Monday, November 20, 2009
First Monday of Advent
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, "The Lord needs them." And he will send them immediately.
from Matthew 21:1-11, Daily Office, Year Two reading
In Advent, we begin another year of Daily Office readings. It seems a bit strange to begin with a scene more familiar to another part of the liturgical and calendar year--Palm Sunday and Spring. But as I read this selection from Matthew more closely, I believe that it does have quite a bit to do with the concept of Advent waiting.
One of my books for Advent pondering is The Meaning is in the Waiting by Paula Gooder (Paraclete Press, 2008). Here's a gem about how hard it is for us to wait---especially when there is a problem just waiting to be solved. Here's how Gooder puts it:
Imagine you have a broken washing machine. You call the washing machine repair service and wait, and wait, and wait, but no one comes. In your desperation, you get out the tool kit and attempt to solve the problem yourself. Now you may be a brilliant repairer of washing machines, but I know that I would end up with a pile of parts on the floor, no washing machine, and the need to go out and buy a new one." (Gooder, p. 34)
In our reading from Matthew, how did the disciples follow Jesus' instruction? If I were one of those disciples charged with finding the colt and donkey, I bet that if the donkey and colt didn't present themselves immediately, I would make my own plan to find a donkey and colt. One that I think would be easier, better, more efficient, faster.
One morning in South Africa, the children and I went out to the garage to get in the car to go to school. We piled in the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned the key. Nothing. Yes, you know that feeling. No sound. The battery was dead. My mind went into quick thinking mode. I wanted to get the children to school and then I had errands that I wanted to get done that day. I didn't want ot wait for a mechanic to bring a battery. So, I had a brainy idea. The car was perched in the garage at an elevated level. What if I pushed the car backwards in neutral until it hit the garage ramp---as it picked up speed--going backwards--I could jump it into gear. I'd seen it done going forward. Couldn't it work backwards? I told the children to Stand Back. I got in the car. I kept the driver's side door open a bit with one leg and foot out. I pushed with my outside foot against the concrete. The car started to move. Then it really started to move as it hit the garage ramp. WHAP! A horrible sound of crunching metal. Before I knew it, the car door had been pulled off its hinges. I was unable to close it as the car picked up speed as it passed the sides of the garage door. Luckily, I had gotten my leg inside the car or it might be dangling too. I somehow engaged the emergency brake. I looked around. Jack and Anna were staring at me, the car, the situation --dumbfounded. Finally, one of them said, "Oh-Oh, Mommy!"
Well, I had a lot of explaining to do since this was a church car. I was without a car for a week or two. Rather than wait for someone to come and replace the battery, I had made the situation much worse. Why couldn't I have waited for a morning? It's a good family story now. That morning, it wasn't very funny. My impatience got the best of me.
Waiting....it's hard for humans to do. What's your story of impatient problem solving gone wrong?
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Leavetakings and New Beginnings
The fall seems have flown by and now we are almost at Thanksgiving! As I noted in my Monday meditation today (memorialepiscopal.org), this time of year truly marks the end of the year for me. Not only does the liturgical year--Advent--begin at the end of November, but the season of All Saints and Thanksgiving bring my attention to those I love and see no longer as well as the blessing of these departed loved ones in my life. My parents were born on November 6 and November 8. My son, who is now 21(!), was born on November 7. So, this time of year naturally reminds me of leavetakings and new beginnings.
As I pondered how it could be that it was 21 years ago that I was in the hospital wondering what labor and delivery was all about (and about to find out directly), I was brought back to pregnancy and delivery by our two Memorial couples who will be finding out directly about birth this month. On Sunday morning, I gave the parish cross to Tom and Erin who are expecting a baby this coming weekend. Sunday afternoon, I took communion to Liz and Steph. Liz hopes to have her son (to be named Henry Isaac!) over Thanksgiving (or sooner she says). My visit with Liz and Steph took me back 21 years to sleeping sitting up, eating Ben and Jerry's heath bar crunch ice cream a pint at at time, and raking leaves 9 months pregnant. Such feelings of excitement, anticipation and fear rolled into one.
