Well, yes, just in case you wondered, there is a first time for everything.

Yesterday we were at the site of the first mass celebrated in the new colonies – what is now the state of Maryland – in 1635 on St. Clement’s Island.  It was a beautiful morning and we were up for the adventure.  To find our way there we journeyed down the western / southern part of Maryland and, without ever traveling a straight line, arrived at Colton’s Point which sticks out into the width of the Potomac River where it almost meets the Chesapeake Bay.  From there we took a water taxi over to St. Clement’s Island and proceeded to make the short hike to the lighthouse.

Amid the overgrown beach grass and the choir of cicadas, my husband rejoiced to remember his youth playing in the taller-than-he-was corn growing on the farm where he grew up. Enjoying the views as we walked, we met Monarch butterflies and various birds.  The humans were scarce, until we stumbled on a family swimming in a little cove where they had docked their boat and jumped out for a swim.  I heard the father exclaim to his family, “The water is wonderful!  Come on in.”

Coming to the end of what was a walkable trail, we backtracked and found the real trail to the lighthouse.  Surrounded by beautiful picnic grounds, and a few other visitors, the Lighthouse stands to warn seafarers, while a large white cross commemorates the site of the first Catholic service held in the colonies.

Yes, there is a first time for everything.  I thought about the first time I was on a boat; the first time I was out in the “wilds” without other people around; the first time I played hide and seek in grass taller than I was . . . there are many firsts in our lives, each one of them a grace.  But, hopefully, they are just that – “firsts,” and not “onlys” or “lasts.”

On the way home I experienced another “first,” which I hope will be an “only” and a “last”!  After a lovely lunch, I lost a crown off of a tooth.  So, this morning I am looking for a dentist and looking for the grace in this experience!

So many have asked me over the years how it is possible to find grace when things aren’t going so well for us.

I admit, it is easier to see the grace in every moment when things are lovely and going our way and we have few difficulties.  Yet, grace – God’s own self-communication to us in our day – remains, despite our awareness of what we are feeling or experiencing.

Perhaps St. Elizabeth Ann Seton says it best:  “We know certainly that our God calls us to a holy life.  We know that he gives us every grace, every abundant grace; and though we are so weak of ourselves, this grace is able to carry us through every obstacle and difficulty.” 

How true that is.  We just have to stop asking “What grace?” and accept the grace that resides in the present moment – whatever that moment may be – with faith that it will carry us through every obstacle and difficulty.

Recently I came across two quotes by two giants of history who lived centuries apart, but each thought still holds wisdom for us today.

The first is from St. Ambrose:  “We shall be called to account not only for every idle word but also for every idle silence.”

The second and corresponding quote comes from Martin Luther King, Jr. who said: “There comes a time when silence is betrayal.” 

We are all being called to account for what we believe and what we want to happen in the world.  In order for some of our dreams and our desires to unfold, we first have to articulate them, to speak out about them and not be silent.  Words are a grace and can offer us great inspiration.

What words of grace are we being called to account for?

I have often pondered what we might look like — what the world might look like — if some part of our anatomy were made of stained glass.

The beauty of our interior light would be able to shine forth to the world, and perhaps more importantly, we would be able to see the effects of our own interior beauty.  Most of us are unbelievers when it comes to our own goodness and beauty.  Yet, each of us is created in goodness and beauty and if we could only SEE it . . . perhaps we would believe.

Thomas Merton, following his own spiritual epiphany, once wrote:  There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”

Imagine how much light we could see in the world if some part of us was made of stained glass.  Imagine the grace and light that would be dancing and shining from us and from each person we meet . . . shining as brilliantly as the sun.

On our continuing search for historical points of interest in DC, we made our way to the Mary McLeod Bethune Council House.  We parked the car just a few doors away and got out in front of a large brick church.  Loving houses of worship as I do, I couldn’t help but stop to admire the architecture and windows.  I moved to take out my camera when a voice cheerily said “Hello!  How are y’all today?”  The voice came from a lovely young woman who was exiting the church grounds.  She introduced herself, we exchanged pleasantries, and then she wanted to know if we would like to go inside the church.  “Of course!” I answered, never wanting to miss an opportunity to go inside an historic church.

She led us inside, chatting merrily all the while.  We admired the sanctuary, commented on the lovely stained glass and then my husband asked her, “What is your role here?”

She laughed gaily, “Oh, why, I’m a life-time member!  I’ve lived here all my life; been a member here all my life.”  There was some more laughter and with a broad smile and flashing eyes she added, “But recently my role has changed.  I’m now the pastor’s wife.”

We congratulated her and we chatted some more.  She was interested in where we were from and what brought us to DC.  We told her we were following the winds of the Holy Spirit and were on a great adventure to find grace wherever we were.  Today we were on our way to Mary McLeod Bethune’s home. The conversation became more spirited and the laughter infectious.  Her final remark continues to ring in my ears along with her musical laughter, “You know, us children of God, we’re so hardheaded but Jesus will take us and just lead us where he wants us to be.”

