I am using Tim Vivian’s devotional Becoming Fire for this new liturgical year, which draws on the wisdom of the desert mothers and fathers. This snippet from several days ago has stuck with me. Who are the wool-cleaners in my life? What is stretching me? What is softening me, as a hide is softened by crumpling? Where am I refusing to let them in? It is one frame for an examination of conscience.
I went to confession this weekend, which is one way to invite the wool-cleaners in. There was a line of sorts, a half dozen ahead of me scattered in the pews. We know who’s next, wordlessly holding each other in care, holding the space for each other. I confessed, was shriven by the pastor and went home.
That evening I was the acolyte at the 5pm Mass, pouring water over the hands of the selfsame pastor as he prayed, “Wash away my iniquities, cleanse me from my sins.” Returning in some way what had been offered to me. The ministry of the church exercised not only by her ordained ministers but by the people of God that we might all “be radiant with joy and our faces free from all shame.” (Psa 34)
You can find the new edition of Becoming Fire at Cistercian Press. Photo is of my prayer space with its white, soft sheepskins on my chair - grateful for the literal wool-cleaners as well as the sacramental ones!
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