In the Shadow of the Topiary

On Thursday I sat in the shadow of the topiary.  One of the students who comes by and frequently comments on the weather said, "It's not cold.  It's not rainy."  I responded, "And I'm sitting in the shadow of the topiary, so it's not too hot!"  After I said it, we laughed, and I joked, "Sounds like a book title, doesn't it?"  Maybe, if I write a book about my experiences at the prayer station, I'll use that title.  On warm days, the Plaza bakes in the sun, and though Thursday wasn't as warm as it will be when the students return in August, I still got a little sweaty.  I had discovered back in the fall that the topiary gives off just enough shade to keep from getting too much sun on my face and to provide a bit of coolness.  It was a lovely day for sitting outside - breezy but not the 40 mph gusts that had been predicted.  Last weekend I had gotten a new chair because the sack for the old one had ripped and made it difficult to carry.  The new one is electric blue, and I was eager for someone to try it out.

It's spring break for many high schools, and Thursday was clearly a big admissions day.  I watched group after group passing through the Plaza, touring the campus.  Blessings on their college decisions - I wonder how many of them will start in the fall.  Or perhaps these are juniors, visiting colleges so that they'll know where they want to apply next year.  CNU is so shiny and new; I would think it would be popular, though I understand there's a big debate going on about campus housing.  CNU students are required to live in on campus for their first three years, and not everyone is able to get the housing that they want or feel that they were promised.  So far the Canterbury students seem pleased with their housing for next year.

The work load is increasing as the final month of school starts.  Students are stressed, but they're delighted with the warmer weather.  All over the lawns I see them scattered with their books as they try to attend to their studies and enjoy some time outside.  For those of you who know me, you know that cherry trees are a particular favorite of mine.  Because peak bloom occurred over Holy Week and Easter this year in Washington D.C., I wasn't able to get up to the cherry blossom festival.  But for some reason, our trees are behind the DC trees this year, and they have peaked a week later.  Cherries abound on the CNU campus and lining the streets that lead into it.  Puffy white blossoms called me to them on the lawns of one of the residence halls.  I drew a branch down to my nose and breathed in their sweet fragrance.  One student sprawled on the green carpet of grass under the canopy of snowy branches.  I would probably have chosen the same spot.

There were some prayer requests Thursday and one request for help getting service hours.  The Presidential Leadership Program at CNU requires many hours of community service, and sometimes it can be hard to find places to get enough hours.  I was delighted to be able to connect a student with the St. Paul's Saturday lunch ministry that we've helped with before.  The student who first spoke to me at the prayer station is graduating this year.  He's also getting married in a month and has his senior recital for his music major next week.  He stopped by to check in and chat about a Dag Hammarskjold book he's reading.  It was great to reconnect with him and to wish him well on his exciting future.

Change is coming.  Winter rolls into spring as the baby leaves unfurl on the trees and bulbs burst into brilliant colors.  A yellow dusting of pollen coats my sign and shoes and probably the inside of my lungs after sitting outside for a few hours.  Seniors are getting ready to graduate and pack up and move out.  Underclassmen are trying to register and get the classes they need.  Student leadership is changing over as the older students turn their attention outward.  Everyone is busy as they pass through the Plaza on their way to classes, meetings, meals, studies, naps.  These are the days of the CNU lives as we sit in the shadow of the topiary...

Maundy Thursday

Maundy Thursday was a full day.  I arrived at St. Stephen's for my weekly check-in, only to be greeted at my car by my rector, Scott, telling me not to come in to the building.  A sewage back-up in the basement of the parish hall, had made the building, including offices, uninhabitable.  Plumbers and water company people were on the scene, but there was no point in me spending time inside.  So I headed over to CNU and spent a little time in the campus coffee shop before setting up the prayer station.  It was a beautiful day but very windy.  The prayer station was quiet; students passing by were in a hurry to get to where they were going.  There was also an event on the other side of the student union from where I was sitting.  Pie the president.  I sneaked over after hearing loud cheers and saw students flinging pies at the faces of sorority and fraternity presidents.  I have witnessed this event before.  I think you pay a certain amount of money to have the honor of throwing the whipped cream pies.  I worried about one student passing by later in the afternoon until I realized that the white dripping down his face was from pie, not a wound. 

