New and True
Dear Friends:
As I have moved through these early days of Epiphany, I have paid attention to ways that God might be revealing something new and true to me in ways I may not expect in the midst of these tumultuous times. Yesterday, our Junior Warden Paul Broughton shared with me a beautifully written essay by his daughter, Inder Coppola, in her weekly blog, “Wanderings,” which considered the birthing process of a new year in the midst of national turmoil. Inder grew up attending St. John’s…some of you knew her as Rebecca. Her words were indeed new and true, and met me exactly where I am. I suspect they might be meet you there, too.
Here is an excerpt from her post:
“This new year has not come in easily, we have churned and turned ourselves on this wheel of time into it, hopeful for change weary. Carrying dreams in our hands and covid on our backs. Or is it the other way around?
It has become my personal custom to choose a word as a heart anchor for the year. In 2020, this useful anchor was willingness. The word that has been rising to my lips when I speak to the land, the prayer that comes is holy. Holy, holy, holy. I feel it resonate in my chest and throat when I sing it. It fills the space. A friend’s blessing that came with the birth of my son.
I feel how the energy of this word shifts my reality when I allow it to take me. I can be standing in the wreck of mental sabotage, and remember this word and it turns me towards wholeness. The wholeness of others. The Other. Myself. I feel the filter of my ground shift—in a breath what is alive emerges, gratitude comes. Self-made restrictions dissolve. The trees stand forth as whole beings, as holy subjects. The Mountain receives me. And what kind of transformation could occur to reorient myself over and over this way: to the world as whole and holy. This pen. This glass of water. The reflection in the mirror. This chair. You. The cellphone of my addiction. The hum of the refrigerator. The silence when it cuts off. The yowls of my aging cat. This mask. The air. Your eyes. This conflict. This virus. This dance. This sleepless night. This trapped energy. This exhale. How would my relationships evolve when we are all holy? It seems impossible that it would not be in the direction of healing. I would love for THIS—the dimensionality of holiness—to infect my consciousness. Language is one of the unique creative gifts of humans. How can I create my reality this way, even the things I hate, the feelings I fear, the undertow that takes me down sometimes. When there is more holiness than fear, than pollution, than despair.
So in 2021 I am apprenticing to the word holy.
What you, Holy Reader, will take from this writing I do not know. Perhaps it will be to choose a word for your heart anchor. This word came to me over and over as I wandered out on the land with my drum over weeks and then months. Maybe you also take yourself to a place, and as you step over the threshold of that place, have a question of what is my heart anchor this year? How do I orient to this very wondrous, very difficult world? May that be our wander. How to anchor our hearts, so that we can lean into the actions we are called to perform, and the love we have to give.”
In the light and hope of Epiphany,
Amelie+