Today my heart was broken. It will sound silly when I say how it happened, but it is still the truth. About a month ago the ancient roof over the gym/hall of the church sprang a leak. Not just a tiny one, but a waterfall like one. Buckets big and small stretched across the width of the space. They were replaced the next day by troughs that looked like they could be used to feed pigs. Over the last few weeks the roof has been repaired, the wet insulation removed and the drying out process has begun. However, the hall is dusty, smelly and not a very nice place to be.
Before this afternoon I had not been back in there since the water began to flow. As I wandered around the space with several other folks looking at the possibilities for how we might re-vision the use of that area, I noticed something. Sitting on a table layered with dust was the cover to the baptismal font. The font is what holds the water for baptism, which is a sacred rite in my tradition. It is when we say "yes" to God's "yes". It is where the community is born as we are connected to one another through our faith. I was astonished that a piece of the font would be treated in that manner; stuck in a dirty, smelly room instead of being in the sanctuary where it belonged. Then I saw the font itself, a large, beautiful. shallow blue pottery bowl turned upside down next to the cover. The bowl was broken and someone was trying to repair it and the repair was sloppy.
My heart broke as I looked at the font. It isn't just a bowl. It is a symbol of where we encounter the Holy One in water and community. When I stand with a baby in my arms and say the words and as I anoint the child with water the veil thins. It is a sacred moment. My call is to be a keeper of those moments for the community. I am keeper of the stories and symbols; font and table. The font was broken and no cared. No one told me. It wasn't important enough to mention. It became another piece of furniture to be repaired. The significance of what happened went unnoticed.
It isn't just a broken bowl. It is broken symbol. It is a piece of my call and my keeping broken. The questions that flow for me become; what symbols are important to our spiritual lives? Are there any? If there are, how do we handle and treat the sacred, holy symbols of our lives? I don't know the answers, but I know wanted to weep as I looked at that magnificent bowl on a dirty dusty table in pieces.
Before this afternoon I had not been back in there since the water began to flow. As I wandered around the space with several other folks looking at the possibilities for how we might re-vision the use of that area, I noticed something. Sitting on a table layered with dust was the cover to the baptismal font. The font is what holds the water for baptism, which is a sacred rite in my tradition. It is when we say "yes" to God's "yes". It is where the community is born as we are connected to one another through our faith. I was astonished that a piece of the font would be treated in that manner; stuck in a dirty, smelly room instead of being in the sanctuary where it belonged. Then I saw the font itself, a large, beautiful. shallow blue pottery bowl turned upside down next to the cover. The bowl was broken and someone was trying to repair it and the repair was sloppy.
My heart broke as I looked at the font. It isn't just a bowl. It is a symbol of where we encounter the Holy One in water and community. When I stand with a baby in my arms and say the words and as I anoint the child with water the veil thins. It is a sacred moment. My call is to be a keeper of those moments for the community. I am keeper of the stories and symbols; font and table. The font was broken and no cared. No one told me. It wasn't important enough to mention. It became another piece of furniture to be repaired. The significance of what happened went unnoticed.
It isn't just a broken bowl. It is broken symbol. It is a piece of my call and my keeping broken. The questions that flow for me become; what symbols are important to our spiritual lives? Are there any? If there are, how do we handle and treat the sacred, holy symbols of our lives? I don't know the answers, but I know wanted to weep as I looked at that magnificent bowl on a dirty dusty table in pieces.
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