For Maundy Thursday I had planned a labyrinth walk.  I brought the SpiritWorks labyrinth, and a friend dropped by to help me set it up.  The wind made it a struggle.  Gusts ripped the canvas labyrinth out of our hands and almost blew it across the plaza.  I tried putting books down on the edges, but the wind tossed them in the air and blew the labyrinth back on top of itself. 
I got more and more frustrated, thinking that we wouldn't be able to set it up.  On my way inside for a pit stop, I noticed a pile of stones off to the side of the walkway.  I picked a couple up and set them on the edge of the canvas.  It was hard to know where to put them because the wind blew against any section not held down.  I left my friend standing on the labyrinth while I collected more rocks.  As I walked to the rock pit, I said, "Really, God, is this necessary?  Can't you do something about this wind?"  The answer I got back was, "I helped you find this pile of rocks."  Touché, God.  I smiled sheepishly.  The rocks were, indeed, a Godsend.  Once I had collected enough of them, they were able to hold the labyrinth in place for the most part.  Several people commented that the rocks gave it a monastic feel.  They thought it was an intentional aesthetic choice.

My first visitors were staff members from the Center for Academic Success.  They enjoyed walking the labyrinth and said they would recommend it to their students.  I explained how walking it can reduce stress.  They had seen my advertisement in the campus announcements.  Another staff person brought a couple of students out to walk it as well.  A number of students came and asked questions about it or thanked me for having it there, but they said they didn't have time to walk it.  A couple of students evidently thought it was a maze, as they stood nearby and used their eyes to traverse the path - when there were no dead ends or choices, they rolled their eyes and moved along.  Maybe they were looking for a challenge, not a clear path to the center.

Some of my favorite comments were the students who passed by and saw the "Happy Maundy Thursday" on the bottom of the sign.  "Maundy?" I heard them saying to one another.  "What's a Maundy?"  I saw a campus minister from another group explain it to one of his students.  When the Catholic Campus Ministry passed by on their way from Mass, they wished me a blessed Holy Week.  Nice to hear it.  The best, though, was when a small group of girls passed between me and the labyrinth.  "I think you're supposed to walk it slowly and take deep breaths or something," one of them said.  Another one replied, "We don't have time for that."  I laughed out loud, but they didn't have time to notice that either.  On their way they went.

When it came time to pack up, I texted one of the Canterbury students, and he came over to help me.  I knew I couldn't do it by myself in the wind.  Turns out, four other students saw us struggling to fold it up, and they ran over to help as well.  I have to say that the students on this campus are very gracious with their help.

The agapé meal at St. Stephen's had to be canceled, so we moved the whole service into the church.  I preached, we washed feet, we celebrated the Eucharist, and stripped and censed the altar.  It is one of my favorite services.  I love that the congregation gets to participate, if they so desire, and at least one person said that my sermon caused him to take part in the foot washing, which he had never done before.  It is a holy thing, that foot washing.  The person who washed my feet started saying, "This little piggy..." as she dried my toes.  It is sweet and humbling and funny and tender, all at the same time.  What a glorious privilege to be able to share an act so intimate.  I was grateful for a full day of meaningful ministry with students and parishioners and fellow human beings. 

Holy Tuesday

On Sunday I went to the nonviolent communication practice group that I attend once a month.  One of the members opened our session with the following poem by Langston Hughes:


Tired

I am so tired of waiting,

Aren’t you,

For the world to become good

And beautiful and kind?

Let us take a knife

And cut the world in two—

And see what worms are eating

At the rind.

It is Tuesday in Holy Week.  This morning I awoke safely in my house and, after showering and feeding the cats, went downstairs for centering prayer and morning reading.  Something caught my eye on Facebook.  "Praying for the people of Brussels."  Uh oh, I thought.  What has happened now?  I finished my prayer time and then turned on the news while eating breakfast.  There I saw why prayers are needed.  Another terrorist attack.  In Brussels.  Lord, have mercy.  May the souls of all the departed rest in peace.  Please bring comfort to their families and friends.

