Knitting a Blessing

 For it was you who formed my inward parts;

    you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

    Wonderful are your works;

that I know very well.  – Psalm 139:13-14

 

I taught myself to knit and crochet because I liked working with my hands and making things. I learned by starting to do each by making squares for afghans. Not for me was starting with potholders or dishcloths or the like. With me, it seemed to be to go big or go home. I knitted shawls and baby clothes for my son with my newfound knitting skills while I carried him. I knitted sweaters for him and his father. Then I put the needles away for a few decades.

I don't remember where I heard about prayer shawls, but it seemed great, primarily since my eyes wouldn't support the tiny cross stitches I so loved to do. I found a pattern and got some new needles, and off I went. I loved the colors and the soft boucle yarn, thinking of various people as I worked on each shawl. I didn't really know to who many of them would be given, but it didn't matter. It was the knitting that was important. By the time I left that church, I'd done about twenty-five shawls. I even made myself one out of the remnants of a number of them simply to remind me of them and their purposes.

I started knitting again a couple of years ago, making scarves for friends as gifts. It was good to work with my hands again, and the yarn aisles of the craft stores were like toy aisles for kids. With so many colors and textures, I started collecting the ones I liked and building up a stash so that I would never be short of yarn to knit. 

During the pandemic, a good friend was diagnosed with cancer. It reminded me of the shawls I'd knitted before, so I made her one. This one was an asymmetrical shawl, a kind I'd never tried before. Still, it suggested wrapping her in love and prayers, plus something a bit quirky, much like her bubbly personality. I had fun with it, and it started to set my feet again on the path of prayer shawls.

During this past Lent, I knit one a bright red in a trinity stitch. It went quickly, and I set it aside just in case. The need was there much sooner than I could have thought, and the shawl was ready. The love and prayers I knitted into it seemed to have come through to the person to whom it was given. I couldn't wait to start the next one.

Somehow I wished I had been born an octopus who could run the vacuum cleaner, dust, and knit simultaneously. Ok, that's silly since octopuses don't knit, but I wanted to work on the cloud gray shawl while starting the multicolored one simultaneously, and having more than one set of arms would undoubtedly help!

 I thought about the verse from Psalm 134 that talks about God having knit me together in my mother's womb. Even though the tie between my birth mother and me was severed early in my life, the knitting done inside her has held me together, so I feel like I am who and what I am supposed to be. Now I need to put love and prayer together with colors and patterns to help others feel whole, safe, cared for, and treasured. 

It's time to dig into my stash and my collection of needle sizes. I may know who will receive a shawl, but I will see that I have put time, effort, love, and prayers into it. I've also received peace, contentment, and serenity from the act of making it. It's a gift that keeps giving and reminds me that I am God's child. I want to share that feeling with those who need it, especially in illness, grief, stress, joy, celebration, or any of a thousand emotions. 

What a gift I have been given! Now back to the needles.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 30, 2022.

The Mockingbird and the Spirit

 Have you ever thought of what the world would be like without birds? Sure, there'd be fewer poop marks on your windshield (or shoulder), but there'd also probably be more bugs in your garden. There'd also be fewer sounds and songs during the day. There'd be no cheeps, chirps, or clicks as the birds say goodnight to the day and tuck their heads under their wings. We'd miss the flashes of color flitting and soaring from place to place. 

We would miss the coo of the doves and the squawks of blackbirds and ravens. Even the tiny, jewel-like hummingbird has a surprisingly loud chirp, almost sounding like a click. Of course, some birds are natural mimics, like parrots. I read an article the other day about a zoo that had to remove their parrots from public view because the birds had picked up some less than polite language from viewers who thought it funny to hear the birds use "fowl" language. Still, all in all, it would be a much duller, quieter world without birds in it.

It's now spring (in many places, anyway). Birds of all sorts are making nests of grass, twigs, lint from people's dryers, string, stray threads of knitting yarn, spider webs, and odd building materials. Following the nest making, males proclaim how secure, spacious, and splendiferous the nests are that they have built themselves in the hope of attracting females. Successful nest-owners lay eggs, hatch them, and then begin the seemingly neverending job of feeding voracious young who were apparently born with wide mouths and perpetually empty stomachs. It's fun to watch the parents feed their young, and it reminds us of our own experiences with hungry offspring. 

Our neighborhood has a lot of birds of various types – hummers, several varieties of doves, pigeons, a raptor or two on occasion, some songbirds, crows, and some rather pestilential mockingbirds. One, in particular, has chosen my neighbor's lemon tree again this year. It must be at least the third year because it seems to remember my outdoor cats, both relatively placid and showing interest only in a warm/cool place to sleep and a full bowl of kibble every morning. The mockingbird, however, seems to see anything within a fifty-foot radius of the lemon tree as its property, and by God, it is going to protect it from all comers – even human beings! It dive-bombs cats, cars, big trucks, bystanders, and even me when I go out. Never mind that I can't even see the tree in question, much less the nest with the chicks; I am a danger and must be repelled at all costs. Like my cats, I quickly retire to safety and hope the squawk will die down. 

