My soul rests in thee, o Lord...

What a lively conversation erupted at today's midweek Eucharist around both Psalm 130 and the Sunday gospel of John 11!  One of the things I LOVE about this gathering is that truly "the wind/spirit blows where she will" and there is conversation about things my people find related to the Scriptures that I would never consider. No one knows who will show up - and what they will say - so whatever happens is almost always a gift to me. Then we gather around the table and celebrate a simple Eucharistic meal. This is soul food extraordinaire for me.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord
Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive
   to the voice of my supplications! 
If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,
   Lord, who could stand? 
But there is forgiveness with you,
   so that you may be revered. 
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
   and in his word I hope; 
my soul waits for the Lord.

First we talked about how God's forgiveness and grace is given to us freely and joyfully.  When we realize and embrace this, our only response is gratitude. Not guilt or fear or shame, but sweet reverence. Then someone spoke about our soul waiting on the Lord - not our conscious mind or our bodies - that feels like striving - but our souls that exist beyond anything we control. That, too, evoked a sense of rest and peace. Our final words on the Psalm were how much God does for us that is beyond our control or input: resting in God's care, on the Sabbath or at prayer, helps us realize that God is God so we don't have to even try.

When we shifted to lectio on John 11 - the healing of Lazarus - three inter-related thoughts were expressed.  First, that those who were following Jesus must have been terribly confused and afraid when he told them they must return to Jerusalem.  This meant certain death. Second, they must have been bewildered by his call to bring the dead and supposedly rotting Lazarus out of the tomb. How bizarre. And third, the words of Jesus are simple if we act out of trust:  go, wake him up, unwrap his wounds, go to supper for a feast. There is almost a child-like simplicity to following the words of Jesus in this story.

One of the ways I stay grounded in this ministry is at this Eucharist. It is quiet and simple. It is faithful and frank. And it is filled with love. As the sun shines on both the just and the unjust today, I am so grateful for this small cadre of Eucharistic comrades. 


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