coming. But first, a reflection on being a deacon...
One thing that I was completely unprepared for, though I imagine I would have known had I given things a bit more careful thought, was that being a deacon will bring death and dying so much closer to the door of ones being. One of my jobs as a deacon is to write birthday cards, anniversary cards and sympathy cards. It, my role as a deacon, has been going on six months now, and I have had to watch so many fellow parishoner's "pass into the church triumphant". Before this role, I was lost in my own little world that went to church because my mother asked, because the one I attend is filled with the ghosts of my maternal ancestors and it fells so right as an anthropologist to honor that... but, I was so completely unprepared for what this role brought me. I had to get to know people a little bit better, I had to learn of their sorrows and joys, how to write their names correctly on a card, and smile and laugh with them. I had thought that my lesson from this role would be that I would learn to become a letter writer, something I have always wanted to be, but needed some push to guide me there... I feel guided, but at a huge price... a price I think I find worthwhile.
and now, the poem (or rather, a selection of a poem) that caused these reflections...
Lead us to those we are waiting for,
Those who are waiting for us.
Flannery's Angel
~ Charles Wright
As seen here: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2011/05/24
What a beautiful meditation on service, Blair. And right in the middle of the word verification thing (have you noticed there are NEVER any "q"s?)is the world "holy" -- which is precisely the ground on which you tread.
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