People are a wonder...

People are a wonder... I’ve been reading one of my Christmas books, Animals in Transition- Using the Mysteries of Autism to Decode Animal Behavior by Temple Grandin. This woman, who has her PhD, is a college professor and an expert in animal science. She has opened new windows and doors to her world that help me understand not only my grandson Mason but myself as well. We are all animals with more in common than we realize. Her sharing of the autistic way of being reminds me of the gifts of differences, unique beings with commonalities as well as specialities. The science of understanding ourselves and the creatures with whom we share this world is fascinating. Every time we think we have a label that fits a person, here comes something that erases the writing on the name tag and we have to start over.
It is so very easy to label people. That ultra-conservative fundamentalist preacher, that liberal lesbian, that rabid Republican, that neo-con, that young firebrand, that old fogey... But try as we might, folks have a way of transcending the labels we apply in spite of our best attempts to keep them bottled up and tamped down.
I have a friend who is in a terrible time of trouble. Some of it has been public news and that has added to the pain. Out of the blue, she received a call from one of those fundamentalist preachers offering to help. He offered to buy groceries or do any other errands that would require her to go out in public if she needed to stay home to regroup and regather herself. He did this because he knew her husband from serving on a committee with him and wanted to help in some way. Suddenly he was transformed from a pesky television preacher into a fellow human being who felt her pain and wanted to help.
None of us can ever confine another person just to our perceptions of their realities. We are all more and less than we seem to be. And, that is a gift indeed. When we understand that none of us is perfect, or as Paul would say, without sin, a heavy load is lifted from our souls. No matter how good we are, how hard we work for peace and justice, how long we labor in the fields of need and suffering, how smart we are or how much money we have, none of us is without the mark of Cain on our brow. We are all strugglers and stragglers trying to figure ourselves out, help our neighbors in need, live in this world and prepare for the time to come.
All of us wear masks of some kind or another. Like Mardi Gras celebrants, we fix our lovely masks in place so the real face underneath doesn’t show. Some are masks that use our faith and religion to cover up our imperfect selves. John Ortberg says “It may be a stained glass mask but it’s a mask just the same.” Some are masks of power and wealth. Others have the mask of competence and control firmly in place.
Whatever our mask looks like, the fear of being rejected for being our true self keeps the masks firmly in place. No one would like me if they knew I scream at my children so I keep my perfect mother mask in place. How could I lead the deacons if they knew I had lost my job because of an addiction? I sit in church and look calm when I am screaming inside because I don’t know how I am going to make the mortgage payment tomorrow. Sometimes, with people we truly love and trust, we let the mask slip and are occasionally astonished at the graciousness of our fellow travelers. Only when we lay aside our masks can we come to Jesus who offers rest and relief from the burden of pretending to be who we are not. An Amy Grant song says, “All I ever have to be is what You made me.” That is so easy to say and so very hard to do.
Temple Grandin quotes Charles Darwin as the source for the words “lumper” and “splitter” to describe two different types of people. Lumpers generalize and splitters particularize. Animals and autistic folks are particularists and normal people are generalists. Our call as Christians is to remove our masks of the particular and the general to reveal the authentic creations we are, lumpy unformed clay though we may be, beautiful creations in the making nonetheless. “The word of the Lord came to me saying, ‘Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born, I consecrated you...’” Jeremiah 1:4 We are all, imperfect as we are, perfectly formed, consecrated and known by the One who brought us into being in this world and waits for us in the next. Thanks be to God for the Love that calls us to remove our masks and live as the beautiful imperfect beings we are, loving with grace and gratitude ourselves and others.

Known but not seen...

