Michael is leading a memorial service this afternoon for a young woman who died at the age of twenty seven, killed by a brain tumor she had lived with since she was a child. All of her life was lived with the knowledge of the sleeping giant in her body that might awaken at any time. Her parents loved her, saw that she got the best medical care available and lived with the reality of a beloved child dying before them. She lived life as if she had all the time in the world and not enough time. She grew up, went to college and nursing school, became a cardiac nurse, a very good nurse, found purpose and meaning in her work. But life, as we all know, is not fair. The cancer returned with a vengeance and it could not be checkmated this time.
I sat with the father as he pored over his mother’s Bible, looking for dimly remembered passages on peace. We rambled through the Psalms reading the cries of despair and hope in the songs of David. The gospel of John contained the words he was searching for, the assurance for his heart to rest on as he begins this new journey of grief and loss. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you; not as the world gives, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” John 14:27
Peace...freedom from disturbance; tranquility; free from anxiety or distress; harmonious relations... dictionary and thesaurus words that are accurate but not true for the soul that is grieving. When one is suffering from the death of a beloved, wandering in the fields of grey days and fountains of tears, passive definitions of peace do nothing to heal the heart. What this father needed, what we all need, is the peace that passes all understanding.
One of my favorite images for peace is contained in the spiritual “Peace Like A River.” The progression of the words is important, I think. The original words, not the folk song versions, contain the secret. It begins with “I’ve got peace like a river,” next “I’ve got joy like a river,” then “I’ve got love like a river.” It all begins with peace, the peace that flows like a river, the peace that comes from our headwaters, God. Peace that is not a passive state of suspended animation but a peace that tumbles and leaps, flows over rocky river beds and smooths out over sandy bottoms, ever changing, ever present, this is the gift of peace from God. Like floating on a kayak on the French Broad, we may bounce around, float lightly upon the waters, even get dumped out into the chilly currents of this mountain river, but the river continues to run inviting us to come on down, dive in, float on the ancient waters.
And when we are able to be at peace, to be peace, to live in peace, God will help us find joy, even after the death and loss of all that we hold dear. This joy will bubble up from the river of peace that flows through our soul. It is not happiness nor is it dependent upon circumstance. It is a joy that chooses to celebrate the gifts of life and offers itself up in praise to the Creator. Joy in my heart, joy in my soul, joyful noise unto the Lord that affirms death is not the final answer. Life is. We can sing the children’s song “I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart,” and mean it.
When we have the gifts of peace and joy, Love comes to us. It is the bedrock, the ground that holds the river in place. Paul Tillich taught us that God is not out there but here, the ground upon which our being, and our rivers, rest and flow. That foundation, that riverbed is Love, God’s ground of being. When we can see and feel and touch and taste God as Love, our peace and joy will be dancing like sunlight on a river, bright dancing sparkling diamonds of peace, joy and love.
As I go to the memorial service this afternoon, I will be praying for this family who are standing on the edge of the river. I will pray for the Advent gifts of peace, joy and love to sustain them in the long days and nights to come. Peace like a river to lift them up when they are sinking down in woe... joysprings to burst up and catch them unaware so that they might remember life is good... and Love to surround them with Her tender arms of comfort and mercy as they continue their journey without this beloved child. May it be so, please, Lord Jesus?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
My way or the highway...
After school, Gayle and I would ride the bus to town. We would get off and walk a block to mama’s office, do our homework while we waited for daddy to pick us up on his way home from work at the paper mill. We lived over the county line and the bus did not have a route by our house. Daddy would swing by around 4:15 or so and we would be home by 4:45. One of us became the sacrificial lamb who changed clothes to go with daddy to feed the cows. This field duty was a pain and a pleasure.
As a child, daddy’s job was to tend the cows. Before school, he let them out of the barn to roam free range all day. No one had fences much then for stock. Farmers identified their stock by ear notches, brands or bells. After school, daddy would round up the cows, locating them by the chiming of the cow’s bell. He loved cows, knew the way they thought and felt. Years of living with them, watching and learning what they needed, study at an agricultural college preparing to be a county agent, left him with strong ideas on the proper way to raise cattle.