At EFM class (Education for Ministry) last week, I presented a theological reflection on my son's leavetaking a few years ago to China. I've written about his coming home as part of my South Africa writings. Here is the excerpt.
The Art of Coming Home
It was the longest day of my life so far. Surely there have been many long hours and days. There was the day leading up to thyroid cancer surgery. There was Bryan’s prostate surgery this past February. But Wednesday, May 31, 2006 must have been the longest day of my life. My first born son, Jack, would arrive home from Beijing, China after an academic year away. He was to fly through 12 time zones and over Russia, the Bearing Strait, Alaska and then across the entire United States. I began to feel the dread of his journey on Monday. My stomach just didn’t feel right. That’s where it always begins. In the pit of my stomach. As I sat down to read the newspaper on Tuesday morning the phone rang. It was Jack. He was clearly anxious. He couldn’t get everything in his suitcase. He had to leave his sleeping bag behind. He had said goodbye to all his teachers. Now it was almost time to say goodbye to his Chinese mom and dad—who had loved and cared for him since he arrived last August. Parting was hard. His voice kept getting quieter. He said he didn’t feel well. He couldn’t breathe. Could I call him back? When I called back after an agonizing five minutes, he seemed better, but his voice still was weak. “Breathe, Bub,” I said, “Just breathe.” We started talking about the Orioles—how was the hometown baseball team doing? Not so well. The pitching stank. A laugh. Equilibrium was returning to his voice. After I hung up, I had to breathe---deep, long, slow breaths. My heart went out to my son. It is always hard saying goodbye to those you love. It is particularly hard saying goodbye to friends and family who live far away---even after only a few short months.
My son’s phone call brought me back to the weeks and days leading up to leaving South Africa after almost three years. There were many goodbye parties. There was the usual pathos of leaving a parish you love as a parish priest---some parishioners accepted your move and gave thanks for being together, some parishioners clung tighter, some parishioners distanced themselves from you as far as possible, some were inexplicably angry at you. But the day we left---that was a long day as well. By then, the furniture was again on the container somewhere in the Atlantic on its way to Baltimore. We didn’t pray for the container anymore. We had been burglarized again and so had less luggage than what we arrived with. The parish car was at Peter Day’s house without tires on blocks---so it wouldn’t be stolen before the next parish priest arrived. Passports and tickets in hand, we were just waiting to go. All international overseas flight generally leave Johannesburg in the early to late evening. That meant waiting around all day. I don’t even know what we did. Jack and Anna read the new Harry Potter book which was impossible to get at home, but plentiful on the shelves of Johannesburg bookstores. But the time came to go to the airport. It was time to leave our home of three years. It was time to leave my sister in Christ Estelle. We drove to the airport in two cars this time. The Rogans drove Jack, Anna and Bryan. I rode with Estelle. A great heaviness hung in the car. Estelle had special African music on her tape player. We drove by those same gold dumps and mines that we had passed thre years ago—now as familiar as old friends. The heaviness stayed with us as we checked our luggage and waited with a grand assortment of friends from the parish in the restaurant area. Then it was time to board the plane. It was time to leave Estelle. That meant we were really going. On the way to the entrance to the boarding area, Dorothy Mosepe and Thembe arrived with presents. There were hugs all around. Then I turned to Estelle. It was too much. The floodgates opened. We hugged and she ran off into the crowd. I watched until I could no longer see her bright white hair. It didn’t take long. Once in the duty free area, I headed for the Ladies Room. I sobbed and sobbed in the stall. My heart felt as it were being torn from my body. Why was I leaving? What was I thinking?
How can it be that leaving people you have known only a few short months or a couple of years be so difficult? There is something about leaving friends in Christ in another part of the world. There is something about stepping forth in faith into a dark and unknown place—only trusting that God’s love will be present in those who are your companions on the way while in that place. In our American world of “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” and “Well, what have you done for me lately?” it is humbling and awesome to place your lives in the hands of strangers and be loved beyond measure—just because you are human and a child of God. There is no sense of binding family duty in the world of global ministry. There is just the overwhelming love of God. People love you because you are you in Christ. Amazing! It took going to the farthest spot in the world for me to realize this. Once you realize this, you never want to let it go.
