Welcome to the Hospital Chapel Contemplative Service
Challenges
Music
Gong
Silence
Gathering call
Psalm 121: 1,2,8
Leader: I will lift up my eyes to the hills;
From whence shall my help come?
Response: My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth
Leader: The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in
From this time forth and forever.
Sing Taize Jesus le Christ
Jesus Christ, inner light,
Do not let my darkness speak to me.
Jesus Christ, inner light,
Enable me to welcome your love.
Today, we will sit in reflective silence while I read you a story . . .
“Climb On” by
Judy Henning
Climb On
At a workshop recently I was asked to make a list of all the gifts I had received
that made a difference in my life. What a task! To sort through my past for the
many wonderful gifts of encouragement, of understanding, of real physical or
financial assistance, of listening, and of good advice, is to acknowledge the
many people who have given me a hand along the way. A gift I received from
my daughter Lacy last summer stands out as especially heartfelt.
It was a soft June morning when she called me and said cheerily, “Hi, Mom,
you want to go rock climbing?” I longed to go rock climbing. I was just a few
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months past abdominal surgery for cancer and still regaining my physical
strength and emotional equilibrium. I was not sure I could climb a small hill, let
alone a big rock. Because I trust her so deeply and because she made it seem
fine to go along, I decided to do it.
We ordered picnic lunches and drove to the base of our climbing site. We
loaded up with gear – big, impressive-looking blue and purple climbing ropes,
harnesses, an assortment of carabiners, special climbers’ shoes, helmets, the
lunches, water and insect repellent. We hiked up a road and cut into the
woods and along an overgrown trail. It was hot, and I was working hard –
harder than I dreamed I could. I stopped often to catch my breath, but it felt
great to be out in the early morning sun, tramping through woods that echoed
with birdcalls. I was glad to be alive.
Rose Ledge is a beautiful site deep in the woods and perfect for beginning
climbs. The ledge looked awfully high to me, but Lacy and Connie set up the
climb with great energy and efficiency. Lacy anchored our ropes to trees above
the ledge and dropped them straight down where they landed at my feet. She
set up the safety system known as belaying and tested it out. I watched and
ate a bickie.
To ready ourselves for climbing we stretched a bit, then did “bouldering” on
smaller rocks. This meant clambering around on rocks while Lacy “spotted”
me, standing close to break my fall if needed. Bouldering was hard for me and
scary, too, even though I was only a few feet off the ground. I did love the feel
of the solidness of rock as I wedged a toe here and found a hand-hold there.
I stepped into the big black harness, tightened the waist, and donned a helmet.
I was then fastened to Lacy by a rope that could be loosened or tightened as I
climbed. Lacy, the belayer, was tied in and anchored at the bottom tree and,
because of this system. I could not fall. At least that is the theory, I thought, as I
struggled to get my breath.
“Ready to climb, Mom?” Lacy chirped. I wanted to shout a resounding
“Ready!” but what came out was more like the pathetic meow of the cat when
he wants his breakfast. “Yeow,” I said in a hoarse whisper.
Then came the series of questions and responses between climber and
belayer, me and Lacy, to make sure we were communicating and the safety
system was working. When it is all secure, the climber says, “Climbing,” and
the belayer says, “Climb on!”
The first few steps weren’t that hard, and I was well off the ground and mighty
pleased with myself when I stopped the first time. I was safely wedged into the
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chimney we had chosen as a first effort. As I climbed higher, the footholds
became toeholds, the hand-holds finger-holds, and I was suddenly scared. I
stopped.
“I’m scared. I can’t go any higher,” I called down.
“That’s fine, Mom, just rest right there. Remember I’ve got you,” she called
back. I took some deep breaths and snuck a look. Oh goodness, I was far from
the bottom and nowhere near the top. I wanted to complete that climb so
badly I could taste it. “Now what?” I yelled out.
“You’re doing great, Mom, just great.” Lacy said. I blinked back tears and
swallowed hard. Lacy gave me specific instructions and with my heart
hammering away, I did just what she said, and before I knew it, I was up
further than I ever imagined I could go. Elated by this realisation, I scrambled
up the last of the climb using feet, knees, elbows, hands, back and sheer
determination. I let out a loud “Eeeee haaaa!” when I got to the top. Lacy was
laughing and yelling, “You made it, Mom, you did it!”
I was euphoric and giddy with achievement – but wait: I realised with a nasty
jolt that I now had to get down again.
There were two ways to go down. I could climb down: hard and slow but safe.
Or I could rappel down: glide down while gently bouncing off the wall of the
rock. That required a leap of faith because I had to lean back into the harness
and let myself go. I had to trust the system we created totally.
It is a heart-stopping thrill to fall backwards into space, let me tell you. After a
few mini-falls, I was back on the ground and said loudly and with great
confidence, “Off belay!”And Lacy, my beautiful daughter, responded as quietly
as a prayer, “Belay off.”
Eating lunch, I was famished, exhausted and exhilarated all at once. Through
the rest of the warm summer afternoon, I rested and watched Lacy and the
others climb. We walked back to the truck in companionable silence as the
accomplishments of the day sank in. That day Lacy took such good care of me.
She provided for me: lunch, safety, cheer and an opportunity to have what I
have always loved best, an adventure. She taught me everything I needed to
know about climbing that rock, she provided my physical and emotional safety
and she cheered me on. Something deep inside my chest shifted as I
experienced a powerful turning of the cosmic coin. Lacy was giving me what I
had always worked to give her.
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It was months later when I felt another piece of this experience settle into
place. At the same workshop, I was asked to discover what the gifts said about
me. If the gifts were a kind of mirror, what did they reflect?
This gift reflected a mother who provided safety while encouraging my
daughter to climb higher. Since Lace always has, I must have done my part.
Now when either of us faces a difficult challenge we say to the other,
“Climbing,” and know the response will be, “Climb on.”
Silence
Music
Prayer: said in the round....
Father God,
You provide us with so many things: security, solace, a sense of
promise, people to love us and people to love; you provide us with
challenges . . . and peace.
Sometimes you provide us with a sense of peace.
Thank you.
Thank you for the times you draw near to us.
Thank you for the times we sense your presence.
Thank you for being there even when we don’t feel you near . . .
Thank you.
Amen.
Sing Taize Jesus le Christ
Closing Prayer:
Creator, companion, redeemer, and anchor
Bless us in our coming and going
Bless us in our giving and receiving
Hold those we love within your warmth
And give all of us courage to face our challenges.
MJS, adapted from Jean Shannon
Music to rest and leave when you’re ready – go in peace.
Liturgy written by M Judd-Smith as a gift to UnitingCare Chaplaincy
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