ThPM celebrated Rosh Hashanah last week…at least our own mutt-like version of it. A friend of a friend was there, Erika, and she’s Jewish. That always give me pause, because we mess with the traditions SO MUCH. But then again we mess with our own Christian traditions as well. We aren’t trying to be disrespectful; we’re just trying to make it real, to find meaning in our histories. Hopefully that comes across in our practices. (Erika seemed to think so.)

At any rate, we stepped into Rosh Hashanah in order to express gratitude for the season which we have just passed through (summer) and to look forward to a new beginning in the season that is fast approaching (fall). Part of our practice was to symbolically remove from our lives regrets, mistakes, and wrong doings from the past season. To prepare for that, I had sent out this prayer, which Fiona found for us:

We who are in exile pray for bridges.
We who are torn pray for mending.
We who are alone pray for community.
We who are in exile pray for bridges.

We who are in exile pray for bridges.
We who are torn pray for mending.
We who are alone pray for community.
We who are in exile pray for bridges.
[Edited from Litany of Bridges by Heather McVoy, from the book: Sacred Journeys, by Jan Richardson. (Very much edited…let me know if you want me to post the original.)]

It was my hope that we would think of ways in which we could rebuild bridges this year. It was my hope that we could experience things which would mend our image of our selves, knitting it into the reality of who we truly are in God’s sight and in her intentions. It was my hope that we might move more deeply into the communities we find ourselves in. It was my hope that in all things we might build bridges from places of brokenness, damage, and falling short-ness, to places of healing, wholeness, and shalom.

As I meditated on this prayer there were three things that came to mind that I wanted to get rid of in this turning of the seasons.

-I would really like to abandon sorrow and anger over altered friendships.

-I would like to reclaim the truth of who I am…to be released from lies that defy my true character.

- I would like to be forgiven for mistakes I’ve made with words – especially for misdirected indignation and anger.

-I would like to abandon taking Paul (my husband) for granted.

After our reflection time we all gathered rocks in our pockets as we walked across the grassy field of Gasworks Park. The rocks weighed in my pockets and were hard in my hand. When we got to the edge of the lake we read something from a rabbi, then we threw our rocks into the lake. It’s a surprisingly helpful ritual: the windup, the release, the satisfying plunk of something sinking to where it cannot be retrieved.

My six year old daughter Eden was standing next to me. We took turns telling each other what our rocks “were” and tossing them over the railing. She did one. I did one. She did one. I did one. My four were well below the waterline as Eden pulled out her fifth, sixth, and seventh rock. “Eden,” I asked “how many rocks do you have in there.” “Oh, ten or twenty!” Came her cheerful reply. Apparently confession is a valuable spiritual discipline for Eden.

Afterwards we walked back across the park through the rain and wind. The hostess in me was fretting because of the inclement weather, and the refusal of many folks to use the proffered umbrellas. But Alicia told me that she was glad for the rain. She said it felt more significant, like we were really doing something because we hadn’t just stayed inside warm and dry. We had really crossed a comfort zone in order to make a new start. I liked that.

Later back at the house we ate desserts with fall fruits to celebrate new season. We passed around tart apple pie and ginger chocolate cake with pears and walnuts. Fiona brought us a surprise….fresh homemade pear bread made from local fruit. A significant ritual…a bounty to celebrate; may these be a sign of the year to come.