I know there were some adults who wondered how Bryan and I could possibly let our 17 year old son go to Beijing, China for an academic year. Was it prudent? Was it safe? Could we possibly be good, responsible parents if we let him go? I think it was the gift of South Africa that Jack even considered going to China for his junior year of high school and we as his parents considered letting him go. We know that the kindness of strangers is an incredible gift and blessing—especially the kindness of strangers in Christ. Strangers in Christ? Is that possible? The only way to know for sure is to step into that dark, unknown place and see. And we now know. In God’s love, there are no strangers. Only ministering angels. But we have to step out in faith not knowing to know it finally.
As Jack left China, his Chinese father cried. On the other side of the world, as he walked down a long corridor at Baltimore-Washington Airport, an American mother embraced her son in tears. Both were tears of heartache and joy—for the leaving and for the coming together once again. If we don’t meet in South Africa or America or China again, we will meet in the Kingdom and there we will see one another face to face. I now know that this is true in my heart. The tears tell me it is so.
As I pondered how it could be that it was 21 years ago that I was in the hospital wondering what labor and delivery was all about (and about to find out directly), I was brought back to pregnancy and delivery by our two Memorial couples who will be finding out directly about birth this month. On Sunday morning, I gave the parish cross to Tom and Erin who are expecting a baby this coming weekend. Sunday afternoon, I took communion to Liz and Steph. Liz hopes to have her son (to be named Henry Isaac!) over Thanksgiving (or sooner she says). My visit with Liz and Steph took me back 21 years to sleeping sitting up, eating Ben and Jerry's heath bar crunch ice cream a pint at at time, and raking leaves 9 months pregnant. Such feelings of excitement, anticipation and fear rolled into one.
At EFM class (Education for Ministry) last week, I presented a theological reflection on my son's leavetaking a few years ago to China. I've written about his coming home as part of my South Africa writings. Here is the excerpt.
The Art of Coming Home
It was the longest day of my life so far. Surely there have been many long hours and days. There was the day leading up to thyroid cancer surgery. There was Bryan’s prostate surgery this past February. But Wednesday, May 31, 2006 must have been the longest day of my life. My first born son, Jack, would arrive home from Beijing, China after an academic year away. He was to fly through 12 time zones and over Russia, the Bearing Strait, Alaska and then across the entire United States. I began to feel the dread of his journey on Monday. My stomach just didn’t feel right. That’s where it always begins. In the pit of my stomach. As I sat down to read the newspaper on Tuesday morning the phone rang. It was Jack. He was clearly anxious. He couldn’t get everything in his suitcase. He had to leave his sleeping bag behind. He had said goodbye to all his teachers. Now it was almost time to say goodbye to his Chinese mom and dad—who had loved and cared for him since he arrived last August. Parting was hard. His voice kept getting quieter. He said he didn’t feel well. He couldn’t breathe. Could I call him back? When I called back after an agonizing five minutes, he seemed better, but his voice still was weak. “Breathe, Bub,” I said, “Just breathe.” We started talking about the Orioles—how was the hometown baseball team doing? Not so well. The pitching stank. A laugh. Equilibrium was returning to his voice. After I hung up, I had to breathe---deep, long, slow breaths. My heart went out to my son. It is always hard saying goodbye to those you love. It is particularly hard saying goodbye to friends and family who live far away---even after only a few short months.