I will say one thing for the neighborhood mockingbird – it is persistent. It has a job to do, and it will do it to the very best of its ability, even if it is dangerous or even foolhardy. 

I have no idea how the thought came into my mind, but I connected the persistence of the mockingbird with the Holy Spirit. It would probably be blasphemous, if not false, to say that the Spirit squawks, but she is definitely persistent. Her job is to guide the willing and the unwilling in the ways they should go, and if it takes a peck or two or even a close call with claws and wings, then that is what happens. 

I have been taught about and experienced the Spirit moving in my life and those of others. Usually, she comes quietly, like the fog that comes on little cat feet, as Carl Sandburg described it. I have known cats to stomp rather loudly occasionally, but I've also been surprised to turn around only to see a cat who wasn't there last time I looked and whom I did not hear when they approached. They never seem to do it just for the heck of it, but I can't always be sure. Most of the time, the cat has a purpose. So does the Spirit – only using different techniques, unlike the mockingbird who has only one. 

Maybe I should try to be as conscious of the Spirit as I am the annoying bird. Whether the Spirit is trying to move me away from something or toward something else, I need to pay attention. It's as simple–and as complicated—as that.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 23, 2022.

Holy Saturday and the Harrowing of Hell

 

On this Holy Saturday, the final day of Lent, let our faith be made stronger; let us be more assured that sin and death are conquered; let us know a little more of the light through the sometimes impenetrable shadows. Whether the Harrowing of Hell is literal or figurative, corporeal or spiritual, it has a message for all of us today: the highest response to evil is to free people from it. Let us rejoice that our Redeemer lives.*  – Archbishop Thomas Cranmer

Holy Saturday is a kind of catch-your-breath day between Maundy Thursday-Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. The morning of Holy Saturday is usually devoted to flower and Easter lily arrangements, polishing the pews, candlesticks, and Eucharistic vessels. With those tasks done, the church building is left pretty much alone for the rest of the day – at least until the Vigil service, which can be anywhere from late afternoon to after nightfall. I have also seen it done before Sunrise on Easter morning, with significant effect.

In the Apostle's Creed, we recite, "He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated on the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead." In Jewish teaching, burial in a grave was the body's resting place. Sheol, however, was where the soul rested after death, whether the person was good or evil. Different groups of Jews differ in their concept of heaven, hell, hades, Sheol, Gehenna, etc.

As Archbishop Cranmer said, we don't know whether the Harrowing of Hell is real, literal, corporal, spiritual, or figurative. What matters is that where there is evil, it is our job to set people free from it. Jesus did that with his resurrection, and we must try to do it before we pass into whatever God has planned for us.

Still, we have the words of the Creed that tell us that Jesus descended into hell or to the dead. Some believe that Jesus rescued pious and obedient people like the Patriarchs and prophets who had died before the birth of Jesus. That would make sense when pondering the second coming and the judgment to come then. I guess that to know for sure, we will have to wait.

Meanwhile, we prepare for the joy and triumph that is Easter. It's more than an explosion of flowers, new clothes and hats, baskets of candy, and hidden colored eggs. Jesus conquered death and promised the same for us.

Now that's reason to rejoice.

Happy Easter. Christos Anesti!

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 16, 2022.

Preparing for Holy Week and Beyond

 It's the Saturday before Holy Week, the most sacred yet busiest time of the church year. Churches are open for services almost every day, if not daily. The week builds up to the Paschal Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil. However, before all this takes place, there is Palm Sunday (the Sunday of the Passion). 

In the Episcopal Church, preparation for Palm Sunday means more work than just the usual cleaning of the church and setting up the altar and elements. There are palm crosses to be made by the dozen, each one composed of a strip of palm leaf carefully folded, twisted, wrapped, and tucked so that it holds the shape of a cross. New volunteers learn how to make the crosses each year, taught by those who have performed the act for years and sometimes decades. There should be an abundance of palm crosses, one for each person or family, that can be taken home and saved until the following year before Ash Wednesday. 

Palm Sunday is also called Palm/Passion Sunday because the usual gospel reading is frequently done with congregation members reading various lines spoken by the characters present in the various parts of the story. The story begins with Jesus riding into Jerusalem and works its way through the Holy Week stories of the Last Supper, Gethsemane, the arrest and trial of Jesus, his death, and burial featured in the services of the Triduum before the Easter Vigil itself.

The story of the Passion of Jesus is read on Palm Sunday as well as during Holy Week so that those who cannot participate in the weekday services, often held in the evening, can hear the story that precedes Easter Sunday. The Triduum climaxes with the Easter Vigil, a pre-Easter celebration that features passages of scripture that trace what is known as salvation history, beginning in Genesis, the story of the exodus, followed by prophetic messages found in the Hebrew Bible. 