Yes, Langston, I am tired, too, of waiting for the world to become good, and beautiful and kind.  

Tonight I walked the labyrinth again.  This time in honor of Brussels.  I barely know where it is, and  I don't know anyone who lives there, though a dear friend lives nearby in the Netherlands.  But I remember what it was like on 9/11, and I weep for those who are devastated tonight.  "Now my soul is troubled," says Jesus in today's Gospel lesson from John.  I take it out of context, but I imagine that Jesus' soul is troubled by all the violence in our world.

What are the worms that are eating at the rind of our world?  How do we get them to stop?  

There was much beauty in my walk tonight:  delicate blooms on trees, gentle songs of birds, full moon rising opposite the setting sun.  It was hard to conceive of the tragedy happening across the ocean.  In the center I sang songs that I learned during summers at Camp Mikell - "By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept for thee Zion."  "Ruah Elohim."  Breath of God.  The wind was blowing, tugging tendrils of my hair out of its clip and into my face.  Tears lurked behind my eyes but did not fall.  I ended my singing with "Balm in Gilead."  Bring balm to the people of Brussels tonight, God.  

Be our strong rock, God, a castle to keep us safe.  You are our crag and our stronghold. 

Holy Monday

There's a chill in the air tonight as I walk slowly toward the labyrinth.  It's Monday in Holy Week, and I have decided to observe it at the labyrinth instead of in church.  Tonight's walk is not about exercise; it's about slowing down and connecting with God.  A contemplative walk.  My neck is in pain - I must have slept wrong last night - so I massage it as I walk.  When I get to the Easter State campus, I see a row of tall Bradford pear trees in full bloom.  I smell them, too, their not-quite-pleasant fragrance drifting my way on the wind.  When I arrive at the labyrinth, I see that the pears at three of its corners are also starting to bloom, although they are not as far along as the ones I first encountered.  The crape myrtles are still in hibernation, branches bare against the sky that is darkening into twilight.  Spring has begun, but it has not fully arrived.  Though it is chilly, I am grateful the weekend's cold rain mixed with snow has ended.

I walk counter-clockwise around the outside of the labyrinth before stopping at the entrance and bowing my head in prayer.  Take away my judgment, God.  Heal me from my judging thoughts and help me to be open and curious and compassionate.  I enter the labyrinth.  I wind my way along the path, moving closer and then further from the center, walking more slowly than usual.  Taking time.  At one point I imagine releasing my busy thoughts.  I breathe in peace.  I breathe out love.  I find myself wondering if the moon is full yet.  Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox.  It's almost as early as it can be this year, so the full moon must be soon.  The sun is headed to the horizon, but I can still feel its warmth on my face when I turn to the west. 

In the center I feel a deep stillness inside.  I stand with my eyes closed, facing the sun.  It bathes my face with tender, warm light.  Were you there when they crucified my Lord?  I start singing.  With each verse I turn to face a new direction.  I can't remember one of the verses, so I sing the first one twice.  When I am facing west again, I sing John Bell's, Take, O take me as I am, summon out what I shall be.  Set your seal upon my soul and live in me.  I decide that I want to walk the labyrinth every day this week if it is possible.  It has been my spiritual practice this past year.  What better way to connect with God?  Of course it may become difficult when it's not my day off, but for now that is my intention.

On the way back out, I notice a couple of cigarette butts in the cracks between the bricks.  I immediately begin an inner litany of judgment about why someone would even bother to walk the labyrinth while smoking and why they would choose to litter in the sacred space.  I know that several of the patients from the hospital have stashed packs of cigarettes in the concrete block walls near the labyrinth, so it really shouldn't be a surprise, but I hadn't thought that people smoked while walking.  Fairly quickly I realize how quickly I have jumped back into judging, so I try to shift my thinking to one of compassion for those who are addicted to cigarettes. 

