Hello friends and welcome to this contemplative space.
And this contemplation is offered as an invitation to let go as the season of autumn arrives with its colder,
Shorter days.
It's called the sacrament of letting go and it's from Seasons of Your Heart by Makrina Vaidhika.
As we prepare I invite you to close your eyes and to be attentive of your breath.
And as you become aware of the inhale and the exhale,
Slowly come to stillness and rest.
In these moments letting go of the day so far and what is to come and receiving the grace to be present.
Knowing that God and God's love is present to you in this here and now moment.
The sacrament of letting go.
I worry too much.
Autumn trees ask me not to worry.
They,
Like Jesus,
Suggest trust rather than worry.
So often in autumn I want to go and lean my head against a tree and ask what it feels like to lose so much.
To be so empty,
So detached.
To take off one's shoes and then simply to stand and wait for God's refilling.
It sounds so simple,
So easy.
It isn't easy but it is possible.
I think I've met one person in my lifetime who was truly empty.
I didn't ask her what it felt like but I remember a quiet joy that seemed to permeate her spirit and she looked free.
We autumn-strugglers must try hard not to wear discouragement as a cloak if we can't wear enough emptiness to make us free.
It takes a long time to get as far as even wanting to be empty.
Our hearts are hungering for the sacrament of letting go.
Once we discover that we already possess enough grace to let go,
Trust begins to form in the centre of who we are.
Then we can take off our shoes and stand empty and vulnerable,
Eager to receive God's next gift.
And let us pray for one another,
For emptying is painful and the body of Christ who we are calls us to support each other in this autumn effort.
The body of Christ also stands stripped,
Crucified,
Waiting for the new life that each of us can bring to it.
Slowly,
She celebrated the sacrament of letting go.
First she surrendered her green,
Then the orange,
Yellow and red.
Finally she let go of her brown,
Shedding her last leaf.
She stood empty and silent,
Stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky,
She began her vigil of trust.
And Jesus said,
Why do you worry about clothes?
Remember the flowers growing in the fields.
They do not fret about what to wear.
Yet I assure you,
Not even Solomon in all his royal robes was dressed like one of these.
Shedding her last leaf,
She watched its journey to the ground.
She stood in silence,
Wearing the colour of emptiness,
Her branches wondering how do you give shade with so much gone?
And Jesus said,
Do not be troubled or needlessly concerned.
And then the sacrament of waiting began.
The sunrise and sunset watched with tenderness.
Clothing her with silhouettes,
They kept her hope alive.
They helped her understand that her vulnerability,
Her dependence and need,
Her emptiness,
Her readiness to receive,
Were giving her a new kind of beauty.
Every morning and every evening,
They stood in silence and celebrated together the sacrament of waiting.
May you know hope and courage as you let go in your vulnerability,
In your emptiness.
And as summer months give way to autumn and winter.
