Sacrament

My soul has been in bad shape these past few months. I've felt dried up and shriveled deep within and I’ve wondered if I could find my way back into some semblance of joy. I’ve been through drought and wilderness before but this season has been particularly difficult and prolonged. What happens when pastors lead from such deficit? Who are their confessors? Who carries them along the scarred and sacred path when they have lost their way?

I came to the Holy Land to lead two trips and have a bit of vacation time. The small band of disciples who attended the Christ at the Checkpoint with me had little need of my pastoral guidance or care. In many ways, these folks took the lead on setting up meetings, networking, and debriefing the various sessions. When discussing the Palestinian/Israeli conflict, I can pretty much run on autopilot. I know the issues well, the emotions the occupation evokes, and many of the Palestinian church leaders are acquaintances and friends. Even so, the Christ at the Checkpoint conference was intense and allowed little time for reflection and rest. As soon as it was over, I rushed to Tel Aviv to meet my Filipino pilgrimage group with limited emotional, physical and spiritual reserves.

How was I going to lead a pilgrimage when I was so desperately thirsty for spiritual renewal myself? As with all my groups, our first gathering was an orientation to the questions to be asked during our sacred time together.

1)    What are your longings?

2)    What do you need to surrender?

3)    How is God present to you?

How would I answer these questions? If musing on these questions proved to be too difficult, I wondered how does one survive when the spiritual domain is a desperate, desolate desert?

Answer?  Find shade.

After a few days, my physical exhaustion began to lift. Eight hours of sleep can really be a gift. The quiet of our morning meditations helped gratitude seep into dry and cracked ground. Soon the silence, the sites and scripture coalesced into a life-giving trickle.

The gnarled and twisted soul was healing but would I find my pastoral heart?

In Capernaum, the celebration of communion, the canonization of bread and cup, left me hungry for more. In Cana, the group renewal of marriage vows reminded me of my own matrimonial losses. The grief lingered as our group entered the West Bank. A lovely conversation in Sebastia reminded me that I have not lost my pastoral sensibilities. At Jacob’s Well I remembered that God chooses women who struggle to lead. But it was at the baptismal site at the Jordan River that something broke open and apart. Somehow pouring that muddy water over the heads of my eager pilgrims helped me hear God’s ancient affirmation, “You are my beloved in whom I am well pleased.”

Baptism has always been more about God’s commitment to us. God is the one who promises and calls. Nothing about my effort, my brokenness, or my circumstance can change God’s binding grace and love.  

I am God's beloved  . . . also broken . . . and given as a blessing.

By the way, did I mention that the spot on the Jordan River where John baptized is located in the middle of the wilderness?