Crossing the Charles River in Boston this Wednesday, I am suddenly filled with gratitude for my year in Lambeth Palace, in the Community of St Anselm.

Maybe it’s because my morning run in London often included two bridges over the Thames. This experience, this unexpected run across the Charles in search of a CVS, feels strangely similar.

Maybe it’s because I’m kind of in the middle of an appointment to submit my application for a visa to France, to live in another intentional community next year. In many ways, my journey toward France is a continuation of my experience in CoSA (Community of St Anselm).

Or maybe it’s just that, the clouds and the blue and the river beside me, I’m reminded once again of the love and provision of a God I’ve gotten to know more deeply and love more dearly during my ten months in the Community of St Anselm.

Here we are at the end of the year in CoSA, resident members and leadership team together. This is the prayer space we spent most of our time in, the Crypt.

As I drove into Boston an hour before this eventful run across the river with old passports and tax documents in hand, I had been struck by the beauty of the river. I wished I’d have a chance to walk beside it when the appointment was over. But when I realized where my appointment was, the eighteenth floor of a huge building complex, I doubted that would happen.

God answered my little unspoken prayer to be by the water– when, in the midst of the appointment, I was told that the proportion of my head to the frame of the little photo for my application was incorrect. I’d need to find a pharmacy, get the photo retaken, and return to the center.

There was no chance I would take my car out of the safety of the parking garage and back out onto the streets of Cambridge, only to never find a parking space again…so I ended up jogging across the Charles, happily confused about this turn of events, heading toward the nearest possible CVS that took photos for visas.

I’m with Esther and Tollin in this picture, two of my sisters in CoSA, during our week of mission in Thanet.

I admit that I’ve been terrible about blogging on my experiences in CoSA. I apologize to anyone who was hoping to follow my year– I fell off the edge of the WordPress world. I have been home now for over 5 weeks, and terribly lazy about sharing online about my experiences.

At a certain point during the 10-month journey of CoSA, the tangible reality of daily life became a focal point for me, in a way that I struggled to share on a platform like this. I couldn’t quite share about my relationships in community when they’re so complex and beautiful and fruitful and challenging at the same time. My deep though often unspoken experiences at L’Arche were also difficult to share verbally. My 30-day silent retreat remains in many ways a mystery to me. And my thoughts on God, on theology? Intertwined with the ebb and flow and gift of daily life.

There are simple things that God showed me:

his love, his presence, his mercy, his gentleness, his faithfulness,

his way of working in my heart through the words of those around me,

the ‘smallness’ of vocation, of giving what is most precious and vulnerable,

the poverty, the littleness, in which God meets us, in the person of Jesus.

the importance of praise, of song.

God weaving these gifts into my life is a work in progress. Seeing this happen in CoSA, feeling the seeds planted and the tension and gratitude of the ensuing growth, made me want more. And I was offered the opportunity to spend next year in Hautecombe Abbey with the Chemin Neuf Community, as a helper. So, God-willing, provided my visa comes through, that’s the plan!

Archbishop Justin presiding over Eucharist in the Crypt.

I had the opportunity to preach a sermon two Sundays ago at the Monterey UCC. I’m attaching a link below, if you’re curious to read it. It’s about the giftedness at the heart of all things, and how God showed me this over the past year living in community. As Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche communities, writes about extensively, it’s about welcoming our own “spiritual poverty.” After all, in Matthew 5:3, as Jesus launches into the beatitudes, the first is:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

God has blessed me so richly through my new brothers and sisters in CoSA this year. And he has met me and loved me in my poverty of spirit. I have met the God who does not shy away from our fears and frustrations but comes close and heals.

Peace and blessings be with you. I’ve included a link to my fundraiser for my year in Hautecombe, and I’ll update this page on my journey to France!

Here’s the sermon:

//e.issuu.com/embed.html#29264251/63774854

Here’s the gofundme:

https://www.gofundme.com/send-gabi-to-hautecombe-abbey

I just returned from a week-long mission in Thanet, a coastal area in Southeast England. Our community spent Holy Week there, getting involved in local church services and events, meeting people, and sharing in daily life. Being in a more rural area– in that sense, closer to my home context of the Berkshires– gave me the chance to reflect on the meaning of Christian hope.

Throughout my week in Thanet, I was surrounded by vicars who were passionate about their communities and churchgoers who headed up amazing projects, from ecumenical services to children’s ministry programs. But I experienced a deep sadness that I attribute to the broader community atmosphere in which we were situated. Though I rarely had a chance to feel isolated during the week, I knew there were folks living in close proximity for whom the message of the Gospel doesn’t seem possible, relevant, or perhaps even meaningful in any way. I also felt that there were people in the church who may struggle to have a sense of hope, who may not be able yet to see how Jesus’ resurrection means something tangible for them. It’s a great story and a good excuse to have sweets, but the empty tomb isn’t always a straightforward experience of joy.

What kind of hope does the resurrection of Jesus bring when it follows directly from his acceptance of the cross? What kind of hope is it to say that God probably won’t deliver us from all our suffering immediately, but he wants to share in it with us?

I was struck on Easter morning in Canterbury Cathedral by John’s account of Jesus’ resurrection. In particular, I was moved by the encounter that Mary Magdalene has with her risen Lord.

“But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”‘ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.”

John 20: 11-18

At the start of this passage, Mary doesn’t have much hope that Jesus could have risen. As I heard in a sermon recently, it’s not yet a possibility for her that Jesus is the one standing there, talking to her. She is not grieving because she’s actively hoping he’s alive; she seems to be grieving because there’s an uncomfortable uncertainty about where his body is.

