I came to participate in the Novena of Grace at St Ignatius Church in Portland, Oregon because I answered the phone. The call was from my dear friend and Jesuit priest, Joseph Carver. We got caught up on each other’s lives, and then he asked me to participate with him in leading a Novena. Caught off guard, I reminded Joseph of whom he had called, a woman with a long and complicated relationship with the institutional Church, at a time when that Church was embroiled at every turn in a very public unfolding of egregious conduct. Yes, he assured me, he was aware of that. I told him that “fallen away” might best express my current status. Yes, he said, he knew that was the case. I said that I had never even been to a Novena, let alone helped lead one. Yes, he said, all of that is why I called. OK, then, let’s do it, I responded, and it was done.

“I let myself be led by those around me, by those who had developed the structure and the content of this experience of community in prayer. ”

I should have asked a few more questions.

The theme of this Novena of Grace at St Ignatius was “Lead us in your Way Everlasting”. It would take place over nine days in March. Each day Mass would be offered at 8AM and 7PM, with the addition of a third Mass on Sunday. Ash Wednesday fell in the middle of the Novena. Joseph would preach 5 days and I would preach 4 days, in the morning and in the evening. We would be on the altar together for all 9 days and 19 Masses. I would carry the thurible, the metal container that holds the incense and blesses the people. (I was secretly delighted by this responsibility.) I would stand in the lectern from which the gospel was read by the priest and I would preach. I would distribute communion. I would bless. I would pray for nine days for the deepest desires of all those participating in person, at home, or listening online. This ritual reached all the way inside my falling away and invited me to begin leaning in.

I resisted the urge to intellectualize the experience, to examine my beliefs, to analyze my relationship to my faith and to this Church. I let myself be led by those around me, by those who had developed the structure and the content of this experience of community in prayer. I embraced it all. I put aside my discomfort at interpreting the stories from the bible that accompanied the days on which it was my turn to give the homily. I moved beyond my discomfort at speaking about Jesus and the words he spoke and, instead, tried hard to find meaning in them for me and for those praying with me.

I found myself welcomed, supported, comforted and accepted in all my uncertainty. I was profoundly touched by the openness with which others shared their deepest desires, their struggles, their disappointments and their faith. I was grateful to see how honestly everyone carried both their hopes and their disappointments, their questions and their confusion with them into their Church. In the end, what I came to know is that whatever the future holds for this world, this Church, each of us, we are in good hands, because we are both in God’s hands and in the loving hands of each other.

I continue to pray, now, for all those I met most recently, for all those I hold close. I pray, in particular, that this country and this world will be guided by the imperative of Love to create a place of justice and peace for all.