When I attended an all girl’s catholic high school, the priest came over to the convent which aligned itself right behind the school to hear our confessions for reconciliation. We lined up nervously in our plaid skirts, white oxford shirts and green blazers. Anxious giggles exchanged between us cautiously as not to get in trouble with the sisters. We starred down at our penny loafers counting our sins, reciting to ourselves what we were about to bring to the priest. Burdened by my perception of my sin, I can remember shaking as I sat before him. I began, “Father, forgive me for I have sinned…” I rattled off a litany of my heartache and he stopped me mid breath,”My child, we all have a book to write.” My penance was the shortest in the class.
I cannot remember who the priest was, but I never forgot our exchange and how often it has come up for me. Especially as the stories of my life have accumulated and contributed to the person of faith I have become. Stories which like clay in a potters hand have sculpted my soul carefully reshaping, reforming, molding each part to lead to next. One could not be without the imprint before. I’ve been handled with God’s care.
I had an old friend, a mentor a priest, she lived her life differently always exchanging a lesson for an element of fear, yet I looked to her authority to guide me on my way, discounting what the belly knew. I was an obedient student. “Do not speak my dear, for they will not understand. Keep it close, under your raincoat.” I can remember anxiously waiting for the next lesson, but each and every time; time after time, the same was spoken, “Do not speak my dear, for they will not understand. Keep it close, under your raincoat.”
Gifted by God’s grace through our experiences we have an abundance of stories to share with one another. Stories that empower and inspire, stories that reach into the depth of our souls, stories that generate compassion, wisdom and knowledge, stories that share our common unity in our walk with God, stories that reveal the incarnate Christ among us in our otherwise very broken world. Sharing these stories are often not very comfortable, we see this in the shared experiences of abuse, loss, grief and trauma, but stories none the less, that must be told, not for the good of ourselves but for the good of the kingdom of God.
As I write today I know of three people who are in the finishing stages of publications of their books. I cannot wait to read each of them. Yes, I am inspired. I am inspired to share more of me, but for now I’ll open a few buttons of my coat, and be in awe of them as they dance baptized in the rain with their coats wide open in spring’s shower, lifting the spirits of a new day, a new beginning and a new chapter. As disciples this, their cross becoming more vulnerable and open for the healing love and passion of God’s universe, for all of us to indulge.
In our Gospel text for Sunday, Jesus, has the disciples acknowledge who he is, commands them to say nothing and then rebukes Peter for his attempt to interfere. “Get behind me Satan!” So I say to the old tale of keeping it under the rain coat. Get behind me Satan!
How often have we wished the pain away, the circumstances the potter’s imprint, our stories? How often have we prayed to God for an end, a beginning or a sign? In Mark we are told take up our cross, to embrace the experience of our lives no matter what it brings, for it is only a momentary time in the patterns of imprints that detail the stories of our lives.
Take up your cross, open the rain coat, speak, write, share your stories, the Kingdom of God awaits!
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