What I take from Mary in this story is that no matter how empty or hopeless she feels, she keeps looking for Jesus. But finally, it is his initiative of searching for her that opens her to deeper joy than being able to find the body of her Lord or to “hold on” to him. He emboldens her to keep walking in a world of uncertainty, a world where we may not recognize Jesus at first but we have to keep searching, and keep trusting that he is ever searching to show us a deeper joy than we feel is possible.

So this Easter, as I felt confusion and emptiness around me, I met Mary Magdalene outside of the empty tomb. I took solace in knowing that I had a kinship with this woman who, though already a devoted follower of Jesus, needed a new conversion this Easter morning. I walked alongside this Mary who neither ignores nor succumbs to her pain, but allows it to bring her back to the Jesus who was crucified. And with her, peering into the tomb, I wait for the new hope that God will show me on my journey. I take courage in the fact that our projects of what hope could look like– finding the body of Jesus, for example– often pale in comparison to the hope God offers. It’s not an abstract hope, but a hope that requires meeting Jesus exactly where we are, for exactly who we are. The familiarity of Jesus calling Mary by her own name, but in that, renaming her hope, is something to sit with.

Tomorrow I leave for my 30 day silent retreat, a time to sink deeper into praying with the life of Jesus. I have no clue what I’ll come out with on the other side, but I appreciate your thoughts and prayers. I’m grateful to God for my journey so far, and pray that he reveals more and more the unexpected shape of hope.

Castle in Southern Germany

I was struck by this village church, its location in the middle of a field

Baroque style church- its elaborate detail is typical for its time!

Monks in Ottobeuren used this book to chant the daily office

I saw lots of woodcarvings in Germany, and the passion in this “Last Supper” caught my attention

Here’s the view from a mountain we snowshoed up in Unterjoch

Man-made lake

A small German village we caught on a beautiful afternoon

The murals in this church had me shocked- without historical context, it’s nearly impossible to understand what’s going on with all these characters and symbols!

A popular pilgrimage site in Southern Germany, known as the Church of the Scourged Savior

One of my favorite organ designs I saw

I only knew the “Oberammergau” song before I came here, but I learned the town is also famous for woodcarving and for the huge Passion re-enactments that happen every 10 years. 2020, anyone?!

A fairytale kind of castle in the woods- my favorite part was the mysterious, tiny chapel (not pictured here unfortunately!)

Before Cardinal Ratzinger became pope, this was his church! I fell in love with the stark architecture and the prominence of the huge crucifix.

This church in Munich felt almost womb-like to me…a bit like Jonah in the whale’s belly, surrounded by images of his subconscious and unconscious, perhaps

Many signs throughout Germany give you this kind of “Hearty Welcome”

The last church we visited in Munich- this one was very ornate, but without variety of color- the whole interior is white!

Another view from our beautiful afternoon at Wieskirche

We spent a bit of time with this homage to sentimentality (I think that’s what it was called…) at the art museum in Gothenburg (Sweden)

Some friends we made at the zoo in Gothenburg

Beautiful afternoon in the Gothenburg zoo

I met Mijke in Taize two summers ago, and it was great to visit with her again, this time in Gothenburg!

I just returned to London after some travels around Europe, very grateful for all who helped me out along the way- especially those family and friends who opened their homes to me! I was kept company by my sturdy backpack (named Kelty) and a bag of peanuts I bought in Lyon for one Euro that somehow didn’t run out until today. 

The trip started on the 20th of December with an overnight bus from London to Paris, then Paris to Lyon, then a train to Hautcombe Abbey. I spent Christmas with my brothers and sisters of the St Anselm Community, but also with the consecrated celibates of the Chemin Neuf Community who graciously hosted us at their abbey! It was a powerful week for me to welcome Jesus into my heart once again this Christmas, to realize the liberation that he wants to offer us, and to experience the profound joy of his coming as a baby… dancing (rather, running!) around the church in our robes after Christmas Eve mass was an unforgettable experience. 

From Hautcombe, after a short stay in Lyon with some of my St Anselm brothers and sisters, I took a train to Kempten (Germany), where I have some distant relatives! We spent the next few days touring the area- visiting local churches and castles, snowshoeing up mountains, and even driving into Austria. I got to try playing an alphorn for the first time, see pictures of my dad as a little kid when his family visited, and even learn a tiny bit of German. We spent New Year’s Eve on top of a mountain, watching hundreds of fireworks go off in the valley below. I was grateful for the views, the great food and the hospitality of family I didn’t yet know, but now do! 

My next adventure was a flight from Munich to Gothenburg, Sweden, where I stayed with friends I met two summers ago at the Iona and Taize communities. We cooked, did yoga, visited an art museum and a zoo, and spent time just relaxing and conversing. We watched and thoroughly critiqued La La Land! I was grateful for the time we spent together and the relaxed pace we took for that leg of our holiday. 

Friday night brought me back to London, which felt, in all its bustle, surprisingly like home. I sang down the streets on my way to the friend I stayed with for the last couple nights, and spent Saturday getting lost in Hyde Park and finding gluten free food. I feel blessed to have added three more countries (Germany, Austria and Sweden) to my list of places traveled (though to be fair, Austria was very quick- maybe someday I’ll be back!). And I feel most of all blessed by everyone who gave up their bed or couch, cooked some gluten free food, and shared their time with me. Happy 2018, everyone- God bless you!