Reflection by Lisa Frey
Before each of us crosses that great threshold from life to death, we arrive at many liminal moments, points of crossing, over and over again in our life journeys.
One such threshold in my life was meeting Fr. Trivison when I finished college and moved back to the area to begin a career (brief, as it turned out) teaching high school. A thirst for a spiritual life drew me here to Thursday evening mass and prayer, and a few years later, when the pastoral team was looking for someone to work with young people, he asked me to consider joining them, persistently asked, and I responded with “let’s give it a try for a couple of years.” I crossed that threshold in 1991, and for five years he and Pat and Ted and the members of this parish helped to form me for what has become a life of ministry.
How else would I have done the deep theological reflection on what it means to be a Catholic and a woman; stretching myself to learn servant leadership; reaching beyond our borders to embrace, and receive the embrace of the people of our sister parish, the church of the Epiphany? How else would I have been educated on the importance of the eucharist and become part of a prophetic movement to ensure that the eucharist remains the source and summit of our lives as Catholics?
I was formed by Louie’s lifetime commitment to service; I was formed by experiences in ministry which merited Louie’s encouraging comments, like “they haven’t laid a glove on you yet!” or “you’ve come a long way, baby!”
And now, we are crossing another threshold, this time walking without a safety net, as Mark said this weekend, without our mentor, our spiritual guide, our teacher. And our fear of the unknown is tempered again and again by the discovery that yes, there is life after death, but a life which is always different from the life we knew before.
So I am taking courage from this story Joan Chittister tells:
Once there was a student who was apprenticed to a teacher for many years. And when the teacher felt he was going to die he wanted to make even his death a lesson. That night, the teacher took a torch, called his student, and set off with her through the forest. When they reached the middle of the dark woods, the teacher extinguished the torch, without explanation. “What is the matter?” asked the student. “The torch has gone out,” the teacher answered, and walked on. “But,” shouted the student, “will you leave me here in the dark?” “No! I will not leave you in the dark,” returned the teacher’s voice from the surrounding blackness. “I will leave you searching for the light!”
Thank you for the light you have been to so many lives. Intercede for us now so we can continue to be the light for others.