Holy Smoke at a Church Named Holy Spirit

Holy Smoke at a Church Called Holy Spirit

“And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel.”—Revelation 8:4.

I slowly rise from my seat next to the Bishop’s chair near the altar at Holy Spirit Episcopal Church in Gulf Shores, Alabama, as the organist plays the prelude to the closing hymn, “Lift High the Cross.” The music is uplifting, but suddenly I am transported to another place. An unusual burning smell fills the air. I look up and see two nearly straight lines of black smoke rising at least a foot above the altar, then disappearing into the air in front of the congregation. 

As the acolyte in the white alb passes by me to reach for the silver processional cross, I notice that she has just extinguished the two candles on the glass altar.

This smell is unfamiliar compared with what I usually notice at the end of the service. It is an especially holy scent, accompanied by an uplifting, holy smoke stronger than incense. It is raw and attention-getting, signaling that something has happened. The few in the front rows of the congregation can see the black smoke, but the smell probably lingers only around the altar. By verse two of the hymn, as the crucifer leads the choir members in their blue cassocks and white surplices out of the church, I realize what this is all about. 

The Altar Guild of Holy Spirit uses real candles, possibly beeswax, not the oil candles I am familiar with in many churches I visit. It is the smell of smoke from extinguished candle wax, and I am close enough to smell it.

I remember this scent. It lingers after a spiritual direction meeting with seekers as they depart. I light the candle at the start of a spiritual direction session to mark our meeting as holy, as we care for our souls. I extinguish the candle at the end of our time together to mark the passing of what we have shared. I know our time together as spiritual friends is holy work, just as our Eucharist on Sunday is sacred time. 

The smell and the smoke tell me that whatever has happened is now being lifted up, spreading into the air around us, into our universe. The Word we shared has now moved away from the altar or our meeting place and out into the world. We can no longer see the smoke, but it is there. I experience the smell only briefly, yet it is a poignant reminder of what is happening. 

The Holy Word has spread its healing blessing throughout the world, making a difference in all our wounded spaces.

Bless the Altar Guild of Holy Spirit for teaching me a little more about the movement of the Holy. 

Joanna Seibert. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Poet Karen DuBert writes about Being a Tourist vs. a Pilgrim

Poet Karen DuBert  writes about Being a Tourist vs. a Pilgrim

Guest Writer: Karen DuBert

Two Travellers

Two Travellers

Dust we are—atoms from our world

transformed from minerals and chemicals

that swirled in the beginning

to coalesce into our radiant blue planet

our womb and home.

Living here—members of the same material—

separate by volition and movement:

creative spawners of cities to civilizations,

economies to technologies,

miniature images of Creation Genius

we live and move and have our being—a gift.

Striding or wandering

through an earth we cannot comprehend,

two paths appear.

Side by side the pilgrim and the tourist:

work, marry, breathe, grow, die

—hearts divergent.

The tourist walks weighty

to see, be attracted, entertained, impressed

an explorer seeking adventure and titillation,

leaving a litter-strewn wake:

debris of consumption and satiation.

Where tourists clump, trash and noise preside—

inhabitants mere local colour.

Selfies, rest stops, souvenirs, tickets

substitute for cooing doves,

early dawn breezes, daily rhythms.

Clattering cases on cobblestones—

spare no space for ponderous silence.

The pilgrim walks gently

to absorb, listen, smell, taste the awe

of each sacred place and time.

Finding the heart behind the beauty,

grieving history’s futile battles—

with bowed head

leaning into fratricide, oppression,

mountains of injustice

perpetuated by our very selves

in this our very home

on these our very sisters and brothers.

Seldom enhancing the economy—

a choice not to be laden with treasures

—lavishly given or discarded.

The pilgrim walks lightly, reflects deeply,

carries the essential,

guards the path, collects the litter,

brings the blessing, invites peace.

We leave footprints where we walk

it is our choice—

how we walk.

This poem is inspired by living in a tourism-driven city (Granada) and by seeing the difference in impact between pilgrims and tourists. Some thoughts, as so many travel during the summer.

(The image is from ChatGPT and is not copyrighted.)

Karen DuBert

Joanna Seibert https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Living and Learning By the Sea

Paul Tillich’s Response to Seeing the Ocean 

“They say that whenever the theologian Paul Tillich went to the beach, he would pile up a mound of sand and sit on it gazing out at the ocean with tears running down his cheeks...Maybe what made him weep was how vast and overwhelming it was, and yet at the same time as near as the breath of it in his nostrils, as salty as his own tears.”—Frederick Buechner in Beyond Words (HarperOne, 2009).

I share Tillich’s awe whenever I visit the ocean or the Gulf. It is an experience of vastness and closeness with Nature and some Power greater than ourselves. Today, I also think about how dangerous the sea can be, as I recall past prayers for friends on the North Carolina coast who were devastated by Hurricane Florence. I recall the extensive destruction along the Gulf of Mexico following hurricanes Frederick, Ivan, Katrina, Michael, Laura, and Sally.

I also think of the pleasure the sea and the sand have brought to generations. The sound of the waves calms my soul. Watching children swim and play in the sand pulls at the heartstrings of the child within me. Watching families, lovers, and children walk along the surf is a lesson in our connectedness to one another. The dolphins, pelicans, and lone osprey constantly remind us of the variety of coexisting life with agendas that differ from ours. The “turtle people” who walk the beach in the early morning, searching for turtle tracks to secret nests, are icons of faithfulness and a caring attitude towards something other than themselves.

I see the ocean, the sea, the Gulf, and the sand as icons of something created out of love, no matter the process. Living by the sea is like being in a loving relationship with a spouse, friend, or children. Whenever we offer ourselves, our love, to another, it can be beautiful beyond words, like the sea.

Hurricane Laura Joanna Campbell

Living on the Gulf, we are open to storms, sometimes as ugly and powerful as these hurricanes. But like the people I observe by the sea, we remember that the positive potential of love always overwhelms the possible hurtful negative. The lows are pale compared to the highs. So we keep picking up the mess and forgive the wind, the sea, and those we love, and hope they can forgive us for the harm we knowingly or unknowingly do to them.

Henri Nouwen calls Nature “God’s Hidden Language.”

“Nature is not a possession to be conquered, but a gift to be received with respect and gratitude. Only when we make a deep bow to the rivers, oceans, hills, and mountains that offer us a home, only then can they become transparent and reveal to us their real meaning. All of nature conceals great secrets that cannot be revealed unless we listen carefully and patiently to God’s hidden language.1”

1Henri Nouwen in Discernment: Reading the Signs of Daily Life

“Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/