My sacrifice and yours

I've been writing and reading, but mostly cleaning. There are important things to say, but I can't just yet. Keep my family in your prayers. I don't mind dissecting myself or telling you about my encounters with God and a handful of important people, but my family...well, I love them so much...and there are health issues...too many...and I am both angry and sad about them.

I am prepared to endure the trials given to me, but when you are an observor, it is very difficult to stand by and watch someone else suffer. Ironically, that is the job I do best, wait with others. It's different when it's family. In this space, the suffering is temporary. With family, you carry it with you always.

So perhaps that is why, during the first two Masses for me this week, as I hear the Eucharistic Prayer being read...I suddenly find myself sitting back, in the corner of the upper room...watching the men eat their meal.

I am so worried for my son, who has already told me to prepare for the worst. He looked me in the eye and said, "it must be done...and you are going to have to be stronger than you have ever been in your life."  I held his hands, but it wasn't enough. I hugged him. He doesn't like me to hug him so much anymore. Still I placed my head against his chest...he's such a tall boy now...and listened to his heart. Normally he would spurn such affection, but tonight, he let me hold him for just a moment.

"Get about your work, now." and he smiled, but it was a sad smile. I prepared the passover meal with the other women, laying out bread and wine. We shared the cooking. Some were laughing as they worked, but they were young. Others of us just worked silently, not understanding out own sadness.

The other women left to wait downstairs, but I stayed, in the dark, in the back...listening to each word as it was spoken. Familiar words, but different tonight. So very gently different. Had I known what was to come, I might not have stayed...or I perhaps I would have stopped the meal...as if I could stop what had to happen.

My boy, he's so grown up now. So serious. So smart. So very wise. He's such a good boy.  
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My thoughts are something like that. It is difficult to recreate what happens at Mass. But I got there as I listened to the old words spoken, 'Pray, my sisters and brothers, that my sacrifice and yours be acceptable to the Lord, our almighty Father.'
These words, in the beginning of the change, annoyed me. As if the priest was somehow better than the people who were participating in the Mass. And then God showed me: the priest offers his sacrifice...and I offer mine.   I need to remember that at each Mass.  Each Mass, we both give something away...or more correctly, back to God.  Each Mass, I must think deliberately, what I am giving:  my will, my desire for my own way, my work, my heart, my body, my thoughts, my love...

And my son.  It always comes back to me...over and over again...that night I was beginning to be fed up with being a Methodist minister...not because the work wasn't good...but because it simply wasn't enough. It didn't satisfy me. I was still hungry. I knew I wasn't doing what I was called to do.  Then the whining and lamenting began, "But God, I can never be a priest...how can I give you the best of me when I can't even be a priest?  And I'm sure I whined much more...and then, in frustration, I gave God my son. "Let Him do it, Lord. Put my passion into his heart and let Him finish the work I cannot finish...that I am not allowed to finish. I give you my son. And yes, I know it will be hard. It will wound him as it has wounded me...but the work needs doing...I can't leave it. I freely give you my son. And I will not ask questions."

And I have never asked questions about his ministry. And it has wounded him. And he has grown. I have done my best to encourage without interfering...and I have faith...

But now I see God has much more in mind. I have not been put out to pasture yet. I have work to do, and it is far better work than I ever dreamed. It pleases me to love, to give back that which has been given to me.

And somehow this all weaves together...I am living in the here and now...but I am also living back then...hiding in the corner of the room...reliving it over and over...how awful it was...but then all the good that came from it. It is slow work, it seems...but I know in my heart we are less brutal than we once were. I have hope that bit by bit, we will choose love over temporal powers.

I suppose this is very scattered. I recall, in the days that followed my first union with God, some 16 years ago, about this time of the year...I found myself often in a place that seemed to trancend time and space. I recall the moments of oneness in board meetings, or staff meetings, or working with a student...and I needed to learn not to smile or giggle...because it made them wonder about me. It just seems that now, when I let go...all the pieces fit and bliss is an okay way to describe it.

My physical flesh and blood son, my adopted sons...and the one from way, way back...I am connected to all of them...and to much more. And it is all love. Nuts...that's what I would say if I was reading this. I just know that it is true.

So in these moments in Mass, I am seeing with new eyes. I didn't expect anything like that. Kind of strange...moving through time...remembering...yet seeing all things new...and knowing, past, present and future...that it worked. That all the suffering was worth it. Despite what we may see around us, the evil, the darkness knows it lost the war...it still fights though, because even if it lost, it will never give in...admit defeat...it will harrass us until the very end.

Only one thing can make it go away: love. That is my sacrifice and yours. Love.

Love,
Cindy