My son’s phone call brought me back to the weeks and days leading up to leaving South Africa after almost three years. There were many goodbye parties. There was the usual pathos of leaving a parish you love as a parish priest---some parishioners accepted your move and gave thanks for being together, some parishioners clung tighter, some parishioners distanced themselves from you as far as possible, some were inexplicably angry at you. But the day we left---that was a long day as well. By then, the furniture was again on the container somewhere in the Atlantic on its way to Baltimore. We didn’t pray for the container anymore. We had been burglarized again and so had less luggage than what we arrived with. The parish car was at Peter Day’s house without tires on blocks---so it wouldn’t be stolen before the next parish priest arrived. Passports and tickets in hand, we were just waiting to go. All international overseas flight generally leave Johannesburg in the early to late evening. That meant waiting around all day. I don’t even know what we did. Jack and Anna read the new Harry Potter book which was impossible to get at home, but plentiful on the shelves of Johannesburg bookstores. But the time came to go to the airport. It was time to leave our home of three years. It was time to leave my sister in Christ Estelle. We drove to the airport in two cars this time. The Rogans drove Jack, Anna and Bryan. I rode with Estelle. A great heaviness hung in the car. Estelle had special African music on her tape player. We drove by those same gold dumps and mines that we had passed thre years ago—now as familiar as old friends. The heaviness stayed with us as we checked our luggage and waited with a grand assortment of friends from the parish in the restaurant area. Then it was time to board the plane. It was time to leave Estelle. That meant we were really going. On the way to the entrance to the boarding area, Dorothy Mosepe and Thembe arrived with presents. There were hugs all around. Then I turned to Estelle. It was too much. The floodgates opened. We hugged and she ran off into the crowd. I watched until I could no longer see her bright white hair. It didn’t take long. Once in the duty free area, I headed for the Ladies Room. I sobbed and sobbed in the stall. My heart felt as it were being torn from my body. Why was I leaving? What was I thinking?
How can it be that leaving people you have known only a few short months or a couple of years be so difficult? There is something about leaving friends in Christ in another part of the world. There is something about stepping forth in faith into a dark and unknown place—only trusting that God’s love will be present in those who are your companions on the way while in that place. In our American world of “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” and “Well, what have you done for me lately?” it is humbling and awesome to place your lives in the hands of strangers and be loved beyond measure—just because you are human and a child of God. There is no sense of binding family duty in the world of global ministry. There is just the overwhelming love of God. People love you because you are you in Christ. Amazing! It took going to the farthest spot in the world for me to realize this. Once you realize this, you never want to let it go.
I know there were some adults who wondered how Bryan and I could possibly let our 17 year old son go to Beijing, China for an academic year. Was it prudent? Was it safe? Could we possibly be good, responsible parents if we let him go? I think it was the gift of South Africa that Jack even considered going to China for his junior year of high school and we as his parents considered letting him go. We know that the kindness of strangers is an incredible gift and blessing—especially the kindness of strangers in Christ. Strangers in Christ? Is that possible? The only way to know for sure is to step into that dark, unknown place and see. And we now know. In God’s love, there are no strangers. Only ministering angels. But we have to step out in faith not knowing to know it finally.
As Jack left China, his Chinese father cried. On the other side of the world, as he walked down a long corridor at Baltimore-Washington Airport, an American mother embraced her son in tears. Both were tears of heartache and joy—for the leaving and for the coming together once again. If we don’t meet in South Africa or America or China again, we will meet in the Kingdom and there we will see one another face to face. I now know that this is true in my heart. The tears tell me it is so.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Back in the saddle!
Our help is in the Name of the Lord,* the maker of heaven and earth Psalm 124:8
It's fun to be back at the blog--pondering God and life. I can't believe that it is now the end of September and that fall is truly upon us. Fall is my favorite season. Even though it is hard to return to the pace of fuller days, I find that help comes in God's creative touch in the fall weather. I love the crisp days. Perfect days for hiking. Not just hiking in the country but hiking in the city. This Saturday, I had my first fall hike. The front was blowing in from the west and there was a stiff breeze when I started out around 10:30 am. I walked from the Clipper Mill apartments up to the Druid Hill trail that begins at the top of our street up into the north edge of Druid Hill Park. It was quiet. The only sounds were the acorns falling from the oak trees. I walked past the Frisbee Golf course and by the Maryland Zoo. The zoo parking lot was filling up and many families and couples were making their way to the zoo entrance. I continued walking towards the arboretum. There were cars parked everywhere as a Baltimore Tennis Patrons breakfast was in full swing under the tent. There was a plant sale at the arboretum. A little ways further and I found the resevoir full of walkers and joggers. The city was renting bikes at the resevoir as well and there were families, singles and couples riding around and around the water. I felt part of a great whirlwind of urban activity and recreation. I briefly considered conitnuing on across the 29th street bridge but I retraced my steps back through the park. I arrived back home after an hour and a half of brisk walking. I felt alive in the wind, the cooler weather, the urban activity, the green space. I love urban hiking! I'd like to discover other great urban hikes--what's yours?