The far away mountains are dimly seen through blowing snow this morning... ghostly images of white gray rippling ranges that fade into a seamless curtain of white. Our highest temperature today is only in the mid-twenties with a low tonight of 7. Gusting winds will produce a wind chill factor of minus 11.
Winter at Sabbath Rest Farm is bone chilling wind and snow with moments of sun warmed grace. The horses eat their hay on the sheltered side of the stable, protected from the harsh blasts and warmed by the sun that shines in a clear blue diamond sky. Horse, donkey, horse, donkey...feeding side by side secure in the knowledge that more hay and grain will come as it is needed. Barn cats emerge from tunnels in the hay waiting for a pat and breakfast. Cows in the leaning barn moo and ask for hay and lots of it as I open the door to speak to them. This afternoon I will put out some hay and grain for the deer who roam our farm, protected and watched over by us all. The four young does who travel together, the impressive old buck with big antlers, the deer who bed down by the outdoor Christmas cedar... they need a winter meal to take the edge off the cold wind.
I am grateful this morning for my Christmas present... insulated Carrhart coveralls that zip up and enclose me in a warm cocoon. As I travel from one feeding station to another, the hood holds me snugly and wards off the stiff wind gusts. I move surrounded by warmth and protection that buffer winter’s killing cold, doing morning chores and singing the Old One Hundredth Doxology... Praise God from Whom all blessings flow... Praise Him all creatures here below...
Winter reminds me that we all live close to the edge. A change in health, a death, a financial crisis, an unexpected job loss, any circumstance that causes us to feel the harsh blasts of
an out of control life can make us feel lost and alone. But as I look around the farm, I see grace and blessing in the midst of freezing cold. Warm sheltered places... gathered around the dinner table with friends, sharing soup... worship with those I know well and love dearly... web cam calls to grandchildren who run to see me calling “nana, nana, nana”...Barney and Rufus sleeping side by side on the sofa in the away room...narcissus bulbs, a gift from a friend, sending green shafts straight up in the air... snow dancing wildly in the wind blowing hither and yon... candles burning and scenting the rooms with bayberry and cinnamon... God’s creatures wishing me a good morning as their breakfast bearer... my Carrhart coverall of grace is sufficient for this day.
Sometimes God’s grace is known by my head but not seen with my eyes of faith. Like the mountains that fade away into a curtain of white, God is always present even when I cannot see clearly. This day I see and know I am blessed. I am graced. I am loved. I am blessing. I am gracing. I am loving. Thanks be to God.

Miz Barton's Etiquette Class

Miz Barton’s Home Economics class had a section on etiquette, a learning experience we found hilarious at times. Practicing how to eat and drink and place one’s napkin properly was often ridiculed. The joke was on me, however, because many of the skills we learned in etiquette have been used frequently in my daily life. I learned how to introduce myself and others, how to conduct a polite social conversation, the rules for social occasions, what to do when I didn’t know what to do. My teacher’s insistence that we learn the rules for gracious living and graceful ways to connect to others in our world has provided a life long pattern for living.
One of the first rules we learned was the reason behind all etiquette. According to Mrs. Barton, etiquette existed to help us be kind to one another, to have patterns to follow that made it possible for us to forget ourselves and focus on others. We didn’t have to worry about our own behavior because we would know the right thing to do and would do it. We were free to listen, learn, and like the people around us without any overlay of anxiety or self centered thinking. She was right. Proper etiquette a’la Mrs. Barton is another version of the Golden Rule.
Yesterday I took the van to the mechanic. It was making funny noises even though it had just come out of the shop on Monday. After 167,000 miles, I would be making funny noises, too. One of the mechanics brought me home and as we rode together, we talked. I introduced myself and he introduced himself. We began to have a polite conversation. We talked about children, the economy, grandchildren and work. I learned he had been married twice and raised three stepchildren from his first marriage with his second wife. They had two more children and now have seven grandchildren. Christmas was fun. They draw names for the adults because there are 34 grownups in their immediate family... too many to buy for individually. His youngest daughter, eighteen, graduates from high school this year. She will inherit the family home with the provision that she will not get it until he and his wife die. We laughed and found we had much in common. Thanks to Mrs. Barton, I know how to converse and connect with strangers.
There are days when I wish I could make everyone take Mrs. Barton’s class on etiquette. Life is difficult enough without the added complications of impolite behavior. Reporters would no longer show up at someone’s personal tragedy with a mike or camera to ask “How do you feel?” Grown up people would not tell little children the terrors of the world and load their souls down with adult pains and sorrows. The mechanics and teachers and tycoons in this world would be able to talk to one another instead of at one another. We would let go of our own preoccupations long enough to really see those who live around us and hear the voices of others. The question “May I help you?” would become our new motto or mantra or message.
The Bible gives us rules for living, much like Mrs. Barton, that help us put our lives in order. Love God. Love your neighbor as yourself. Don’t let your hearts be troubled because I am with you. These rules provide for us a safe haven with clearly marked paths of righteousness. If we could learn to follow the patterns provided, our lives could be beacons of light and bearers of gracious good news in a world that is starved for both. This day I will remember Mrs. Barton, remember my God and my neighbor, live with hope not fear, choose light over darkness, and introduce myself to the unknown in my world. May I help you?