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A Communion of Saints
Although I have served as Executive Director for only a few months, I’ve already noticed something about our guests: many who come through our doors are grieving. That comes as no surprise. Grief, after all, is what first brought me to Well of Mercy. I was mourning the loss of my father, unable to comprehend a world that no longer held him.
A writing instructor once encouraged those of us in grief to write letters to our loved ones who had died. Her reasoning was simple and wise: though the physical person may be gone, the relationship remains. The love you shared does not vanish—it simply changes form. It travels with you.
Many faith traditions name this enduring connection the communion of saints or the cloud of witnesses—that sacred union between the living and the departed, those seated beside us at the table and those who reach out from memory to brush our shoulders. They surround us still, unseen yet deeply present, cheering us onward.
Theologian Carlyle Marney used another image: the balcony. He said the human personality is like a house, complete with living room, kitchen, bedrooms, and a basement for our plumbing and trash. We spend time in each room, but when we step outside—onto the lawn—we notice something new: a balcony. And on that balcony stand our encouragers, the good and healthy influences of our lives. Our parents might be there, perhaps grandparents, teachers, coaches, friends, neighbors, or even those we’ve never met but who shaped us—people like Martin Luther King Jr., Catherine McAuley, Mary, and Elizabeth. Everyone’s balcony holds a different crowd, but we can look up, name them, wave to them, and feel their company.
Well of Mercy is a sacred place to lift our eyes toward our own balconies. As we rest in the “grief chair” along the prayer trail or listen to the creek’s gentle song, we are never alone. We are surrounded by such good company—all these saints in their balcony seats, present and accounted for, calling our names and cheering until their voices grow hoarse. At least, that’s how I imagine it.
Before we rush headlong into the holidays, let’s pause to wave to those on our balconies—the ones whose prayers still ripple through our days, whose seeds planted in us are still blooming. Honor them. Give thanks for them. Remember their faces. Hear their voices.
Here at Well of Mercy, we walk among many souls who have passed through this life. How sweet it is to dwell in such a great cloud of witnesses.
Lea Slaton
Executive Director
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