Recently there has been controversy in the church about the reading of the Passion narrative. The translations of the gospels have an anti-semitic message that has become uncomfortable for congregants and clergy alike. The trial of Jesus, from the accusation to the scourging and ridicule he endured, lays blame on "the Jews," as if the entire Jewish nation called for his death. Many people still have not learned that Jesus was Jewish, as were his disciples and followers. Centuries of these translations have led to the belief that the Jews were responsible for the death of Jesus and the hatred of Jews because of this. 

When disaster strikes, a beloved leader is assassinated, a country is overrun, or churches battle each other, people want to have someone or some group to blame. The Jews, considered outsiders by Christian believers, served as the scapegoat for the crucifixion. Granted, some Jewish leaders at the time were very active in trying to silence Jesus for blasphemy. Because the example of his life and teachings went contrary to those of the temple, the powerful felt threatened, and so Jesus had to be removed. 

The memory of the Holocaust is still very much with us. With the drive for racial, cultural, and religious equality, it has become essential to attempt to view history with a more diverse eye. Just as we in America are trying to come to terms with the sins of slavery our ancestors have perpetrated on Africans, we also have to confront the wrongs we have done to our Native Americans, Oriental Americans, and Hispanics. We have to reconcile ourselves that until we live up to the statement in our Declaration of Independence that "...(A)ll men are created equal," then we aren't living up to our baptismal covenant, much less the example of Jesus's teaching and healing among the outcasts of his own culture and faith. 

This Palm Sunday, let us see if we are laying blame in the right places. Just as we are asked to reflect and converse with each other about our differences and how we can live together with respect, peace, and love of neighbors, let us stop and remember that painting with broad brushes when it comes to guilt or accusation is not what Jesus taught or expects us to do. May we view each other with charity, not hatred. 

Today as we prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy Week, may we reflect on what God wants us to do. God created the world with love, and let us work to bring that spirit of love back to it. 

Holy Week leads us to Easter. May we use that week to look past the pain and sorrow to the coming hope and glory that the resurrection builds in us. May we reaffirm our faith in that resurrection and all it means to us as Christians.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 9, 2022.

Beach Flower

 

I've learned a lot in my journey from birth to my current point. I've learned to pay attention to things that catch my eye, what I see in books, and what I hear in lessons and conversations. I'm a lot better at it than I was a few decades ago, although I'll probably never catch everything I could. Still, I have learned to look for those little moments of joy that come with those sights and insights. 

The other day I came across a picture I had taken a couple of years ago on a trip to northwest Oregon. My friend and I had driven down the Columbia River to where it met the Pacific, then drove a few miles down the coast along the ocean. We parked the car and began walking on dunes with large patches of beach grass. In between the patches, the path was clear and generally headed in the direction of the water. Plants were growing in the sand that looked like scrub, and here and there were tiny bits of color. 

As I walked along, I saw a small plant surrounded by sand. It was all by itself, with bright green leaves and two tiny light-blue flowers. In the bright sunlight, it cast a dark shadow that contrasted with the colors of the plant and even the sand around it. Somehow that plant caught my attention for several minutes. I'm glad I had that picture to remind me of it.

I thought about what that plant represented to me. It grew in an empty space, with no competition for what water it could reach. Its aloneness was its safety net and its lifeline. Like a hermit or anchorite, it reminded me that aloneness wasn't always a bad thing. In fact, I've found that it soothes me to have a frequently solitary lifestyle rather than being out in crowds, which makes me anxious and a bit fearful. The little plant bloomed where it was, seeking no one's opinions or admiration. It was what it was, and that was all it needed to be.

The presence of the shadow in such stark contrast reminded me that there are always shadows in life, dark places that happen but which will fade as the sun moves and finally sets. Even darkness in terms of nighttime can be a period of rest, calm, and reflection. The plant's shadow also reminded me of Psalm 23:4, "Yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." I know death is inevitable, whether it is a friend, a plant, or even myself. The Psalmist reminds me that I shouldn't be afraid of dying because I trust that God will take care of me. 

The tiny blue flowers may not have a theology, but they seemed to be praising God for their being, the gift of water, shelter from the wind, and sunshine. It reminds me that I should be doing the same thing far more often than currently. It is also a reminder that all of creation is from God and that I should work harder at trying to help fix all the things for which humankind has messed up, broken, or destroyed. I can't do it by myself, but I can help others. Jesus told us to love others and care for others to bring God's kingdom to earth. 

The more I look at the picture of the little plant, the more I remember, like the smell of the salt water, the gentle breeze, the bright blue water reflecting the cloudless blue sky, the crunch of sand under my feet, and the warmth of the sun. I remember the companionship of my friend and our mutual enjoyment of being together as we listened to the waves breaking gently onto the shore. I don't know if she remembers the little plant, but I will remember it for her. It was an essential part of a beautiful day and a true gift of God's love. 

It is also a reminder that I need to be aware of tiny things around me. They, too, could bring me joy and insights. It is a part of my belief system and essential to my soul's health. 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 2, 2022.