Weaver of stories

Thirty years ago today, I was 'licensed to preach' by the then Greenock Presbytery of the Church of Scotland. During the discernment process, I was unable to answer affirmatively the question "Do you have a desire to preach?" posed by the men who were assessing my call. 
In 30 years of ministry I can't say I have ever experienced a desire to preach.
Back then I wasn't able to articulate it but now I know that the role to which I felt called was more akin to that of a story weaver. A role that involved more listening than speaking, allowing folks to hear their own and others' stories and to make connections with one another and with the God who created each of us as storied beings. Forging connections with a God who beholds humanity through tear filled eyes, extending love filled arms, imploring us to look at one another and to listen to one another's stories. For only in hearing one another's stories and, through them, holding one another sacred, will we be able to protect the fragile light from being snuffed out by the darkness of conflict.

Story Weavers

The heavy threads of fear and grief
are borne gently
their weight acknowledged as they are interspersed
with gossamer light filaments of love
whose strength belies their fragility
They are laid out in an intricate pattern
that extends an invitation to draw near
to see better
to hear better
tales of war and violence
and hunger and greed
interrupted by incidents
of reverence and kindness
that offer some salve
to the hurt and anguish
And while the darkness is barely diminished
a thread of hope begins to emerge
to infiltrate despair
as stories are held with sacred regard
bringing transformation in their sharing.

Liz Crumlish August 30, 2024

Wisdom, bread and wine

 

Proverbs 9:1,2,5,6

Wisdom has built her house,

she has hewn her seven pillars.

She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine,

she has also set her table.

“Come, eat of my bread

and drink of the wine I have mixed.

Lay aside immaturity, and live,

and walk in the way of insight.”

Wisdom comes slowly

a gradual dawning that emerges

to change perspective

to soften the edges

of all our binaries

It seeps in like an infusion

that slowly affects its host

like yeast in bread and wine

leavening, fermenting, transfiguring 

wherever it is afforded space to breathe

To capture its nurturing essence

it is necessary to linger

tasting the bread of compassion

and savouring the wine of abundance

allowing their goodness to infiltrate

the lives of the host and the guest

creating a fertile plain

in which wisdom may flourish

for the life of the world.

Transforming stories

 

Ruins of the 13C Augustinian Nunnery on Iona

Tormentil - soothes the gut

Kenilworth Ivy - wound healer

It’s not enough

to be able to name the flowers

We must get to know their stories

and listen to all that they can teach us

The hard working women

who inhabited the cloisters

of the Augustinian abbey in Iona

listened to the plants

that grew around 

their wild and rugged island

They found healing for wounds

in the absorptive sphagnum moss

And soothing for guts 

in the tannins of Tormentil 

They befriended the star shaped beauty 

of St John’s wort

that hinted at light in the long days and nights

of the harsh Scottish winter

Their gentle inquiry

and their patient listening

unearthed underground mysteries

And, as they held sacred the stories 

already there for the telling,

they breathed new life into the next chapter

of the stories of the flowers

that promised healing for the world 

I can’t help but wonder how

if we humans were to listen carefully 

to one another’s stories

we might nurture a way of caring

for the wounds of the world.

Liz Crumlish, Iona August 2024