The tractor had a large spike on the front that lifted and held a round bale of hay. Perched on the side step of the tractor, daddy driving, I would ride down the lane to the pasture to help lay out the hay. Twice a day, morning and evening, the cows were fed and checked. There was a pattern to laying out the hay. Daddy would drive slowly while I peeled off a layer of hay in chunks. It had to be laid out in a straight line, separated by just the right amount of distance to prevent the cows from stepping on it, and enough to feed them during the day. The hard work of putting up hay makes farmers testy when animals waste it. And daddy would get testy if his helpers didn’t lay it out like he wanted it. “My way or the highway” was daddy’s motto about farm work. Routine farm work, nothing special, a life of tending, feeding, caring for and selling animals...
And now, in one of life’s many ironies, I find myself repeating the same pattern. I get up, fix a cup of tea, head down to the stable where I am met by two hungry donkeys and three hungry horses. I put them in their stalls, give them their grain and lay out the hay just so in the field they call home. As I place each flake in a straight line, just so far apart and no farther, I hopskipjump back in time and hear daddy’s voice saying, “There, Peggy... NOT THERE... THERE!” Laughter bubbles up at the joke God has played on me. I am indeed my father’s daughter.
Instruction, whether in laying out hay or living in hopelovejoypeace, is necessary for those of us who are students learning the ways of God. The liturgical seasons of the church year give us a time to focus on ways to lay out our spiritual hay. Every year we have another chance to add to our experience, our knowledge of God when we observe and practice Advent. Sometimes, after years of practice, a cow bell rings in our soul and we find what we have been looking for... hope..love...joy...peace...right under our noses, ready to be laid out just so in the pastures of our lives. This week I have been laying our chunks of hope and love while I wait on joy. I am blessed. Advent blessings to you. Remember to lay out the hay of Advent so that you might be ready for Christmas.
As a child, daddy’s job was to tend the cows. Before school, he let them out of the barn to roam free range all day. No one had fences much then for stock. Farmers identified their stock by ear notches, brands or bells. After school, daddy would round up the cows, locating them by the chiming of the cow’s bell. He loved cows, knew the way they thought and felt. Years of living with them, watching and learning what they needed, study at an agricultural college preparing to be a county agent, left him with strong ideas on the proper way to raise cattle.
The tractor had a large spike on the front that lifted and held a round bale of hay. Perched on the side step of the tractor, daddy driving, I would ride down the lane to the pasture to help lay out the hay. Twice a day, morning and evening, the cows were fed and checked. There was a pattern to laying out the hay. Daddy would drive slowly while I peeled off a layer of hay in chunks. It had to be laid out in a straight line, separated by just the right amount of distance to prevent the cows from stepping on it, and enough to feed them during the day. The hard work of putting up hay makes farmers testy when animals waste it. And daddy would get testy if his helpers didn’t lay it out like he wanted it. “My way or the highway” was daddy’s motto about farm work. Routine farm work, nothing special, a life of tending, feeding, caring for and selling animals...
And now, in one of life’s many ironies, I find myself repeating the same pattern. I get up, fix a cup of tea, head down to the stable where I am met by two hungry donkeys and three hungry horses. I put them in their stalls, give them their grain and lay out the hay just so in the field they call home. As I place each flake in a straight line, just so far apart and no farther, I hopskipjump back in time and hear daddy’s voice saying, “There, Peggy... NOT THERE... THERE!” Laughter bubbles up at the joke God has played on me. I am indeed my father’s daughter.
Instruction, whether in laying out hay or living in hopelovejoypeace, is necessary for those of us who are students learning the ways of God. The liturgical seasons of the church year give us a time to focus on ways to lay out our spiritual hay. Every year we have another chance to add to our experience, our knowledge of God when we observe and practice Advent. Sometimes, after years of practice, a cow bell rings in our soul and we find what we have been looking for... hope..love...joy...peace...right under our noses, ready to be laid out just so in the pastures of our lives. This week I have been laying our chunks of hope and love while I wait on joy. I am blessed. Advent blessings to you. Remember to lay out the hay of Advent so that you might be ready for Christmas.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
My leaning side...
Our away room is not a serene oasis in the midst of our house. It is home to the computer, the piano, a hide a bed sofa, two chairs, cats and dogs sleeping, bookshelves filled with books and pictures. It overflows with stacks that await the inspiration to clean and declutter. Yesterday was such a day.
