Contrasts

So the fire next door was arson and the Red Cross has taken care of the inhabitants of the house. The windows at church have been repaired and it's back to a more routine day or so it would seem.

Local hospice called me to come bless a dying 85 year-old WWII vet, 10th Mountain Division. I spent time talking with his daughter learning something about this person I had just met and commended to God's care. It is hard to tell how much time he has left in this world.

Then two and a half hours later, I went to the hospital and blessed an 18-hour old (yes, 18 hours) baby and his mother.

The magnitude of what a priest does in the course of a day can be overwhelming and one has to be conscious of not simply breezing by the narrative of blessing people. Here, as God's spokeswoman, I blessed a dying man en route to new birth and the resurrection and a baby boy who is about to embark on the journey that this man is about to complete. In one afternoon, ministry has touched the end and beginning of life, the alpha and omega of our existence.

Yet we dare to enter these places with the paucity of words, despite prayers, to offer at these life events.

What a joy. What an honour. What a blessing.