Spurred on by my readings in The Feminine Face of God, I decided to attend a Full Moon Circle this week. It's an all-women spirituality group that I've only been to a handful of times. This week's theme was about thin places; places that are personally sacred. We each went around the room and shared heartfelt stories about where we have felt close to the sacred. The locations spanned the whole world. Some of mine include the beach in Belize I've written about before as well as mountains in general, especially The Blue Ridge Parkway. After sharing about my own thin places and hearing about other people's, I became worried. All the thin places I could imagine were either in the past or not some place I could easily access. Several people spoke of thin places that were special and sacred to them now. I racked my brain and realized a surprising thin place for me: prayer. Not prayer by myself, which I admittedly don't practice very often, at least not in the traditional sense. Art, writing, and singing are my personal prayers. I'm talking about the prayers I say with other people, usually in my role as a Chaplain, worship leader, or with my family.
As a Chaplain, I pray with my patients and their families. In my current cultural location, my prayers often reflect the most common theological perspectives here. It's taken me a while to become comfortable doing so. Mostly, my language reflects a theology that is not part of my current beliefs and yet, strangely, has still felt authentic for me. My discomfort has mostly been present because I haven't been able to understand how I could believe differently and yet feel so authentic in prayer. Recently, in The Feminine Face of God, I came across a phrase from a woman who was once a Roman Catholic nun who left her order and has since pursued painting images of the goddess as a reflection of her spirituality. "My Catholic heritage and environment have been like a beautiful river flowing over my subterranean foundation in God the Mother," she writes in her introduction to The Mother's Songs, "The two movements are not in conflict, they simply water different layers in my soul." They simply water different layers in my soul. Yes, absolutely. This helped me find language for why I can feel personally different from the beliefs of my patients and yet can authentically and whole-heartedly pray with them and their families along our varied theological perspectives; because it waters my soul to do so and connects me with my foundational and initial belief system.
In worship settings, I typically am praying among other Unitarian Universalists and therefore the language I get to embrace reflects my current beliefs. It becomes a combination of prayer, meditation, and guided imagery. It feels comfortable and peaceful. It's almost as though I zone out. I seek the words that feel the most fitting and reflective of the mood, theme, and feeling of the service of which the prayer is a part. Sometimes, it takes me a moment to reemerge into the present moment. But typically I still remain connected to the sacred like the smoke of birthday candles that continue to waft through the air even after the flames have been blown out.
With my family, I'm usually asked to say a blessing before meals. One or both of my parents usually ask me to do this. I think they do it because of my vocation as a Chaplain. They used to try to ask my husband to do it, but Dan doesn't feel comfortable when being put on the spot like that. Over time, it has become my role and is seen as an honor. I embrace as one. Traditionally, in this cultural location, many families have a patriarch lead family prayers. I appreciate and value that my family challenges this tradition.
One last family prayer memory. I've written about it before, but it particularly stands out because it combined my role as a Chaplain and as a family member - as a granddaughter, daughter, niece, and wife. When my grandmother was dying last year, my mom asked me to pray for her. She asked me to do so because she sensed that my grandmother, her mother, needed a minister to provide care. And there I was, the Chaplain Granddaughter, present, willing and able. I accepted the challenge of my mom's request and sang several old hymns and ended them with a prayer. My grandmother died very shortly afterward. I like to think that my prayer comforted my grandmother and offered her peace, as well as provided love and compassion for my family present in the room.
Prayer with others is one of my thin places. It's a sacredness I have access to on a regular basis. I'm grateful for having this particular thin place and becoming aware of it. Thank you to all the women who were a part of this recent, personal discovery.
Blessed be.
