Return

            Funny how words take on different meaning in different contexts and other words maintain their meaning but exist in a variety of contexts.  To return almost always has to include leaving.  If you are returning something to its rightful place, well you are going to leave it there.  In our court systems when something is returned, an indictment, a verdict, someone will be leaving something behind, maybe their freedom.  And when we travel, whether returning to someplace familiar or returning to someplace for the first time, we had to leave something behind.  Sometimes we look forward to returning, like I look forward to returning to Scotland someday.  Sometimes we hold the return in dread, like often I resent having to return to work.  The word of the day is return.

            My image is a familiar sight if you have ever left the Isle of Iona.  The staff aligns the jetty and bid you farewell.  They do it in creative ways, which I will not share with you in case you have not yet had that privilege.  Now on this particular day it was lovely weather, but they bid adieu regardless of the conditions.  Perhaps the most touching part is the next part of your journey will be on a bus, for an hour on single track roads, returning you to the “real world.”  It is little wonder the Scots say goodbye with a simple “haste ye back.” 

            But by far, my favorite return can’t be captured in an image; returning to the sanctuary of my home church.  I was there when the first spades of dirt were turned. I wrote the number of trips left to seminary on its concrete slab.  I have led worship, read scripture, served communion and “done church” in that place.  However, when I return to its structure, alone, in the peace and stillness of early morning or late evening, I have no doubt that I have returned to God.  In the steamy, sticky, dirtiness of each day, when it is easy to forget what I should be about, I can return to this place and know.  Just know… God is there and goes with me as I return to the world outside.

This is a thin place. 

Typically for Lent, I am working on a collective blog put together by clergy members of the Louisiana Annual Conference, but alas, this year, that is not the “thing” that I am taking up for Lent. I was in a bit of a quandary about what to take up, but discovered that @umcrethinkchurch was hosting a Lenten photo-a-day. They have provided a list of words, and as participants we are to upload an image to twitter or pinterest or facebook, sharing our vision of that word. What a great thing to take up! And even better to share! And while I love taking images, and I will embrace this practice for Lent, I believe I will take it a step beyond, searching for the thin place in words with words for Lent.

On this Ash Wednesday the word is actually a phrase – who am I? And what a loaded phrase. When I first saw the list of words, I admit to being a bit daunted by the kick of phrase. Who am I is a struggle at the present. I seemingly have a better handle on who I want to be, but it is not mine to recreate the phrases or the words on the list. I can rattle off the list of responsibilities that I have, but really quite certain that doesn’t define who I might be. I can wax eloquent about whose I am, and often do, not struggling so much with the knowledge as much as the implications. And then there it was.

It’s my freezer door. My freezer door defines me, by the magnets and the objects held in place by the magnets. There are magnets from the thin places God as taken me; Isreal, Cambodia, Scotland. There are magnets that represent my love for teddy bears and dogs. There is a house blessing and a prayer given to me by a friend. There is a Buddhist quotation given to me by another friend. There is a magnet from the House of Blues laying down the rule of the house. And there is my St. Benedict’s card, given to me by Father Dominic on the occasion of my first oblation at St. Joseph’s Abbey. Probably my second tentative step towards ordination. And all of that is on the door of my freezer.

I am a child of God. A child that has opportunities to do many things. A child that gets confused by the myriad of opportunities available before me. I am a child whose God is still defining “who am I”!

And this is a thin place.