What comes after the sudden stop
when reality and desire collide?
When your prayers are unanswered
and your heart feels like stone?
When the breath has been drawn from your lungs
and your limbs have turned to water.
When no path is seen, no answers come.
No blessings fall, no streams refresh.
Time has sped up.
Time has slowed down,
caught in the mire of dismay.
All is not well with the world.
Stephen was stoned.
Jesus was crucified.
And death still ravages life.
My brain has always moved at lightening speed, leaping and bounding ahead of rational thought while my body lagged sadly behind, moving in fits and starts. This has been tricky but I have learned to live with it. In any moving group, I will be the straggler at the end. Meanwhile my brain will have climbed a dozen mountains, scaled to the tops of stately pine trees and flown across the skies with swirling masses of cloud form. In my current metamorphous, both body and mind have slowed down with my body becoming downright sluggish. This seems to be annoying to everyone around me as they trip past me, try to squeeze me out of the way and sometimes rudely bump into me. I don’t relish being a hindrance to other life forms but it seems to have come to that. I would love to fly gracefully through my day, never fumbling for charge cards, money or tickets. But that is not to be my lot and I must endure the body that has been assigned to me. Yet how glorious it is when someone smiles at me or waits for me or tries to help. I wish I had learned earlier in life to be kinder to the strangers you meet every day.
Summer chairs puddle with rain.
Pots overflowing, drowning.
Stiff straws of grass, stubbornly
brown, turn their backs to redemption.
Daisy and Phlox bow gratefully,
a Monet of cerulean and maize
dripping their scents on
saturated soil.
Although watched faithfully in
it’s first few phases,
the full moon will go unseen tonight.
Maurading mists, turbulent torrents
Rushing, raging, roaring--
circling north and east--
change our view of the world.
A flat earth would be quite comfortable to live in. Picture gardens, lakes, ponds, pathways, wandering sheep, rice paddies. Trees would be okay as long as they weren’t too large - no giant Sequoias that might upset the balance and cause the earth to tilt. No huge oceans with giant waves to bring harm and destruction or to get lost in. Hills and mountains, especially high jagged peaks would add interest but would also complicate things: they would have to be climbed, they could perhaps be hidden in, and they cast huge shadows. There is serenity in sameness. A flat earth would be quite safe and comforting. But then someone would probably come along and tell us that not only is the earth round, it spins and orbits! What a dizzying thought!
IN THE SPRING, LORD, OUR THOUGHTS TURN TOWARD THE BEAUTY OF NATURE: BIRDSONG AT SUNRISE, THE PALETTE OF EARLY BLOSSOMS, THE SWELLING OF A BUD, WARM FRESHENING BREEZES AND SUNSHINE. BUT BEFORE WE CAN THINK OF BEAUTY, WE ARE COMPELED TO CLIMB THE HILL OF CALVARY. WE ARE CONSTRAINED TO DWELL ON THE FORCE OF NAILS PIERCING HANDS AND FEET, A CROWN OF THORNS, HUMILIATION, SWEAT, BLOOD, TEARS.
WE WOULD LIKE TO SOOTHE OUR MINDS WITH SERENITY, BEAUTY, PEACE, AND LOVE. BUT FIRST WE MUST WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. BEFORE WE ENJOY THE FRUITS OF RESURRECTION, WE MUST SUFFER THE BLACK DESPAIR OF CRUCIFIXION AND BURIAL.
AND SO IT IS WITH ALL OF LIFE, LORD. WE MUST FACE THE FRIDAYS OF GRIEF AND LOSS BEFORE WE REACH THE SUNDAYS OF RESURRECTION AND JOY. THANK YOU FOR THE BITTER, WHICH INSTRUCTS US, AND THE SWEET, WHICH LIFTS OUR SPIRITS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SACRIFICE.
WE THINK TODAY OF THOSE WHO ARE FACING ILLNESS, TERROR AND GRIEF. WE ASK THAT YOUR COMFORTING PEACE MIGHT FILL THEIR HEARTS. WE PRAY FOR OUR BROKEN WORLD. WHERE THERE IS STRIFE, HATRED AND REVENGE, BRING PEACE, HOPE AND LOVE. GIVE US THE GRACE TO BEAR ONE ANOTHERS BURDENS, THE SKILLS TO BUILD COMMUNITY, THE BONDS THAT WILL WITHSTAND DISAGREEMENT. AND FINALLY, LORD, WHILE WE ARE IN THE BLACK DISPAIR OF THIS FRIDAY, GRANT US FAITH TO BELIEVE IN SUNDAY’S RESURRECTION. FILL THE EARTH WITH YOUR PRESENCE AND YOUR LOVE DEAR LORD WE PRAY.
