.the power of laying on hands.

I've been wanting to write about this experience since we returned from vacation, and after reading more of Barbara Brown Taylor (yes, I'm a little obsessed) I've found the words and motivation to share my experience with laying on of hands.

Scott and I stayed at a small bed and breakfast within walking distance of downtown Savannah and while there we talked with the owner, an older man in his late 70s enjoying the everyday "chores" of life which included replacing the fresh magnolias in the parlor and walking "Gordie," the master mutt of the house.  In the mornings we would have delightful conversations with Robert over granola, fresh fruit, and coffee, and he suggested almost every restaurant where we dined during our trip.

One morning when Scott and I mentioned we attend an Episcopal church in Ohio he told us about a Thursday morning service held at the Episcopal church on the next block from the b&b.  We decided we would go to the intimate gathering having missed church at home and found it to be both delightfully simple and complex at the same time; simple in its small chapel setting and complex because of the extra liturgy we were not necessarily used to.  But though we might have fumbled with the booklet and tried to rise up from the prayer benches without a loud creak (we tend to always do that for some reason), I was moved by the blessing and laying on of hands in the middle of the service.  Each person in the small gathering went up to the alter and kneeled while the priest laid his hands and gave blessings to each of us.

I had never really done this before but I have to say I absolutely loved the intimacy and I felt that these hospitable southern "Savannah-ians" were part of my close family afterwards.  We all kneeled at the front and bowed our heads, listening to the quiet murmurs of the priest as he gave his blessing to each one.  His voice grew louder as he made his way down the line, drawing closer to Scott who was kneeling next to me.  After each blessing we replied "amen" in unison.  When he came to me the priest placed his hands softly on each side of my head, resting them right above my ears.  But what was amazing was that Scott and Robert laid hands on either of my shoulders so that in that moment I felt enveloped in Christian love and fellowship, more than I could have ever imagined from such a small gesture.

In her memoir, Leaving Church, Taylor writes, "By offering people a place where they may engage the steady practice of listening to divine words and celebrating divine sacraments, church can help people gain a feel for how God shows up - not only in Holy Bibles and Holy Communion but also in near neighbors, mysterious strangers, sliced bread, and grocery store wine.  That way, when they leave church, they no more leave God than God leaves them.  They simply carry what they have learned into the wide, wide world, where there is a crying need for people who will recognize the holiness in things and hold them up to God" (166).

In that moment among "mysterious strangers," I gained "a feeling for how God shows up" in the small things - in the soft touch from strangers, in a brief hug from a friend, and the holding of hands during prayer.  Though physical touch is sometimes something we often shy away from in our culture, it's sometimes in those soft, brief moments we stop and "feel," sensing God and recognizing holiness.