This week as we celebrate Holy Cross, you may notice that some of the prayers, music, and petitions remind you of the liturgy on Good Friday. And you would be right! As on Good Friday, at Holy Cross we (of course) focus on the cross, but rather than seeing it primarily as an instrument of death, we see it transformed into a symbol that reminds us of what Christ accomplishes on the cross, and what follows that dark hour of death: the harrowing of hell, the resurrection, and the life everlasting.

Some churches place flowers on the cross to symbolize this transformation. It can be a lovely way to show how all of creation naturally responds to the life-giving power of Christ. In this season of creation we might even want to take our imaginations further and notice other examples in creation where God births new life from seemingly dead or desolate situations or places. The nurse log in the forest is one such example: having finished their singular life cycle, these fallen trees become a wellspring of abundance for creatures and other plant life.

Are there places in our lives that might seem dead or desolate? Are there corners of our hearts, or souls, which we have shut off from the touch of the Divine and communion with others? Might God be inviting us to look at the cross anew and pray for new life to spring from those dead places, and rejuvenate us?

Mother Amanda

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This past week, we celebrated the feast of St Aidan, who is the patron saint of our Benedictine chapter. Aidan was a monastic who lived in the 7th century in Ireland, and, at King Oswald’s request, was sent as a missionary from Ireland to Northumbria alongside twelve other monks. He established a monastery at Lindisfarne, where he became Bishop. Although he had the means to travel in comfort and style, he preferred to travel on foot so that he could preach the Gospel to everyone he met. Because of his slow, patient perseverance in this missionary work, he is credited with the revival of Christianity in Northumbria.

Yet, Aidan’s preference was always for a life of contemplation. Although Lindisfarne is cut off from the mainland by tides twice a day, he would often make retreat alone to one of the smaller, more remote islands for prayer and solitude. In the 16 years he was Bishop, this was a regular practice for him, alongside his active preaching and evangelization.

I mention all of this because I often find myself wondering what priority we place these days on contemplation and prayer. Busy-ness seems to be much easier to achieve: one can effortlessly fill entire days and weeks with endless meetings, activities, engagements and encounters, unbroken by a single moment of quiet and rest. In fact, seeking rest and quiet seems to carry with it a combination of guilt and fear for many people. Perhaps because it is then that we have no distractions to keep us from facing our deepest fears, doubts, and insecurities.

But it is also where we will finally have the opportunity to hear the voice of God. But perhaps we are afraid of that too? Yet, how can we possibly pray when we do not know who we are praying to? How can we worship if we do not know the voice of the one who calls us? How can we claim to long for God’s presence if we never seek it?

May we all be called back to the practice of the presence of God this week, even as the fall season begins to call us back to a life of busy-ness.

Mother Amanda

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