A Friday Called Good

I spent three hours this afternoon -- the time between noon and three, said to be the hours Jesus hung on the cross -- at my church,  St. David of Wales.  We held a "Seven Last Words" service, in which seven different preachers -- some priests or ministers, a few lay people -- shared meditations on Jesus' seven final utterances from the cross.  The homilies were interspersed with silence, a few hymns sung by the congregation, and deeply moving music played by wonderful musicians.

After each piece of music, each meditation, I had a sense of settling back into the silence with such gratitude.  It is an amazing gift to have more than a few minutes to steep oneself in something true -- to ponder it, to wonder, even to sorrow.  Lord knows that in this busy world we greatly need space to open and hold our thoughts and our hearts.  Give yourself that gift when you can.

Lost, Lost, and Something Other

Last week I had the wrenching experience of discovering that my bird feeders were infected with salmonella; at least four pine siskins and one lesser goldfinch were clearly ill and seemed to be dying.  I took down all the feeders, cleaned and stored them away, scrubbed the patio down with a bleach & water solution -- and wept.

I have grieved ever since -- that my feeders became the source of death; that for several days birds visited empty space and fluttered away, confused; that now they no longer visit at all.  I cannot forget one last ailing bird that flew to the front window and clung to the window frame for hours that evening, gazing in, gazing, waiting.  I sat inside reading but kept looking up.  He would still be there, clinging to the edge.  Before dark fell completely, he was gone.

In obedience to the local experts, I'll wait two weeks before hanging up my clean feeders again -- on Easter Sunday.

May life and health return.