This past Lent, I spent time living into an image from the New Testament, taking the place of the woman who, in the press of the crowd, found her ultimate connection/relationship by merely touching the hem of Jesus' garment.As with other mystical and prayerful images for me, it found its inspiration in - and emanated from - walking the Stations of the Cross each Friday. Traversing that path must, for me, involve the present as much as the past - a divine coexistence between the two. Here is where I am nearly 'slain' by gratitude for the liturgical tradition I am part of: time and space are bound only by lack of imagination.
So, it happened one Friday evening that Jesus walked down the center aisle of St. John's. Images of blood are strong for me, and were present there, but I will not yet go into that - not now, not at this point. I believe that each individual's mystical path is a unique revelation (having tried and tried for years to copy others' practice, I gave up...and found myself waiting for me in God's open hand). So...for me, that night, spiritual gravity pulled not my hand or fingertips, but my forehead all the way to the spot where a holy but dusty garment brushed the blood red carpet.
Again, speaking to/from the liturgical, mystical tradition, all senses are invited to the event. So...my forehead felt the gravitational weight of my prostrate head as a unique and focussed ache. Seemingly, mere fingertips were not enough. Eyes, pregnant with tears, could not bear the light-ness of the moment...and themselves bowed shut.
This was a place that I would continue to go to during Lent, and still do. Each time, the image is a call to drop everything - yes, even my very self. The collapse is reminiscent of a child's toy -- the jointed figure, laced together by string, that loses all tension at the touch of the button under its tiny platform - only to be raised up, refreshed, when it is released.
This is a good place. A place of nourishment...of communion. And through that, an electrical current of pure Love does more than reach out from the past or reflect back from the present: It is both...and more...all at once...as it passes between us.