As I follow the path I realize that I could bring a bag when I come back and pick up the cigarette butts that I see.  That could be my gift to this labyrinth that has nourished me all year.  Tending it, cleaning it, caring for it.  Just as Mary cared for Jesus by anointing his feet with oil and washing them with her hair in the reading from the lessons appointed for today. 

When I reach the entrance I pause for a moment before sealing the circle by walking clockwise around the labyrinth.  I notice other litter that I can pick up when I return.  The sun is below the trees now, and the air is getting cooler.  I pick up my jacket from where I had left it and head for home, stopping to look closely at the pear blossoms on my way.  As I am leaving the campus, I see the moon - almost full indeed.  My calendar says it will be full on the 23rd.  Maybe I can walk in the moonlight later in the week.  We'll see.  It's the beginning of Holy Week.  A good start.

Collect for Monday in Holy Week:

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Plaza Full of People

On Thursday the Plaza was packed.  After many Thursdays of sitting in the rotunda of the DSU, shivering in the cold, I have finally been able to return to the Plaza the past two weeks.  This Thursday was the perfect day for sitting outside to pray.  Clear and dry, 73 degrees, gauzy white con trail lines crisscrossed the deep blue sky, while a gentle breeze with only hint of pollen in it kept the temperature comfortable.  Many things converged on the Plaza at lunch that day.  Of course I was there with the prayer station, and I was dressed in a green fleece for St. Patrick's Day.  It was also CNU day.  Last year they had CNU day during Spring Break, a choice I didn't understand.  I remember wearing my CNU sweatshirt to SpiritWorks and wondering why you'd choose a day when the students weren't around.  This year they chose St. Patrick's Day and made special green CNU shirts.  One student commented that it seemed like a good idea to combine the two but that they were just too far apart.  He had decided to commemorate neither, choosing to celebrate the weather instead, with an Oxford button down and shorts.

In honor of CNU day, there was a flash party on the Great Lawn during lunch.  Music blasted from
speakers, while crowds of students dressed in either green or CNU blue gathered around the on the lawn.  I was told that it was a dance party, but I did not detect much dancing going on.  The only song I recognized was the "Cupid Shuffle," that we had learned to dance to at SpiritWorks a couple of years ago.  No, I did not get up to dance.  I held onto my dignity by maintaining that my presence at the prayer station was more needed than any unfortunate dance moves I might make.  Watching this clergy person "break it down" might have brought some amusement but probably only embarrassment on my behalf.  The dance party ended with a huge group photo on the steps of Christopher Newport Hall, the new administration building.  I wish I had made it over to capture the picture, but at the time I was enjoying good conversation with students who were choosing not to participate.

In addition to CNU day and St. Patrick's Day, it was also the beginning of Greek week.  I had been watching members of sororities and fraternities carrying out life-sized wood carvings of their Greek letters and setting them up in the Plaza.  I tucked the prayer station even closer to one of the gigantic topiary pots so that I wouldn't be in the way of the great Greek assembly.  After the group photo, the crowd of students migrated to the Plaza to start Greek week with a friendly competition.

As an observer I always have to piece these rituals together and try to figure out what's going on.  It looked like the Greeks were organized into teams:  Team 1, Team 2, Blue Team, Green Team, etc.  The first event was some sort of chant/cheer competition.  Because I was sitting and they were standing I couldn't see everything that was going on, but I could hear the cheers.  It looked like most of the students were reading their cheers from their phones, and some of them were hard to hear.  To my left was the green team.  As far as I could tell they were the loudest, and the most energetic, dancing to their chant and jumping up and down.  More of them seemed to know the words of their chant.  I decided that I would vote for them.  (Not that anyone asked me.)  I found out later that they won that portion of the contest.

Next came an event that I didn't understand.  From my vantage point it looked like a few students were gathered in the middle of the circle and that they had small boxes tied around their waist, positioned on their butts.  I thought the object was to dance until the box fell off, but when I asked a student later, he told me it was called, Minute to Win It.  The boxes were tissue boxes filled with ping pong balls, and the goal was to shake all the ping pong balls out of the box.  I couldn't determine who won that one, but it sure looked like they were having fun.