(repeating and continuing previous blog)
Sometimes it’s not just the memory that’s important but the timing of the memory. Yesterday, I put frozen cranberries into the blender as the start of a healthy shake. The trick was to remember to put the cover on the blender before I pushed the button. I had placed the cover right beside the blender, so I knew what I was doing, I just remembered the wrong thing first. On the other hand, it was a beautiful sight; the brightly colored berries flying through the air – my did they fly - landing on floor and countertops. And it was good exercise, picking up all those cranberries. Maybe I should get my camera out and try it again.
It's the same idea as trying to remember someone’s name. You can remember the name o.k., you just can’t remember it at the precise moment when you are called upon to introduce that person. And medications: they are all lined up for the day, but you have to remember them at the time you need to take them – before breakfast, after breakfast, noontime, before dinner, after dinner, bedtime. These times slip by awfully quickly. And meetings. I know the meeting is at one o’clock. It’s just that at one o’clock I don’t happen to think of the meeting. Then there are birthdays. I never forget a person’s birthday. But I don’t seem to be able to coordinate the remembering of the birthday with the actual act of purchasing and mailing a card. I must say, however, that there is one thing I never forget to be on time for, and that’s dinnertime.
Sometimes it’s not just the memory that’s important but the timing of the memory. Yesterday, I put frozen cranberries into the blender as the start of a healthy shake. The trick was to remember to put the cover on the blender BEFORE I pushed the button. I had placed the cover right beside the blender, so I KNEW what I was doing, I just remembered things in the wrong order. On the other hand, it was a beautiful sight; the brightly colored berries flying through the air - my did they fly - landing nicely on ceramic floor and countertops. And it was good exercise, picking up all those cranberries. Maybe I should get my camera out and try it again.
It seems that we grievously overstayed our time in the sun when we were young and irresponsible. We too much enjoyed the feeling of the warm rays and the lovely bronzed color that resulted. Now we are paying the price – directly to the dermatologist. When our skin betrays us by breaking out in basal or squamous cell cancers (we won’t even mention melanoma – that’s just too scary) we have several treatment options. One is “burn and scrape” (I call it slash and burn). Although this sounds like it involves pillaging villages or preparing farmland, in reality it refers to removing cancer cells from that very thin layer of skin that we mistakenly believe protects us from the world. The lovely sting and burn of a sharp needle keeps us from directly experiencing the feeling of the doctor’s electrified instruments. She kindly checks to be sure we are not touching anything metal before she makes contact. It seems strange to me that the cure for too much burning of the skin is burning off what’s left. Another treatment, which purges the skin of less aggressive invasions, utilizes a cream (did I see the word acid on the label?) that you drop daily on the offensive spot until it chooses to depart in an ugly crusting scabbing wave of remorse and then disappear leaving your skin in its naturally smooth and pink state. Finally, there is the most invasive method: cut and stitch. This involves total removal of the cancer cells, gathering in the remaining skin and stitching it together. Although this is the surest cure, it has a longer recovery period. And that’s just one part of the body. Taking care of all our parts requires almost constant attention if we plan to hang around this planet for awhile.
When confronted by random tragedy and destruction, people naturally struggle to maintain what faith they have in God. The earthquake in Haiti affected many in our Linden Ponds Community whose families – parents, siblings, children – live on the Island. So it seemed appropriate to gather together as people of faith to struggle with the heartache of this destruction and to support our Haitian friends, many still waiting to hear from their loved ones. An interfaith service of readings and prayer was held here at Linden Ponds just a few days after the earthquake struck. Readings from Lamentations, the Psalms and the Gospels were given in both the melodious language of Kreyol and in our familiar English. Chris Beukman, Director of Pastoral Ministries, spoke to the anger most of us have towards God when crisis strikes and then quoted the words that, “God has no hands or feet except ours.” It is up to us to work towards the good that can be accomplished for our Haitian brothers and sisters.
Also taking part in the service were retired clergy of Linden Ponds, residents and staff. It was particularly moving to hear from some of our Haitian staff members. The music of the Chapel Chorale led by Joan Nahigian, brought words of comfort and hope. The Chorale has developed a peaceful flowing style that both soothes the soul and inspires the mind. Let us continue to remember our Haitian community in the months to come. We can walk through this trial with them, learning to become more caring of others and experiencing the blessings that come with compassion.
We are frozen in space. Not a drop or a drip anywhere. We are solid ice and snow. The small plows are struggling to open up the sidewalks but it is tough going. Dog owners have to walk their pets in the street. Some are walking three or four dogs at a time, trying to help out their neighbors. The rest of us are hiding out, making do, staying warm. The walkways between buildings are seeing good use. We can walk to French class, to watercolor painting, to garden club, to the hair salon, to our small market, to dinner. The pool and the fitness center are open, staffed by dedicated employees. We are not suffering. Our roads are plowed, our cars cleaned off, we are open for business. The mail arrives, packages, supplies for the market and restaurant, groceries for residents who have ordered them. And despite the cold, birds have been heard singing from underneath the porticoes. A sure sign that eventually, spring will return to New England.
