finished with a blessing by John O'Donohue which I really must get my hands on. More tears.

The intercessions were beautifully written, as they often are when this particular person does them. She used the Eucharist as the centring point of each petition, and I was particularly struck by the way she echoed some of my thoughts from last week, but far more concisely and articulately. Her voice broke at one point during the end, and I noticed her eyes were red as she sat back down next to me in the pew. Tears again as I thanked her for what she said.

As I knelt for communion, I felt raw. I again felt like I had no choice but to sit in the presence and truth of God. The veil had been pulled aside, and I was face to face with holiness so bright and overwhelming and real that I could hardly breathe. I walked back to the pew as quickly as I could and hid my head and wept.

I tried to rush out after the service. I wanted to be in the safety and privacy of the car to cry, to wonder what that was all about, to analyse what had just happened in that hour and a half. But a friend was waiting for me. Someone had a question about the newsletter. Other people needed to talk about the history book. And there I stood, with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, exhausted but with a heart more full than it has been in a long, long time, discussing Americanisms with a man more pedantic than I, and all I could do was smile at the sheer absurdity of it all.

**************

I'm still not entirely sure where the tears came from, other than that it was an exceptionally raw encounter with God. As I read through the passages, I thought of our appointment at the IVF clinic at the end of this month and how alone I've felt thinking about it but also the strange sense of peace which has surrounded it. This morning I was reminded yet again that we will not be alone, that we haven't been alone, and that we aren't alone now. My prayer for faith, for hope, for healing, for trust, for knowledge of God continues to be answered in unexpected ways. This morning, it just happened to be in church.