I began on one side of the room and worked my way around to the computer desk. I filled a trash bag with paper to recycle. Unwatched junk mail breeds in the dark and multiplies. Rufus and Barney watched me from the relative safety of the sofa as I hustled and bustled around. One scrap of paper caught my eye. As is my custom, I often write down a phrase or passage that hooks my imagination. There, on a lavender scrap of paper that had been folded and refolded, were the words, “Lord, prop me up on my leaning side.” I stuck that scrap up on my monitor screen so I wouldn’t lose it again and there it sits this morning. No author, no name is attached to this quote so I have no idea where it came from but those words speak to me this morning.
The darkness and silence of Advent help me find my leaning side. Sometimes, even though I know it is impossible, I feel like I have more than one leaning side. Spiritual teachers of many different traditions warn us about this, our tendency to court humility with a false sense of our own unworthiness. A Zen Master, Shunryu Suzuki, after a session of sitting in meditation with his disciples said, “You are all perfect as you are.” After a short pause he finished by saying, “But you could all use a little improvement.” The art of balance, recognizing our leaning side while giving thanks for our gifts, is the hall mark of a grown up person of faith.
As a person who has an ADD brain, my tendency is to blame myself because my brain works differently from others. I forget, I muddle through. I can’t get organized and when I get organized, I can’t maintain the organization. But I can feed fifty or one hundred people and not be bothered. I can create works of beauty. I can listen and hear the pain behind words. The trick for my soul’s growth is to remember... remember that my way of thinking and being has its own strength, remember that I can still change and grow into a more organized style of living, remember to be grateful for all that I have been given in this package of personhood. I am propped up even if I still lean a little.
Riding on a donkey’s back towards Bethlehem during Advent gives me time to step back, see my leaning side, see my propped up place. I have many people who have propped me up when I have needed it. I have had the presence of God in my life from my earliest memory of time passing. That assurance of God’s presence as a prop sustains me even when all else fails. Denominations and churches change and sometimes I cannot go where they lead. God leads me to pastures green and flowing water that feed my soul even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow. Once propped up by God, I am secure, steady even in times of doubt and worry, able to rejoice in all life brings me, darkness and light. So, Lord, please keep me propped up on my leaning side. Let me know, feel, see, hear, taste your presence in my life. Be my support when I cannot hold myself up or keep myself together. Let me rest in the assurance that You will always be the staff on which I can lean. Amen.
I began on one side of the room and worked my way around to the computer desk. I filled a trash bag with paper to recycle. Unwatched junk mail breeds in the dark and multiplies. Rufus and Barney watched me from the relative safety of the sofa as I hustled and bustled around. One scrap of paper caught my eye. As is my custom, I often write down a phrase or passage that hooks my imagination. There, on a lavender scrap of paper that had been folded and refolded, were the words, “Lord, prop me up on my leaning side.” I stuck that scrap up on my monitor screen so I wouldn’t lose it again and there it sits this morning. No author, no name is attached to this quote so I have no idea where it came from but those words speak to me this morning.
The darkness and silence of Advent help me find my leaning side. Sometimes, even though I know it is impossible, I feel like I have more than one leaning side. Spiritual teachers of many different traditions warn us about this, our tendency to court humility with a false sense of our own unworthiness. A Zen Master, Shunryu Suzuki, after a session of sitting in meditation with his disciples said, “You are all perfect as you are.” After a short pause he finished by saying, “But you could all use a little improvement.” The art of balance, recognizing our leaning side while giving thanks for our gifts, is the hall mark of a grown up person of faith.
As a person who has an ADD brain, my tendency is to blame myself because my brain works differently from others. I forget, I muddle through. I can’t get organized and when I get organized, I can’t maintain the organization. But I can feed fifty or one hundred people and not be bothered. I can create works of beauty. I can listen and hear the pain behind words. The trick for my soul’s growth is to remember... remember that my way of thinking and being has its own strength, remember that I can still change and grow into a more organized style of living, remember to be grateful for all that I have been given in this package of personhood. I am propped up even if I still lean a little.
