There are times when I think the whole purpose of Hope Episcopal Church is to epitomize the instruction, "Seek and ye shall find."
There are so many paths at Hope. There are paths to the Memorial Garden, paths to the statue of Jesus, literal winding paths like our prayer labyrinth.
There are paths that honestly might require a treasure map of some sort. Want to find the bridge? Well, head out back to the tree line where you think there are absolutely no paths and get right up to the water and then take the path to your right, follow that through the two bent trees, hang a left and there is the bridge. Beyond the bridge, bring your machete.
But if you take the time to seek, you will be rewarded.
This morning I wandered all the way back out to the street looking for the wooden cross that I knew was right up by the sidewalk, but even though I had a clear view of the street, I could not see the cross. I was beginning to think it had moved or I had imagined it.
But I didn't give up, because I knew it was there. I walked further than I intended, further than I felt safe to given my energy and pain levels, but I was not leaving without finding that cross. I climbed a little hill and there, hidden in front of some palms, was the cross.
It was the first time I had actually taken the time to notice it. There are other crosses at Hope, but this one I hadn't paid much attention to.
In a few minutes, I'll be headed back to church for confirmation Sunday.
When I was confirmed three years ago, it was the ultimate seek and ye shall find moment. Everything I had ever searched for, the relationship with God, the community of faith--everything was right there and present, very present at my confirmation.
I cried that day. I think in this cynical world we sometimes view these types of spiritual moments with skepticism. Crying for joy, nearly blinded by the love of God, seems almost cliché, something that only happened in biblical times.
And yet it does happen.
It happened to me.
Seek and ye shall find.
There are so many paths at Hope. There are paths to the Memorial Garden, paths to the statue of Jesus, literal winding paths like our prayer labyrinth.
There are paths that honestly might require a treasure map of some sort. Want to find the bridge? Well, head out back to the tree line where you think there are absolutely no paths and get right up to the water and then take the path to your right, follow that through the two bent trees, hang a left and there is the bridge. Beyond the bridge, bring your machete.
But if you take the time to seek, you will be rewarded.
This morning I wandered all the way back out to the street looking for the wooden cross that I knew was right up by the sidewalk, but even though I had a clear view of the street, I could not see the cross. I was beginning to think it had moved or I had imagined it.
But I didn't give up, because I knew it was there. I walked further than I intended, further than I felt safe to given my energy and pain levels, but I was not leaving without finding that cross. I climbed a little hill and there, hidden in front of some palms, was the cross.
It was the first time I had actually taken the time to notice it. There are other crosses at Hope, but this one I hadn't paid much attention to.
In a few minutes, I'll be headed back to church for confirmation Sunday.
When I was confirmed three years ago, it was the ultimate seek and ye shall find moment. Everything I had ever searched for, the relationship with God, the community of faith--everything was right there and present, very present at my confirmation.
I cried that day. I think in this cynical world we sometimes view these types of spiritual moments with skepticism. Crying for joy, nearly blinded by the love of God, seems almost cliché, something that only happened in biblical times.
And yet it does happen.
It happened to me.
Seek and ye shall find.
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