It's fun to be back at the blog--pondering God and life. I can't believe that it is now the end of September and that fall is truly upon us. Fall is my favorite season. Even though it is hard to return to the pace of fuller days, I find that help comes in God's creative touch in the fall weather. I love the crisp days. Perfect days for hiking. Not just hiking in the country but hiking in the city. This Saturday, I had my first fall hike. The front was blowing in from the west and there was a stiff breeze when I started out around 10:30 am. I walked from the Clipper Mill apartments up to the Druid Hill trail that begins at the top of our street up into the north edge of Druid Hill Park. It was quiet. The only sounds were the acorns falling from the oak trees. I walked past the Frisbee Golf course and by the Maryland Zoo. The zoo parking lot was filling up and many families and couples were making their way to the zoo entrance. I continued walking towards the arboretum. There were cars parked everywhere as a Baltimore Tennis Patrons breakfast was in full swing under the tent. There was a plant sale at the arboretum. A little ways further and I found the resevoir full of walkers and joggers. The city was renting bikes at the resevoir as well and there were families, singles and couples riding around and around the water. I felt part of a great whirlwind of urban activity and recreation. I briefly considered conitnuing on across the 29th street bridge but I retraced my steps back through the park. I arrived back home after an hour and a half of brisk walking. I felt alive in the wind, the cooler weather, the urban activity, the green space. I love urban hiking! I'd like to discover other great urban hikes--what's yours?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Summer Vacation
To my beloved blog friends: It is summertime and time to take it easy! I'll be taking a brief sabbatical from my blog for the summer. I'll be spending time with friends and family, hiking and biking in the Western Maryland mountains, and writing. In particular, I'm working on a book of meditations to be published in the fall for Lent 2010. Have a grand summer and be sure to check back in around September 1 for more meditations on this blog. love and blessings, Mother Martha
Friday, June 5, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Letter from a Birmingham Jail
I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds. From Letter from a Birmingham Jail by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. dated April 16, 1963
It's been a while since I've read Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Just recently, someone mentioned to me how much that letter had become a foundational document in his life. When our Wednesday morning Bible Study group arrived at Peter Gomes' chapter on the Bible and Slavery and Gomes mentioned the Letter, I thought it was time to take another look. So, this past Wednesday morning, we read A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.
First, I had forgotten what a long letter King wrote. As we read aloud his words, I imagine King in prison. I imagine that the solitude of prison life allowed King to stop for some time and collect his thoughts. His life was lived in active passion. Now, all his thoughts and feelings start pouring out. He writes to a group of clergymen who have asked him to take the segregation issue a bit more slowly. Perhaps more politely. To wait for the right time. Perhaps to stay in Atlanta and do his rabble rousing there.
Second, I remembered why I spent part of my time in seminary studying and writing about Dr. King. The Gospel is a prophetic document. The church is about being prophetic. When we become afraid to live out the Gospel imperatives in our lives through words and actions, we diminish ourselves. We diminish the church. And sometimes, we begin to think that the Body of Christ is composed of insiders and outsiders. King speak to this issue with strength and grace.
I am so very proud that the Memorial church community is a place that we can speak to our prophetic calling. We can live into that prophetic calling through words. However, Memorial is a place that embraces St Francis of Assisi's suggestion: Preach the Gospel and if necessary, use words! Thanks be to God for the Memorial community.
Question: Have you ever felt like an outsider when you bring up an issue of social change? Maybe just plain old change? Have you felt like an outsider in Christ's Body, the Church? What does Dr. King's message say to you?
I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds. From Letter from a Birmingham Jail by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. dated April 16, 1963
It's been a while since I've read Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Just recently, someone mentioned to me how much that letter had become a foundational document in his life. When our Wednesday morning Bible Study group arrived at Peter Gomes' chapter on the Bible and Slavery and Gomes mentioned the Letter, I thought it was time to take another look. So, this past Wednesday morning, we read A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.
First, I had forgotten what a long letter King wrote. As we read aloud his words, I imagine King in prison. I imagine that the solitude of prison life allowed King to stop for some time and collect his thoughts. His life was lived in active passion. Now, all his thoughts and feelings start pouring out. He writes to a group of clergymen who have asked him to take the segregation issue a bit more slowly. Perhaps more politely. To wait for the right time. Perhaps to stay in Atlanta and do his rabble rousing there.
