Early Morning

Most mornings, I wake before 5 am to rise and write "morning pages."  Then I meditate for a while before taking the dog for a walk, making my oatmeal and when this body agrees, I attend morning prayer at 7:15 am.  There is something so wonderful about gathering with these others who are familiar to me now, and for whom I feel affection.  Not because we've shared in deep conversations, but because we gather around the scriptures there before the altar.  We pray, incense rising, plainsong flowing as outside the church building, the sun rises over the mountains.   There is something very good about the praise which comes out of our mouths, the first thing of the day.

Did I ever tell you about the time in my life when I visited a convent frequently?  The time I "almost" became an Episcopal nun.  I always wanted to wear a habit.  But of course there was far more to it than that.  Going to morning prayer reminds me of that time in my life, a time when I frequented the convent for retreat, and saw such a deep peace in the lives of many of the sisters there.  There was some squabbling, as is bound to happen when a community of people live in such close proximity.  But most of the time the drama was kept to a minimum.  Of course there were exceptions...

Before the noon service, the priest would often hear confession in the confessional which was right off the chapel. One day I arrived early, and was sitting in my pew, sorting out my prayer book, which was still a bit of a mystery to me. There were others gathering for the service as well, and we all tried to look properly pious. But it was difficult that particular day. You see, Sister "Anthony", an 85 year old sister, who was mostly deaf, was in the confessional. She was speaking quite loudly and her words came clearly through the door and into the chapel where they seemed to be echoing off the walls. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I have been absolutely furious with Sister "Ignatious" who burned a hole in my best habit. Her ironing is just terrible Father. Forgive me, but someone else should work in the laundry. Best keep Ignatious out of the kitchen as well! Don't let her near the candles on the altar either, or give her the opportunity to burn the communion wafers in the work room. Maybe she could scrub floors or shelve books in the library. It's just my opnion, but this habit I'm wearing is a very old one and if you look closely you can see the stains from the time Sister James tripped and spilled the beets all over me. Sister Thomas did a fine job in the laundry and got most of it out, but you know how beets are Father, they are very stubborn...their stains, like us sinners I guess"

Sister Ignatious sat in the choir, gazing at the floor and turning 50 shades of pink, and I hurried out and down the hall where I slipp  ed into the bathroom and nearly choked on the tissues I stuffed into my mouth to keep my guffaws from bursting forth. How did Mother Matthew sit so still, not even the flicker of a smile on her face? I still haven't mastered it.  Maybe that means I would have made a terrible nun.  I don't know.  But the incident still brings a smile.  Not because I am laughing at poor Sister Anthony or Sister Ignatious.  It's because the whole thing was so beautiful and human and dear.  I never failed to squeeze Sister Anthony's hand when I passed her in the hallway.  I hope she is smiling down on me as I write.  Oh heavens, she's probably laughing about one of my less than perfect moments...perhaps even my most recent confession!  We humans must keep God endlessly amused!

Looking forward to saying Compline this evening with my soul friend, Susan, and then rising early for another session of Morning Prayer.  I have found such comfort and such power here in these familiar and ancient rites and spiritual disciplines.