Healing is the proces of our becoming fully human. In the Christian tradition, death is a part of the process of our healing- everything works together for the good of those who seek God and are called according to God's purposes. Very often that good is hidden from our perceptions because we are mere human beings and God is the Creator of all that is- perhaps even of universes other than our own. Even then God is with us in our brokeness, feeling our weakness and sharing our pain. When we seek healing
we are not merely passive but cooperate with God in the creation of that healing- whether of body, mind, soul, spirit, psyche, community, or earth. In that spirit, a healing service was held last night, and I'd like you to know that many iindividuals of our congregtion were named (first names only) as we gathered around a cricle of cushions on the floor of the abbey and prayers were said amidst the laying on of hands. After each round of healing prayer we sang "Come to me, come to me weak and heavy laden, come to me- lean on me- I will give you rest." You can see the circle of cushions- even at 10:00 at night there was still lots of sunshine following the service.
In the afternoon I sat with a Presbyterian woman from New Orleans named Dede whose husband, David Doucet, is a member of a Cajun band named Beauxsoliel ; even though she pays little attention to the music business she was still familiar with the name of Jim Jensma's music store in CR- StarsGuitars because, after the death of one of the members of Beauxsoliel Jim was one of the few persons allowed to make offers on a selection of rare guitars in that estate. Of course we discussed the effects of hurricane Katrina and I told her about our congregation's joint work camps. Dede said that following the hurricane the entire city of New Orleans stopped dreaming at night and many lost their creative urge and edge - a malaise of the spirit. There's a view of the bay at Iona. Paths lead all over the island and especially around the village since most people walk everywhere- here's a little path that snakes between stone walls and hedges -a shortcut off the main tourist pathways (I followed a villager who disappeared into it's narrow shady opening).
The Iona Community is not a resort, so when we stay here we become part of the community and each one of us has some chores- meal preparation, serving and cleanup once a day. This week I'm in charge of cleaning the Abbot's toilets. Our work group is called the Seals and we're picture in the "refractory": the dining room.