Second, I remembered why I spent part of my time in seminary studying and writing about Dr. King. The Gospel is a prophetic document. The church is about being prophetic. When we become afraid to live out the Gospel imperatives in our lives through words and actions, we diminish ourselves. We diminish the church. And sometimes, we begin to think that the Body of Christ is composed of insiders and outsiders. King speak to this issue with strength and grace.
I am so very proud that the Memorial church community is a place that we can speak to our prophetic calling. We can live into that prophetic calling through words. However, Memorial is a place that embraces St Francis of Assisi's suggestion: Preach the Gospel and if necessary, use words! Thanks be to God for the Memorial community.
Question: Have you ever felt like an outsider when you bring up an issue of social change? Maybe just plain old change? Have you felt like an outsider in Christ's Body, the Church? What does Dr. King's message say to you?
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Memorial Day Tribute
Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. --The Burial of the Dead, Book of Common Prayer
Today I want to remember a particular saint who died yesterday--the Rev. Fa. Paul Wessinger, SSJE. Paul was am Episcopal priest and a professed member of the Anglican order of monks, the Society of St John the Evangelist. He was my spiritual director for over 10 years. He was a spiritual marker and guide for me. He brought me back to my truest self again and again. The self that God had in mind for me to live into when God created me (see Psalm 139).
When someone that we love dies, it takes us time to figure out how to love them when we see them no longer. For Paul and me, we had some practice at this already. For the past few years, Paul has been deaf. He had to give up spiritual direction. When I made retreats at the monastery in Cambridge, we would see one another, but we had trouble communicating. Eventually, Paul moved to a nursing care facility close to the monastery--where he died in the night Friday morning. He was over 90 years old.
In his prime, Paul was Superior of the Order. He brought the Society to a place of deep inclusion--for ordained women, for ordained gay and lesbians, for those for whom the institutional church was less than welcoming. He continued to bring out the best in me--which, in the end, allowed me to be true to my deepest self. He loved the church yet he challenged the church to go further into Gospel living. He was and is a deep inspiration in my ministry for me again and again. On the day Paul died, he was that deep source of comfort and strength yet again.
As it turns out yesterday was also the day that I received some news that caused me--yet again--to wonder why I have been created the way that I am. I heard news--yet again---that being open about supporting social justice causes and living your life in a way that supports actively those causes continues to cause misunderstanding, exclusion and pain. As the Gospel for Sunday points out, following and then living out the Gospel is not such an easy road. In fact, it will lead to suffering again and again. But how can you be true to yourself and not live out the Gospel? As you live your life, there are times when you realize that the choices you have made for the Gospel exclude you from the very living you believe that God is calling you to do. How do you reconcile that?
That's when I bring Paul into my heart. I imagine him sitting across from me in our room of spiritual direction--a candle lit and an icon of Jesus close by. He is in his black cassock. As I recount the latest story of exclusion, he listens. His face radiates gentleness and love. After I finish there is a moment of silence. And then Paul smiles at me. There is a gleam in his eye. Paul replies: "It is so hard. But what else can you do. I believe this is God's work that you are doing. It is important work. It is the way of love." I leave spiritual direction feeling that I am not alone. That I am loved--just as I am and just as I live. There are so many days that I need Paul Wessinger in my life. He is still with me. He will be with me all along.
This Memorial Day weekend....Who is it that loves you as you are? Who is it that confirms your call in God?
Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. --The Burial of the Dead, Book of Common Prayer
Today I want to remember a particular saint who died yesterday--the Rev. Fa. Paul Wessinger, SSJE. Paul was am Episcopal priest and a professed member of the Anglican order of monks, the Society of St John the Evangelist. He was my spiritual director for over 10 years. He was a spiritual marker and guide for me. He brought me back to my truest self again and again. The self that God had in mind for me to live into when God created me (see Psalm 139).