Surprisingly enough, even in the midst of all the chaos, I still had some good conversations and prayer time with students.  Last week had been quiet at the prayer station - I think they had to get used to me being out there again.  I know a lot of seniors this year, and I'm excited to hear about their plans for the future.  They're winding down, trying to stay present where they are and especially enjoy the good company of their community while also looking ahead to what comes next.  Not a bad place to be.

Spring Break Musings - Seek Joy, not Comfort

It's spring break for CNU, so I did not go to the prayer station this week.  The prior two weeks were so busy that I've had little time for writing blog posts.  Both Thursdays were bitterly cold and windy, as I sat inside the DSU rotunda gazing out the windows onto the Plaza and longing for spring.  One of the days I shared the rotunda with other groups so I was positioned to look through the glass doors to the magnolia just beyond the Plaza.  With blue sky in the background, and sun lighting up the evergreen leaves, I could imagine that it was warm outside.  It was only an illusion, though, as I huddled under my soft knitted prayer shawl and felt the wind's cold breath each time the door's stayed open.  On one of the days a student stood and held the door open for what seemed like 10 minutes, until every last person in sight had gone in or out.  I have to admit to thinking unkind thoughts of her as I shivered and my ears turned ice cold.

On that same chilly Thursday, I had a great conversation with a student.  He told me that he was learning that experiencing joy did not necessarily mean being comfortable.  Such wisdom for someone so young.  Joy and comfort are not at all the same thing, are they?

When I was in seminary I did my field work at St. Elisabeth's in Glencoe, IL.  My supervising priest, Daphne, used "seekjoy" as the first part of her email address.  I used to smile as I typed her address into the "To" portion of an email.  What a great reminder - seek joy.  I wonder if part of the challenge of our society is that we're seeking comfort and not joy.  I don't mean the comfort that we seek when we're grieving or struggling and we long for God's peace or a kind word from our loved ones.  I mean the comfort of ease, the comfort of complacency, the comfort of numbing ourselves so that we don't have to witness the pain of others or feel our own pain.

The student I spoke with was realizing that doing God's work brings joy but often takes us to places of discomfort or calls us out of our comfort zones.  Yes, oh yes.  And at the same time it's so easy to slip back into the comfort and ignore the call.  Sometimes it means standing up and speaking out, especially against injustice.  Sometimes it means sitting down and listening, especially to voices that don't share our privilege.  It means sitting with our own discomfort when we're told we don't know everything and we can't fix everything.  I find it so hard to sit in the in between, to listen when I want to act, to stand up when it's going to cost, and yet, there is joy to be found in all those occasions.

There's is probably much more to be said on this topic, but I hear my taxes crying out to be finished.  I hope that the student I spoke with will continue to seek joy and not stay comfortable.  I hope I will too.

The Stories Behind the Numbers

A few weeks ago Jan Brown asked me how many people pass by the prayer station each week.  I had no idea.  A bunch.  She suggested I might check with the dining hall and ask them.  So this past Thursday, I went to the counter at Regatta's toward the end of the prayer station time and asked the man who was swiping dining cards if he could tell me approximately how many students eat lunch there on a Thursday.  "1300-1900," he said instantly.  He told me that Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were the biggest days for lunch and that there were often theme meals on Thursday which boosted attendance. I said, "So I could reasonably say that there are about 1500 each week."  He looked down at the computer in front of him and said, "Right now we're at 1510."  He said they might get a couple more hundred before they closed to get ready for the evening theme meal.  When checking in with highs and lows at ECM that night, several students reported their high was the Valentine's-themed dinner which included steak wrapped with bacon, endless crab legs, and a chocolate fountain.

