Sharing the Secret

Each Friday morning a small group gathers in front of the altar at St. Bede’s Episcopal Church for morning prayer. Usually it’s the same faces, mostly female, except for a couple of guys, one who is an ordained priest with his own parish flock southwest of Santa Fe. Part of this group then lingers in the common room for Bible study.

Usually I look forward to Friday morning, even though I sometimes suffer my own attitude that causes me to resist this gathering of disciples. I wonder what goes through the hearts of the others as they anticipate, experience, or reflect on the exchange that occurs among us each week. We are who we are, agendas and all, really just a group of pilgrims making their way, stumbling here and there, taking ourselves too seriously at times, struggling with the harsh realities of living in an often difficult and frightening world. But then, hasn’t it always been? And isn’t this what we are promised? Are we not here, indeed, are we not to be here for one another on this faith journey? Aren’t we to learn, as were challenged our early ancestors of the faith, that we must shine a light on the path of one another, extend a hand to one another across tumultuous waters—that we are in deed to embrace one another?

Do we continue to waste precious time feeding our childish egos, believing in pathetic agendas and rules that serve only to separate us? For a moment, forget about loving your enemy, and consider loving—or at least letting go of the instinct to shun or judge, or just ignore—the guy sitting next to you on a Sunday morning, or a Friday morning. Or closer to home, loving your kin, even the ones to whom you are connected only by blood and no other affection, the ones with whom you have few if any shared life experiences that call a smile to your face, or stoke a warmth in your heart. For some of us, loving memories long faded for others somehow remain minor treasures. They are part of who we are.

Yesterday I was reminded during Bible study of the simple, so simple, expectation that our faith asks of us—to walk with one another, to care for one another, to care enough that we want to embrace, even though our customs discourage such familiarity. Some families don’t embrace or say, “I love you”. Some friends suffer the same deprivation. I don’t know what was happening in the hearts of the other five pilgrims sitting at that table yesterday. I do know that as we read the scriptures and shared our stories, and our understanding, that I saw smiles of recognition—a light perhaps—maybe to flicker only for the moment, at least for now. A hand on my shoulder told me, once again, to keep the faith, as we sometimes say, to continue the walk, to get out of my own way if need be, and I am reminded, to trust the journey. As we were preparing to leave, I commented,  “You know Friday morning prayer and Bible study at St. Bede’s might just be the best kept secret in Santa Fe.” In a way, I like the intimacy of our small numbers, the familiarity of the faces, and yet, I feel a need for others to share our secret.

Sharing the Secret—Santa Fe, New Mexico (August 2, 2008)

R. Harold Hollis