I’m moving. Again. I’m hoping this move will last longer than the last eight.

My friend, Ginny, came into town to help stage and pack and say goodbye to the Rectory. The Diocese has provided packers, movers, and unpackers.  I am supported, once again.

In the midst of the busyness of the weekend of pre-moving, I had the gift of attending two Eucharists.  It was a good break from packing to clean up, to put my collar on, and go to worship.

As God would have it, in the midst of my own endings and beginnings, one worship was a beginning– the dedication of a new worship space.   The other worship was an ending–the final worship in a parish that was closing.  Both were holy.

Saturday night I attended worship at Holy Comforter Episcopal Church.  Before the Tax Day Flood, they had begun their process of preparing to build a new worship space.  On the eve of the final Sunday after the Epiphany, the church was full of joy and tears as the Bishop set apart one thing after another as holy.  A baby was baptized.  Everything was shiny and new.

Sunday morning, I attended worship at St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church.  After struggling for a number of years, the parish was no longer viable.  And so another Bishop gathered the people for the final Eucharist.  Although only a handful of people had worshipped in the space the last few years, on this final Sunday, the church was nearly full as all sorts of people gathered to say good bye.  Again there were tears, though this time they were tears of grief.  But there was also joy as old friends reunited one final time.

So the rhythm continues. Ending. Beginning.  Beginning.  Ending.

We move towards the ending of another season of the church year.  Epiphany is drawing to an end.  In two days, we begin Lent.

John O’Donohue says it so well:

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

 

 

 

 

Yesterday was an anything can happen day. As we left Taos, my friend and I had a plan for the drive to Albuquerque. With the first surprise of the day, we decided to let the day lead the way.

We started with coffee at Coffee Apothecary, our coffee place in Taos, where the owners feel like friends. They sent us on our way with gifts of freshly roasted coffee beans.

As we drove south, the flag was up at the Rio Grande Gorge Visitors Center in Pilar. My heart had been heavy throughout the trip seeing the consequences of the government shutdown, and the innocent workers who had been effected. We circled back and went in and welcomed the rangers back to work. As we had conversation, we all teared up.

We continued to let the day unfold. We drove to a favorite place on the Rio Grande River and met a woman from California celebrating her birthday. She told us her next stop, after her hike, was at a winery. Departing before her, we made a stop at the winery, left her a birthday note, and paid for a bottle of wine for her when she arrived later. Such fun!

We next drove to another favorite place–Abiqui, where we had a picnic lunch beside the Chama River.

We then took a drive through mountains, calderas,

reservations, before ending the route in Bernalillo as the sun set.

Since today is the day I fly back to Houston, it’s most likely another anything can happen day.

Beginning with coffee then worship at the local Episcopal church, I’ll see what God has in store.

Church. Home.

Since my last Sunday at St. Mary’s, I’ve worshipped four times at New Hope Church in Bend, Oregon, once at the home of dear friends as we blessed their home, a Eucharist at Camp Allen with new clergy, Evening Prayer at Camp Allen with nearly clergy, Eucharist with the Junior Daughters of the King beside the lake at Camp Allen, at St. Helena Convent, Facebook Live Episcopal Worship to Anchor Your Day, in the Agnes Martin Gallery at the Harwood Museum, Morning Mindfulness at the Georgia Museum of Art, and ever so many times from my prayer chair.

Not once in an Episcopal Church.

Except from my prayer chair, all of these were within community. All were full of grace in their own way, and I believe that I was led by the Spirit to each of these holy places to worship God.

As God is teaching me about home, God is also teaching me about church.

One of my favorite descriptions of church is from the second chapter of the book of Acts:

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. …..

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.

Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.

No longer a layperson who has “joined” a parish, no longer a priest called to serve in a specific parish, now serving in missions and parishes, as invited or sent, I am a peripatetic priest.

Today, as I celebrate twenty-six years of ordination to the priesthood, God is inviting me to reflect on my definition of Church.

From Saddle Blanket by Blanche C. Grant, The Harwood Museum

Church is God’s people gathered, and Jesus gives us an easy bar:

Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am in their midst. (Matthew 18.20)

If my home is in God’s heart, and God’s home is in my heart, then perhaps church is when two or three of us gather in the heart of God, and when we know that God is in our gathered hearts.

From Husking Corn by Mary Blumenschein, The Harwood Museum

Walter Ufer’s Winter in New Mexico, Harwood Museum

For the past three years, I have been pushed, not always gently, into learning what home means.

Nearly three years ago, rising waters pushed me from my house of nearly twenty years into guest bed rooms and then into a parishioner’s vacant house. I returned to my newly rebuilt house until even higher rising waters floated me into other guest bedrooms and another rental property. I rebuilt the house again and planned to stay there awhile. Until a new call from God sent me looking for another house closer into town

I’ve been looking for that next house for two months. I put a bid on one place that seemed perfect, but I was outbid. I put a bid on another house and had to withdraw that bid because of too many issues revealed during the inspection.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past two months thinking about the next place I’ll live. Lots of conversation with others and myself, and, oh yes, God.

Before I left Oregon Christmas, departing a day early because I was still searching for my next living space, my grandson, Austin, prayed a beautiful prayer for me. I usually don’t remember the specifics of most prayers, but in this prayer Austin ended asking that God would give me wisdom, especially as I looked for my new home.

As I’ve asked God for guidance, I’ve thought about Austin’s request for wisdom.

I think I have an answer: In my searching and frustration and longing and ever hoping, I’ve finally realized: I have a home. Always. I may not know where my next house will be, but wherever I am, that is my home.

Home is where we are. Whether we like it or not. Whether we want to be there or not. Whether or not we long for another type of home are not. Home is the place we are standing or sitting now.

When I was in my first post-flood rental, the Spirit gave me a verse to repeat during Centering Prayer:

My heart is your home.

I understand this prayer in two ways:

God’s home is in my heart.

My home is in God’s heart.

I always have a home. All of us do. It is in the heart of God, and it is God dwelling within our hearts.

I’m still looking for that next house, but meanwhile, in the Casa de las Abuelas here in Taos, I am home.