At this year’s opening worship service, my friend Michael asked each of us to pick up a rock from the worship table. The rock represented something heavy we were carrying that we chose to set aside during the retreat. We could share the name of that burden, or not. One friend shared about the pain he felt about his relationship with his children and others shared about worries with their congregations. I picked up my stone and could feel its heaviness but was unable to articulate its name. The rocks sat in the glass bowl in the center of our table throughout the meeting. Cheese, grapes, books, papers, pens crowded out the rocks.
Then just before we all left for the airport, we joined around the table of rocks again for closing worship. Michael asked us to pick up one of those rocks to symbolize what we were taking home with us from the meeting. But before we got the instructions, I knew what I was taking from that bowl. I was taking my friend’s burden about his children. Some of his tears were going with me. Some of his guilt. I was going to carry it home. Because his sharing had opened me up. And because it was too big for him to carry alone. And my own burden was no longer mine to carry alone. The group was carrying it.
With grace and peace,