We went on to the Mary McLeod Bethume Home and learned about an amazing woman who was a great leader and an inspiration to generations of African-American women — to all women!  After hearing her story and the influence she had, I could not help but think that she must have had a personality like the young pastor’s wife who invited us into her church and into her life for a few moments of conversation and laughter.

Both woman offered me the grace of inspiration yesterday.  Who inspires you?

Several small occurrences and conversations I experienced this past week have caused me to reflect on a lovely quote of Mother Teresa:

“The whole work is only a drop in the ocean.  But if we don’t put the drop in, the ocean would be one drop less.”

There was the drop of an email from a friend with a link to check out; a call from another reminding me of the joy of our friendship; an old fashioned letter in the post from a cousin who I had not heard from in months; a question from a co-worker of my husband who wanted to know if he had displayed any new pictures of his wife’s in his office that he could come by and see;  and a phone conversation with a former parishioner that caused me to remember some of the best advice I was ever given.

The work of our days may seem like it produces little . . . but, we cannot be the judge of that.  Others may be receiving valuable drops of grace that fell from our interactions.  And, without those drops, the ocean would be one drop less.

What are the drops that we are leaving for others to water and nourish their lives?  What are the drops we are receiving for our own nourishment?  What have we seen or heard; touched or felt; tasted or experienced that has allowed us to see the grace of this present moment? They are certainly countless . . . but first we have to notice them.

From Kitty Hawk and Kill Devil Hill, we drove on down US 12 to see more of the Outer Banks.  What a beautiful part of the world!  Our destination was Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.  Along the way we stopped at Ft. Raleigh, where English settlers in 1585 were left behind on Roanoke Island – never to be seen again by returning Englishmen.  This spot is known as the Lost Colony.

Bodi Lighthouse was another stop, but since it was being refurbished and was surrounded by scaffolding, there was no opportunity for me to challenge myself to a climb.

Finally, in the beauty of the late afternoon sun, we reached Cape Hatteras Light.  I went to the museum, walked the grounds, passed the ticket booth three or four times . . . and finally went right up to the entrance to the light.  I chatted with the ranger for several minutes trying to determine if this lighthouse might be a more agreeable climb for me than the last one I attempted.  The ranger, perhaps sensing my fear, invited me to go in and take a look at the stairs.  “They are study and cast iron,” she said, “nothing to worry about.”  OK.  But there was still something to worry about – cast iron stairs didn’t take care of my fear of heights.

I stood debating with myself, wondering if I could do this.  But one factor weighed in . . . and was beginning to sway my decision.  From the base of the lighthouse there is no view of the beach or water.  The lighthouse light is visible for 20 miles out into the ocean, but to see the ocean at all, I was going to have to climb to some height.

I finally decided that if I was going to appreciate the grace of this moment, I was going to have to make an effort so that God could reveal it to me.

I went back and bought a ticket.  I climbed slowly, ever so slowly, but I made it to the top.  I was the person you may have seen with my backside plastered up against the wall of the lighthouse . . . fearing to step toward the railing’s edge.  BUT – I did see the view.  I did find the grace.  I did appreciate the beauty.

God will not do everything, and rarely is the climb easy, but there is grace in every step.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote something like:  You can travel the world over in search of beauty, but unless you carry it with you, you will not find it.  As we settled into Nags Head and walked the beach in the evening light, I couldn’t help but remember the thoughts of Emerson.  This place, this time, this moment was truly beautiful in every way.

The following morning, in an uncharacteristic move, I awoke a little before 5:59 and was blessed to see the sunrise over the same beach.  There are not words to describe the beauty of the experience.  As the sun climbed higher with each minute, and changed in color from deep blood red to orange to gold and then to yellow, flocks of pelicans darted past and began to skim the surface of the water for their breakfast.  What a gorgeous sight.

A moment like this and the beauty of this scene is what I want to carry with me wherever I go.  I want to remember this moment of grace and peace.  Nature and quiet; awe and perfect beauty.  It was a moment of grace at the dawning of a new day that I shared with God.  Witnessing this dawning, and watching the unfolding of a new day made me feel very close to its Creator.

What beauty do you carry with you?

Sunday’s celebration in Virginia Beach was a true moment of grace!  A former student of mine, and her husband, were having their son baptized.  As with so many Navy families, they are far from home and welcome the presence of familiar faces when they celebrate family milestones.  And, so, with great joy, we made the trip to help support them during this first sacrament for their son.

What made the ceremony so unique was that it took place aboard the father’s naval ship.  While it was far from a cathedral with beautiful stained glass windows or fine wood furnishings, the amazing thing is . . . the Holy Spirit was there in spite of all of it!  We celebrated the Eucharist together, signed the child, blessed the water, joined in the prayers, lit the candle, and anointed the child for a life-long journey with Christ.

It made me realize in a very real way that location and place really has nothing to do with baptism.  The only place that is important is our own hearts – where we welcome the life of Christ and grow to be members of a community of belief and action.

Baptism opens our hearts to the reality of Christ living in our day and time, within the people we encounter and the experiences we have.  It prepares and strengthens us for a life of discipleship and commitment so that Christ can continue to be seen in our day and our time through the work that we do.

What a grace it is that baptisms are still taking place – no matter the place.