as one door closes and another is peeked through...

We head out one last time to wander in Montréal. It has been a grand time of rest and renewal for both Di and myself and, while we're sad to leave, we're also ready to be back in our own digs. One of the challenges I've been walking with since our departure two weeks ago is: what does a new year of Small is Holy look like? While we in Massachusetts have weathered the worst of the pandemic - 68% of us are fully vaccinated and still wearing masks - that is not the case for much of these semi-United States. Further, it seems clear that the next six to eight months will be lived as transitional time into our brave, new world. Carrie Newcomer calls this a season of unravelling where we've been summoned to become better people than we ever imagined.

We have lived through the process of unraveling and reweaving the threads of our lives where we now face the possibility of transformation after crisis. We have all lived through a time of great unraveling... and with great disruption comes a possibility for change. We can’t just be healed; we must be transformed.

I certainly have experienced both unraveling and reweaving over the past 18 months - and I've been grateful to God to share it with you. As summer fades into fall and then tenderly morphs into winter, a hope-filled report from NPR suggests that:

After a summer crushed by the delta variant, we're almost too nervous to send you this shot of hope: Researchers say the most likely scenario for the coming months is that children will get vaccinated and no superspreading variant will emerge.

Connie Hanzhang Jin/NPR If this model plays out, the researchers project that new cases would likely drop from about 140,000 a day now to about 9,000 a day by March. Deaths would fall from about 1,500 a day now to fewer than 100 a day. That means we may soon breath a sigh of relief. But one of the lead researchers says the group remains cautious. "The virus has shown us time and time again t+hat new variants or people loosening up on how careful they're being can lead things to come roaring back," he said. So what does that suggest for our tiny gathering of Sunday morning friends at Small is Holy? I have discerned a few insights: + First, I know that I want to continue holding our live streaming reflections: They offer me a chance to prayerfully reflect on what contemplative and compassionate living might mean in this strange, sacred, and sometimes scary season of life. They also keep me in communion with you even as I mostly live in solitude. + Second, I want to continue to do so on Sundays: Even if I have moved away from a deep presence in traditional Christianity, it remains my beautiful albeit broken home. As I loved to say years ago: THIS is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. I also want to continue celebrating Eucharist online, too and observing the deep ecumenism of our liturgical seasons. + Third, I'm thinking of changing our time from 10 am to something more like a Vespers/Evening Prayer time, say perhaps 4 pm. I don't know if that shift would resonate with others, but it feels like coming together at the end of the day for quiet prayer, music, and spiritual reflection might offer us, myself included, time to a part of the emerging reweaving. I know that I will be going back into community at L'Arche Ottawa on a more regular basis now that the border is open. I hope to visit with our children and grandchildren as well. An evening prayer gathering offers me - and perhaps you, too - great flexibility in this betwix and between era. To that end, I'm going to give it a shot NEXT Sunday, the Feast Day of St. Francis, October 3rd @ 4 pm. I was moved by this FB meme from the late, great St. Leonard Cohen. He captures much that is in my heart today.