A dove stood peace in a tree by the lot where I’d parked my car,
And a partner dove held watch and comfort
Over the place where I met my friend.
And now we are visiting the beautiful convent,
Learning from Mary in our elder years,
Opening to God’s invitation to give, to do, to become.
Last Sunday I was welcomed to the Church,
The church of my new parish—
Where I thought I could never belong, fit in—
In a ceremony that once was oil to my water,
A little-known language, customs,
And ways of seeing Creation.
I, we, one can worship everywhere;
The congregation has shown me welcome;
And so I join a community of kind people
With whom I share love and the wish
To give love, kindness, hope,
To one another and the world.
And we sing hymns!
The music holds Creation;
Our notes link spirits and minds
Around the room,
To the beginning of the world,
To the beginning of my world,
When it and I were whole
And still becoming.
I have walked away from the Quaker meeting
That once joined hands, song, and ministry with the three of us
And other loved souls
With whom we gathered eagerly
And special days between.
I’ve lost the sense of oneness with those
Who gather in the old meetinghouse
That remains full of memories
But no longer of belonging.
I feel that belonging here,
Among the Franciscan sisters,
Among the dear parishioners
In the church once foreign
That is now the place I sing hymns
And join hands in greeting.
I do not need to deny or distance
Who I have been and am
To enter a new spiritual home
As I go on seeking.
The Church, the church, the history,
Even the creeds, doctrines, and rituals,
Give a setting for building on what is within.
They can be an invitation,
A set of possibilities,
A place for new becoming
Rather than demanding
What and how to be.
The Rite of Welcoming embraced
My heart, my spirit and emotions
Filling with astonishment
For such extravagant concern for me—
One who is inclined, unless performing,
To escape disturbing.
After my more than sixty years in Quakerism,
After the deep gifts of spirit, wisdom, and leading
My parents gave our Meeting,
My leaving was met with little notice;
Can I be wrong to walk into newfound warmth?
Sitting on the sofa one afternoon,
Reading and relishing the day,
I felt a hand on my shoulder;
Sweet Mother sings to me at night,
And both my dear ones knock
To say, “We are still at home together”;
Settings change, but not the essence of souls.
And the great blue heron points her toes in flight;
The Moon waxes and wanes
Even in a sky of absent stars;
New friends link arms
With friends who have gone on,
And love glows in the center,
Expanding like sunrise
To enfold us all.
Originally written 12/15/18; revised 1/29/19