Lisa Bowden

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

This day, the Feast day of St Andrew, is a hinge between Ordinary Time and the start of a new Liturgical year with Advent. 

Andrew is Patron Saint of fisherman, fishmongers, rope makers, textile workers, Scotland and other places. He is one of the 12 Apostles, brother of Simon Peter, son of Jonah. He was a fisherman by trade when Jesus called him to discipleship. Andrew recognized Jesus at once as the Messiah, and left all things to follow him .

The readings today remind me that love is accretive, even when it involves waiting or leaving. 

I have a painting with a whale my father did when I was a child on a large piece of scrap wood on my desk, made as a Colonial sign for a tavern called "The Whaler Inn." The body of the whale floats just below the surface of the water, its enormous tail the only portion visible to the people I imagine to be in the schooner painted on horizon. The tail a signal fire for a bigger, magnificent thing.

I also have an etching of “Alaskan Fisherman” hauling in their nets, from 1927. These things are dear to me. I am, in part, from English ancestors who jumped ship off the coast of Long Island prior to reaching shore in the 1700s. I grew up fishing with my father into my teen years on the mid Atlantic coast. My own family has left the desert to coastal Maine the last three summers to be amidst fog, rain, cold June temps, and the sound of fog horns and gulls. The pull for me is primal.

Fishing with my father on weekends was on the open choppy waters where a mix of salt air, motor boat fuel, and sunscreen was by turn intoxicating and nauseating. I would curl up prone in the hull of the boat, lying on top of coiled rope, trying to steady my sea sick stomach. I loved being with my father more than eating fish, and more than I hated being sea sick. It was all my life, and I loved it. 

These rituals on the water at dawn punctuated long summer days As an adult, when I went deep water fishing for tuna in the Baja for days way beyond any horizon line, the peaceful presence I felt in the middle of nowhere, amidst the referencelsss, unknowlable depths was profound. 

With grace, I can leave all things. 

I imagine a “pavillion for the sun” made inside each of us, lit up burning bright to signal the vast peace that tugs and calls with Holy Words "so close to be in your mouth, on your lips, in your heart." 

Peace,

—Lisa