Wednesday midday eucharist...

Every Wednesday at 12:10 pm, I sit down in silence with 3-10 people who have been gathering regularly for the past 2 years of midday Eucharist.  It is a simple and contemplative liturgy.  We open our hearts to the Lord, make the sign of the Cross and sing a Kyrie.  We share lectio divina with a Psalm and Gospel reading, pass the peace of Christ and gather around the communion table.  At the close of the liturgy, before our blessing and song, we lift up prayers of joy and sorrow for one another and the world.

Two things regularly strike me when this small group of pilgrims departs: First, I am often blessed by something said during our scripture sharing; it is usually something so simple and true that it strikes me as bread from heaven.  And second, I leave thinking this may be the most important thing I do each week.  Today, for example, we all sensed that this "oasis time" to use Charles de Foucault's expression, helps us live as active people in the real world.  "None of us are headed for the monastery any time soon," I said (to which another replied, "At least not voluntarily!") "For me this time of sharing and spiritual nourishment helps and encourages me to live into the wisdom of Christ because there is precious little reinforcement in most of the other busy and demanding things we have to do, right?"

Today's psalm - 30 - included these morsels:

O Lord my God, I cried to you for help,
and you have healed me.
O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol,
restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.
Sing praises to the Lord, O you faithful ones,
and give thanks to God's holy name.
For his anger is but for a moment;
his favour is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night,
but joy comes with the morning...
You have turned my mourning into dancing;
you have taken off my sackcloth
and clothed me with joy,
so that my soul may praise you and not be silent

Clearly our lives are not changed in profound ways by this quiet time any more than the bite of bread and sip of wine really feeds our deepest hungers.  But over time, with patience and trust, a measure of grace is strengthened.  I know that is true for me.