To celebrate their fiftieth anniversary, the sisters of Our Lady of Grace converted their tennis court into a labyrinth. Walking it each day has been as much a part of my daily prayers as Morning, Noonday, and Evening Praise with the sisters in their chapel.

It’s spring in Indiana, so every day’s walk is different. The first day’s began in drizzle that turned to sunshine by the end of the walk.

On Thursday, it was cold and windy, and I walked all bundled up. I was joined by another prayer walker, and we bowed at one another as we made room for the other to walk by as our path’s crossed.

On Friday it was so warm that I walked without any wrap at all. I walked the labyrinth rather quickly in preparation for a session of healing touch with one of the sisters.

Today is cool and gray, and I’ll need to walk soon to avoid possible rain.

Each step is a prayer; each step is full of grace.

In 2003, I became part of a group of 30 women clergy chosen by the Lilly Foundation for a Sustaining Pastoral Excellence Grant. For the next three years, we pastors gathered at Our Lady of Grace Monastery, a Benedictine monastery in Beech Grove, Indiana twice yearly for ten day retreats. Our seventh retreat was in Italy, walking in the steps of St. Benedict and St. Scholastica ( brother and sister). It was life-changing.

We got a follow-up grant for two more retreats at the monastery, and several of us became oblates of Our Lady of Grace, committing to follow a Benedictine rule of life back home. Another 40 women have been part of Women Touched by Grace sequels, and so the joy continues.

Today starts WTBG I’s first reunion. About two-thirds of us will be returning to live in community once again for the next six days.

Prayers with the sisters at 5.45 in their chapel– it’s so very good to be home.

March 25, 1347 +++ April 25, 1380

Deliver us, we pray, from an inordinate love of this world, that, following the example of your servant Catherine, we may serve you with singleness of heart. Amen.

As I write these words, women, men, and children have gathered this morning at St. Mary’s to prepare for our first Easter celebration tonight at sunset–as Lent will finally end, and in the dark, The Feast of the Resurrection will begin.

After the Maundy Thursday service, the clergy and altar guild consumed every last bit of consecrated bread and wine.  The tabernacle, the communion kits are empty.  The red sanctuary light (witness to the presence of consecrated bread and wine in the tabernacle) has been extinguished.

Today is the one day in the Church on which there is no Holy Communion.  Jesus is in the tomb.  How can his body and blood be with us?

Some churches will have early Easter services this afternoon, particularly baptizing younger folks into the faith.  Other churches will have joyous Easter egg hunts today, reaching out to the community in hospitality and love.

As a priest, I struggle between the theology of Holy Saturday and Jesus still in the tomb, and the opportunity to be hospitable today to a world looking eagerly towards Easter.  It is convenient to celebrate before Holy Week actually ends, and Easter begins.  I find no fault with churches and folk that celebrate today.  God’s abundant blessings be upon them.

But for me, as chief pastor of the parish I’ve called home for fifteen years, I must lead as I understand. We are a culture that hates to wait; we are a people who want always to be filled.  This is the day of waiting.  This is the day of being empty.  Jesus is lying wrapped in burial clothes within the garden tomb.

In my daily devotion today from the monastery of the Society of St. John the Evangelist,  Brother Curtis had a very good word.  He wrote:

Love the emptiness. If you do not have space in your soul – if you keep yourself filled on food or constant activity or ever-new ideas– your desire will be blunted or even perverted. We have been created with the gift of desire, to long for, to anticipate.

The question was posed:

Where might life be waiting to erupt out of emptiness for you?

On this very final day of Lent, this final day of Holy Week,  I invite us all to find some place of emptiness in which to sit.  If you feel too busy, I promise, if you ask, God will help you find a place to stop, empty, and be.

There is no Easter without death.  There is no Easter without absence and longing first.