This homily has been one that I have returned to multiple times for different spaces. It is also what I presented as my homily for the Ministerial Fellowship Committee in March 2023.
As the world remains complicated and in many ways a messy place, I believe this message remains relevant.
*A poem/reflection written in prayer on the challenge someone I know currently faces battling cancer.
There is nothing fair
About any of this,
Of children
That of which we are
Left to fend for themselves,
There is nothing fair about there being
An unknown
That is always shrouded in mystery;
Without answers
I can try to comfort you
And try I will,
I ask that you only take from it what you need,
Here is what I believe:
There is nothing “fair”
About the suffering you endure
And it is not an act of spite,
By the Divine;
The Divine
—A spirit so grand and yet still seeing your lifetime in its uniqueness
For the first time;
Spirit, an entity timeless
And endless
Thus, always in flux;
Knows even metamorphoses involve mutation,
At levels, we can not perceive;
The cosmos are so great and complex, and yet their workings are also part of and shaped by the microscopic;
Spirit may stir the workings,
Yet pain is but
A byproduct,
unintended,
This we may never rightly understand;
Breathe, dear one,
It is not fair,
Nor is it your fault,
In this moment, I can do nothing to absolve your hurting,
But I can be present
With you,
for you,
Holding you in this temporal comfort of embrace,
I can also say nothing,
For words are meaningless,
Being explained to one in a crucible;
As much as I can
I hold your pain
In my heart
In exchange with my love,
Love that is also an unending
Blessed gift of the Divine,
always,
And for all;
And still damnit No,
This
is not fair.
The current is hard, love,
The tide is high,
The waves are choppy,
But don’t lose yourself in the white water,
And if you should
Remember to go back,
Go back;
And rescue you,
You too deserve
To be believed,
Loved,
Appreciated,
and Saved,
This river of life is rough.
2.1.2023
I hear the windchimes
The wind it calls
Reminds it is not lifeless
But imbued with life itself
Breath
And breathing ancestors
Still
Chimes are their song
Listen
And know
It is sung for you.
We are together;
We are The Tree
Of Life
The stick…
The twig…
The leaf…
The root…
The seed…
Welcome to this moment
Welcome to this now
Welcome to your only
In hours, minutes, seconds
Welcome to the never to be again,
As time passes
By
This is your now,
This is your life.
***
Reflection:
In formation I am learning to be vigilant to what I feel, think, and experience in a way I never have before. I regularly take consult in a therapist (something I think everyone should do). In a recent session I confided that I’m done letting fear and what could possibly happen dominate my life and the associated decision making in the process. If I had let fear take the wheel entirely I would not be in seminary right now; for fear over student loans. This is my one known life. It would be a sin not to live it to the fullest.
Spirit,
A stream, a river, a flowing body,
That is what you are,
And we each are droplets,
In the course,
Are bubbling, babbling, over the path forward,
No awareness of our destination,
Or how we’ll make it
Through,
But we are here,
And flowing,
In and of,
Made of,
Because of
You
This our path,
Destination unknown,
Are safe and secure by unseen borders,
Flowing,
Splashing,
Going,
Always moving forward,
On,
Marked by shifts,
Waves, torrents,
Boulders, rocks,
And
On we flow
I am coming up for air.
This has been a year unlike I have ever known. With the pandemic, one tumultuous event after another, and then I’m going to school for ministry. In truth ministry is where I surface, and gasp– gulping in a deep breath. My figurative lungs expand and I realize I am tired. I am a mere mortal and it is in these brief moments that I breathe, that I let my body relax into the protective feeling that is exhaustion.
I am by nature an overachiever, but this is no longer a quest for an A+ grade. I’m coming to terms with that. This is about being; being a minister and being at my core human. In being a burgeoning minister I am working on cultivating a non-anxious presence.
A non-anxious presence–It sounds beautiful, almost poetic to have such resolve. But it is not easy. I am trying though. I must confess I cry (though seldom), but when alone, and have the room I have let go. I let the weight sink in, and release it in liquid form–I cry, and then I am washed anew. My spirit is renewed, and I recall why I am in this position.
The heady content of my coursework–history of global Christianity, community organizing, naturism, and vocational studies is a puzzle scrambling to be pieced together in my mind. These are the tools for building my ministerial knowledge, but this rough and tumble of life is where I’m building my grit. Right now is one of my down moments, but I’m in the process of picking myself up.
I stand, take a breath, and look back from whence I came. I am amazed by the hazardous terrain I have already passed. This is passing through to become.
I am beginning a book group tomorrow at the church I am serving as an intern; Via zoom of course. I have never led a book group before, nor been a part of a book group. I am not quite sure what is expected of the group leader.
The book we are reading is Wintering, by Katherine May. It is about difficult life experiences and going through this time of winter. Jessica, the person I am leading the group with, and I felt it was ideal considering what we are all going through with the pandemic. We are at the vaccination stage (for some), but we’re all still holed in, isolating, waiting for the all clear. It is a mass time of wintering. And we have been doing this for about a year now. What can I say to lead a group, at this time that has not been said before?
And then the collision happened. Today. My partner was in an automobile accident on the way to work. A severe accident. I am now sitting with a cup of coffee at Eastern Maine Medical Center waiting for the completion of his surgery.
This is our winter. We have been going through it for some time. Through sudden death, cancer, surgery, and now trauma. And I realize something about what I’ve been doing wrong in my ministry—despite ministry, life still happens, to me. I am not immune from the vertigo of life. I’m in it, like everyone else. So while I can offer prophetic reflections as I go, I ought not expect to deflect difficulty.
Perhaps I am understanding the point of the Wintering book better now– embrace the winter, live through the winter, wear your warmest threads, just expect to get quite a chill.
A Prayer for the Ordinary
In this great heavy time,
We have faced trials only our ancestors long passed could know,
We have had great worry laid upon our chests,
with the turning of the clock,
Forward
Into another year,
Let us find peace,
And make peace with the days that have passed,
Let our expectations be as much as we can bear,
And yet our hope for the future ever growing,
In this year,
Let us see life with eyes brand new,
With an appreciation from the trials faced,
Of the new day, of a baby’s breath, of the privilege of monotony
Let us celebrate spirit when the ordinary occurs,
For oh do we know
The grief of lost normalcy,
Let us be joyous
For it is a new day,
Joyous,
For this now is our time,
Spirit as we awaken
To the renewed beauty and gift that is life,
May we find comfort and protection,
From the world’s great unknowns,
And knowledge that in our struggles
We are not alone.
Rev. Vanessa Titang 