by Archdeacon Denise Schiavone, Kanuga Fellow
This past November I served in my first Pop-Up Eucharist. Reverand Connie Bowman and I conceived the idea shortly after I returned from my first Kanuga Fellows residency. I’d been grieving my descent from the mountaintop—missing my fellow discerners and the beauty of the place where we connected with nature and each other, and in the sharing of sacred stories.
Longing to be back on the rocking chair porch watching the rain drizzle across the lake, I’d been looking almost daily at my photos from the trip. One particular image from an afternoon hike stuck with me: a sun-dappled tree stump, survivor of the ravages of Hurricane Helene. Its jagged, moss-covered crevices likely home to multiple tiny creatures, even felled, it appeared firmly rooted in its role as a sanctuary.
Several weeks later back in Maryland, I used that image to promote our planned Pop-Up Eucharist hike. The day of the service, eight walking worshippers met where the trailheads converge at Schooley Mill Park in Highland, our Celebrant toting a red backpack with communion supplies.
Only as we began the journey did I think about the altar: Why hadn’t I brought a small portable table? How would I set up for communion on the slick leave-covered path without spilling or dropping something?
And in my head echoed voices from Kanuga: Be still and know that I am God. As we walked, read Scripture, and took in the beauty of the woods, footstep by footstep, I let that become my meditation.
With the time approaching for the Gospel proclamation, I surrendered to the realization that altar or no, all would be fed, all would be well. And just then, about ten feet ahead on the path, I spotted a tree stump—considerably larger than the one at Kanuga—a perfectly sized communion table.
In planning and organizing and trying mightily to create the appropriate conditions for connection with the Divine, we can often wonder if we’re getting it “right.” And yet, across different spaces and seasons, God seems to always provide the tables we need. And that reality frees me for a different focus and a far more-relevant wondering: Who exactly is God calling me to be, in communion with other members of the Body of Christ, within the spaces and seasons I dwell?
In this time of holy listening, learning to sit in the tension between being and doing, I’m so grateful to not be alone. As I prepare to gather again soon at Kanuga with my fellow discerners, I bear the images of those two stumps, separated by hundreds of miles yet sharing the same loving life-source and Creator with us all.
Learn more about the Kanuga Fellows Leadership Renewed program here.