Riding on a donkey’s back towards Bethlehem during Advent gives me time to step back, see my leaning side, see my propped up place. I have many people who have propped me up when I have needed it. I have had the presence of God in my life from my earliest memory of time passing. That assurance of God’s presence as a prop sustains me even when all else fails. Denominations and churches change and sometimes I cannot go where they lead. God leads me to pastures green and flowing water that feed my soul even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow. Once propped up by God, I am secure, steady even in times of doubt and worry, able to rejoice in all life brings me, darkness and light. So, Lord, please keep me propped up on my leaning side. Let me know, feel, see, hear, taste your presence in my life. Be my support when I cannot hold myself up or keep myself together. Let me rest in the assurance that You will always be the staff on which I can lean. Amen.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Tea for Two.. or Three or Four or More
Once upon a time I gave a tea party. I invited the women and girls in my life to come to the farm to share tea and goodies with me. My neighbors on the farm, my mama, my friends and their daughters all came. The only requirement for entrance was the wearing of a hat. I did not specify what kind of hat, just a hat, please. If you did not have one, I provided one from the stash I have. Peyton is wearing one of my flapper models, a red wool felt cloche with satin roses and feathers. Since like most of us, I pick and choose what I want to believe from the Bible, I choose to believe women should have their heads covered in church. This requires a collection of hats. I have a collection that spans thirty years and includes gifts from other mothers, aunts and friends. Hats add spice to our self image and you never have a bad hair day.
So here we were, a collection of disparate women who were connected through knowing me, gathered for a tea party, doing something we hadn’t done since childhood. The hats set the mood... slightly frivolous with an instantaneous change in presence with the donning of a hat. We fixed our cups of tea, served ourselves tea party goodies, mixed and mingled, laughed and chattered, set ourselves apart for an hour or so. During this time, our hat topped bodies softened, our voices brightened, our faces eased and our souls took a deep breath. It was a lovely sweet time. The hats and the tea gave us the framework we needed for a parentheses in our busy lives.
Advent is a tea party parentheses in my liturgical year. Unlike Lent which is shadowed in the clouds of approaching death, Advent’s darkness is lifting in the dawn of the birth of Love. I put on my tea party hat and make myself ready for the birthday party that is coming. Every day, I light my Advent candles, read from the Lake Shore devotional book, remember, give thanks, pray, write, anticipate the coming of God With Us. John Claypool said the real miracle was not the virgin birth but the coming of God to us in human form... incarnation. And so it is... a miracle of love. God so loved us that He sent his only begotten beloved son to live with us. We are beloved, much loved, dearly loved by the One who created us, brothers and sisters to the Older Brother Jesus. Through Jesus’s life lived loving, we catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, a tea party for all, full of hopelovejoypeace. Love, God’s way of being, our choice to be, our Advent possibility...
P.S. Thanks, Sharlande for your writing yesterday that reminded me of the power of tea.
So here we were, a collection of disparate women who were connected through knowing me, gathered for a tea party, doing something we hadn’t done since childhood. The hats set the mood... slightly frivolous with an instantaneous change in presence with the donning of a hat. We fixed our cups of tea, served ourselves tea party goodies, mixed and mingled, laughed and chattered, set ourselves apart for an hour or so. During this time, our hat topped bodies softened, our voices brightened, our faces eased and our souls took a deep breath. It was a lovely sweet time. The hats and the tea gave us the framework we needed for a parentheses in our busy lives.
Advent is a tea party parentheses in my liturgical year. Unlike Lent which is shadowed in the clouds of approaching death, Advent’s darkness is lifting in the dawn of the birth of Love. I put on my tea party hat and make myself ready for the birthday party that is coming. Every day, I light my Advent candles, read from the Lake Shore devotional book, remember, give thanks, pray, write, anticipate the coming of God With Us. John Claypool said the real miracle was not the virgin birth but the coming of God to us in human form... incarnation. And so it is... a miracle of love. God so loved us that He sent his only begotten beloved son to live with us. We are beloved, much loved, dearly loved by the One who created us, brothers and sisters to the Older Brother Jesus. Through Jesus’s life lived loving, we catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, a tea party for all, full of hopelovejoypeace. Love, God’s way of being, our choice to be, our Advent possibility...
P.S. Thanks, Sharlande for your writing yesterday that reminded me of the power of tea.
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