About 1500 people pass by the prayer station each week.  Wow.  You see, I'm not much of a numbers person.  One of the first questions my mother always asked when I came home from an event was, "How many people were there?"  If it was more than 10, I couldn't answer.  "I don't know," I would say.  My mother would demand, "Well guess.  More than 50?" Most of the time I was stumped.  I could tell her about the people I talked to and what went on at the event and whether I had a good time, but when I started to try to count up the people, I would get confused.  No matter how many times this happened, I couldn't remember to do a head count while I was at the event.  Even when I did, I would start counting and get to about 20 before losing track and having to start over.  There's a good reason why I don't work at a bank! 

What does interest me about numbers is not the numbers themselves but the stories the numbers tell. 

So, approximately 1500 students pass by the Prayer Station on a Thursday during lunch.  I probably make eye/smile contact with at least 50-100 of them, and I would guess that many more notice me and the sign.  (When I meet students they frequently say, "I've seen you on campus but I haven't come to talk with you yet.)  Certainly many walk by completely absorbed in thoughts or conversations and don't seem to see me or the sign, much less make contact.  A few are on their phones but I've been surprised that it hasn't been more.  Probably 20-30 students/staff/faculty have a more meaningful contact with the station or me on a given day.  Meaningful contact would include a short conversation, a hug, a prayer, a shared lunch or hot chocolate.  About 6-8 people per week have an even deeper encounter where they share something personal and vulnerable, where the discussion goes on longer than a quick check-in, where we make a strong connection through prayer or conversation. 

On Thursday a friend from the SpiritWorks community surprised me by stopping by and bringing hot chocolate.  I was bundled up in three layers of clothes, two pairs of socks, coat, scarf, prayer shawl and gloves, trying to endure the blasts of cold air that swooped in each time the doors opened to the Plaza.  It was the day after Ash Wednesday.  I was so happy for that hot drink that I completely forgot that one of my Lenten disciplines was giving up chocolate.  I downed half of it before I remembered.  My young friend and I shared a prayer and conversation, and my heart warmed from the contact just as my body warmed from sipping the hot drink.  Such a treat! 

On Thursday one of the students I had met from Thrive also stopped by.  She is becoming a regular, one with whom I have a deeper connection.  This time she asked me how she could pray for me.  So I told her I was seeking clarity and asked her to pray that those who need the prayer station would find it.  She said a lovely prayer before heading off to meet someone for lunch.  One of the ECM students came by to tell me he had attended an Ash Wednesday service for the first time in a long while, and another member of ECM checked in and talked about upcoming tests. 

On Wednesday I had received an email from one of the new students to ECM this semester asking if she could still help out with the food pantry.  She met me at the prayer station, helped me carry the sign to my car, and spent the next two hours helping St. Stephen's with the Hidenwood Elementary Food Pantry, a collaboration with Hidenwood Presbyterian Church and the Food Bank.  We got to know each other better and felt blessed to be able to give food to people who needed it.  But you know, I forgot to ask how many people we fed or how many volunteers we had.  More than 10 on both counts, but I lost track after that.

Our world is a world where numbers matter.  You have to have the numbers on your side to win the elections.  You have to have sufficient numbers to get the grants or loans.  In the nonprofit world, you have to be able to prove how many you've served if you want to get paid to keep on serving.  That's why people sign in at SpiritWorks.  I get it.  The people investing need to know that they're making a wise investment.  As a collector of stories, though, I can't help wondering what it is we're counting.  People who came in the door or received a service.  Bodies that showed up.  We can spin the numbers in many ways, but what do they really mean?  How do we measure how many had their lives changed or had a meaningful experience?  How do we measure the plants that grow from seeds scattered widely? 

For those who have gotten to know me and the prayer station, the ministry has become a touchstone - a way for them to check in, make a connection, be reminded of God and prayer as they make their way from class to lunch.  What I wonder is whether it has also become a touchstone for many of those 1500 passing by even if they don't stop.  Maybe they see it and it reminds them that someone from the church is praying for them.  Maybe they see it and it makes them think.  Maybe they see it and say a prayer themselves.  I have no way to count how many have received something from the prayer station.  But when my mom asks, I can tell her that it's more than 10.