When someone that we love dies, it takes us time to figure out how to love them when we see them no longer. For Paul and me, we had some practice at this already. For the past few years, Paul has been deaf. He had to give up spiritual direction. When I made retreats at the monastery in Cambridge, we would see one another, but we had trouble communicating. Eventually, Paul moved to a nursing care facility close to the monastery--where he died in the night Friday morning. He was over 90 years old.
In his prime, Paul was Superior of the Order. He brought the Society to a place of deep inclusion--for ordained women, for ordained gay and lesbians, for those for whom the institutional church was less than welcoming. He continued to bring out the best in me--which, in the end, allowed me to be true to my deepest self. He loved the church yet he challenged the church to go further into Gospel living. He was and is a deep inspiration in my ministry for me again and again. On the day Paul died, he was that deep source of comfort and strength yet again.
As it turns out yesterday was also the day that I received some news that caused me--yet again--to wonder why I have been created the way that I am. I heard news--yet again---that being open about supporting social justice causes and living your life in a way that supports actively those causes continues to cause misunderstanding, exclusion and pain. As the Gospel for Sunday points out, following and then living out the Gospel is not such an easy road. In fact, it will lead to suffering again and again. But how can you be true to yourself and not live out the Gospel? As you live your life, there are times when you realize that the choices you have made for the Gospel exclude you from the very living you believe that God is calling you to do. How do you reconcile that?
That's when I bring Paul into my heart. I imagine him sitting across from me in our room of spiritual direction--a candle lit and an icon of Jesus close by. He is in his black cassock. As I recount the latest story of exclusion, he listens. His face radiates gentleness and love. After I finish there is a moment of silence. And then Paul smiles at me. There is a gleam in his eye. Paul replies: "It is so hard. But what else can you do. I believe this is God's work that you are doing. It is important work. It is the way of love." I leave spiritual direction feeling that I am not alone. That I am loved--just as I am and just as I live. There are so many days that I need Paul Wessinger in my life. He is still with me. He will be with me all along.
This Memorial Day weekend....Who is it that loves you as you are? Who is it that confirms your call in God?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Moving Forward
Sing to the Lord a new song*for he has done marvelous things. Psalm 98:1
When we are trying to find meaning as we move forward from one day to the next, we often spend a good deal of energy in the past. We think of decisions that we wish we had made differently or with more forethought. I'm sure the disciples had a good deal of these kind of thoughts after Jesus' death and resurrection. There is a great song in Jesus Christ Superstar entitled "Could We Start Again Please?" That song could be a mantra for many of us.
For years, when asked about my college experience, I would start off by saying that I attended Davidson College. If the conversation continued, I would then add that my first choice of college had been Williams College. Then I would launch into a discussion about how I had applied to Williams early decision and had not been accepted. I then added that I hadn't taken the application seriously, that I had written it in longhand in cartridge pen. Yada..Yada..Yada.. On and on I would go about how I had made mistakes in my application. I would wonder what my life would have been like if I'd been a college student in the northeast.
Not long into the conversation, my good husband would interject that I would never have met him if I had gone to another college. For a while, I would try to argue that I would have met him eventually. After a while, I gave up that line of argument. My experience at Davidson was a wonderful experience in many ways. Why did I spend a good ten years of my life unable to recognize this fact? Why focus on the road not taken?
This morning, I started the sermon with a poem by Carl Dennis called "The God Who Loves You." The poem is in his collection called Practical Gods. I won't quote the whole poem here but here are some pertinent lines:
It must be troubling for the god who loves you
To ponder how much happier you'd be today
Had you been able to glimpse your many futures.
It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings
Driving home from the office, content with your week---
Three fine houses sold to deserving families--
Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened
Had you gone to your second choice for college,
Knowing the roommate you'd have been allotted
Whose ardent opinions on painting and music
Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion
A life thirty points above the life you're living
On any scale of satisfaction.......
The difference between what is
And what could have been will remain alive for him
Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill
Running out in the snow for the morning paper,
Losing eleven years that the god who loves you
Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene
Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him
No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend
No closer than the actual friend you made at college,
The one you haven't written in months. Sit down tonight
And write him about the life you can talk about
With a claim to authority, the life you've witnessed,
Which for all you know is the life you've chosen.
Who is that friend that you actually know that it's time to write? That's a way to move forward into the future.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)