The Importance of Tabitha

 Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. At that time she became ill and died.  When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, ‘Please come to us without delay.’ So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs.  All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed.  He turned to the body and said, ‘Tabitha, get up.’ Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. He gave her his hand and helped her up.  Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord.   – Acts of the Apostles 9:36-42

We are once again in the throes of confusing and unsettling messes that threaten our lives, well-being, and security.  Dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic has been a strain on all of us globally.  Here in the United States, as in other countries, death, disability, grief, and anger have followed in the wake of the pandemic, which has not yet completely left us. 

 One thing that I hope has come out of the COVID-19 pandemic is the importance of community.  Looking at the destruction in Ukraine, not only of property and safety but the bonds of community between people who lived, worked, raised their families, prayed, and laughed together, we see what loss of community can mean.  In times of stress and loss, members of the community usually come together to support and console each other.  

This is how it was in Joppa when an older woman named Dorcas (Greek gazelle), also called Tabitha (Hebrew gazelle), died.  She was a well-known, respected, and loved member of her community, known for her good works and acts of charity.  She had been a female leader in the area, living an exemplary life in ways that reflected her faith and commitment to the teachings of Jesus.  It must have been a blow to the people who looked to her for guidance and assistance, much as we would feel at the death not only of a loved one but a person of high standing. 

Luckily, or more likely providentially, Peter the Disciple was in a town only about a dozen miles away from Joppa at the time.  Two men were sent to him with the news and the request for him to hurry.  They may not have known what Peter could do, but perhaps he could guide them through their time of grief.  When Peter arrived, he went to the upstairs room where Tabitha’s body lay, surrounded by the widows with whom she lived and worked.  Peter cleared the room and knelt to pray.

In words reminiscent of those spoken by Jesus to the daughter of Jarius (Mk. 5:41), Peter said, “Tabitha, get up.” He took her hand and, as she stood up, he showed her to the whole community.  Through this miracle, many new converts to the infant Christian movement came.  No doubt, the community rejoiced and thanked God for her restoration to them.

Tabitha was probably not a preacher, but we know she was influential because of the regard with which her circle of neighbors and fellow believers held her.  They loved and respected her because of the life she led rather than just her words.  This was the kind of life Jesus was getting at when he taught that his followers should love their neighbors, not just their friends, family, and fellow believers.  Tabitha’s example is one of a woman in a man’s world, teaching by doing and helping to bind the community together in peace.

Women in the Bible were generally an overlooked group unless they were mothers or wives.  We don’t even hear Tabitha’s story very often except in sequential Bible readings.  Stories like hers deserve more hearing to inspire both women and men to act as Jesus taught and Tabitha exemplified. 

 Who in our own communities are the Tabithas?  What do they show us?  How do they represent their faith in a clear, unequivocal way to those in need?  How can we foster more Tabithas?  How can we become one ourselves?

These are questions for us to consider.  The strength of our communities and our outreach depends on it. 

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. 

God and Responsibility

 It's spring, according to the calendar, and Mother Nature seems to agree – at least here, anyway. In this part of Arizona, winter often doesn't arrive until after Christmas, and spring is usually about a week or so long. That includes daytime temperatures in the 70s and nights in the 40s or so. Of course, many plants and flowers (often weeds) bloom year-round, like the bougainvillea and occasionally the roses. Still, the orange blossoms usually pop out around the time of J.S. Bach's birthday and the spring equinox. That seems to be when even year-round allergies crest in a king tide of sneezing, nose-running, and eye-watering. Of course, different parts of the country experience it earlier or later, depending on longitude and climate. 

Lent also occurs in spring, which to me seems a bit backward. Lent is supposed to be a time of reflection (which it shares with the wintertime Advent), remorse, and repentance. Somehow it's easier to be those things in winter when the earth is more barren, days are shorter, and nights (and cold spells) seem interminable. In spring, flowers beg us to be happy and grateful for longer days and warmer temperatures. It's hard not to feel lighter and less gloomy in spring.

Today, I've been focusing on my allergies as a Lenten penance. They are the year-round kind but have been raging in the past couple of weeks. I've been having a sneeze-fest and have already gone through one box of Kleenex in the past few days. My nose feels like it's been scraped with sandpaper and is slightly reminiscent of Rudolph in color. In my reflection today, I wondered why God made people allergic to things in nature that were pronounced "good" at their creation. Were Adam and Eve allergic to anything? Were allergies part of Job's tribulation? Did King Saul suffer from migraines caused by allergies? 

Maybe it isn't very serious to reflect on something like allergies, but it leads me to a question plaguing humankind since the beginning. If God made everything, did that include allergies, plagues, war, hatred, suffering, and almost everything that negatively impacts people? I don't hold God responsible for my having cancer, but it's hard not to wonder when I hear of a small, innocent child suffering from the potentially life-ending disease. I hear of fatalities caused by automobile accidents, but I don't blame God. I would guess that 99% of those accidents were caused by some kind of human failure, either from faulty parts, faulty decisions, or false senses of entitlement or immortality. 

Acts of nature in the form of tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, droughts, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis are things I can't lay in God's lap either. People have a large part to play in climate change, which accounts for things like global warming, catastrophic fires, droughts, and floods. Ancient people blamed God (or their own gods) for catastrophes because they had no idea of why these things happened, so they found a solution to answer their questions and help them understand the world they lived in. 

Many still believe God is responsible for everything, good and bad. Even though we know many diseases are preventable or treatable with antibiotics or various treatments, we still wonder why God would allow such things as strokes, cancer, death in disasters, children being shot while sleeping in their beds, or people dying too young or too quickly. We wonder why aches and pains increase as we age and why some older adults are so grumpy and full of talk of nothing but their aches, pains, illnesses, or medications. Sometimes it would be good to be like children – crying when something hurts but forgetting about it once the pain eases and someone hands them a popsicle or a lollipop. It's easier to distract children from things than elders. 

So what is God's role in all this, and how far can we say God is responsible for things that hurt us, damage us, or make us miserable? All this started with thinking about allergies and was God responsible for those. I can't say I have come to any great insight or even a simple solution other than allergies are what they are. Sometimes I can see a reason for disasters, such as earthquakes causing tsunamis or dam failures, or weather systems causing flooding, major wind storms, and the like. 

God's role is to be present to those in need. God inspires helpers who, even at risk to themselves, rush in when others run out. God listens to prayers and supplications, sending grace and often comfort in times of need. God's visibility is dependent on eyes to see those who help others, like first responders or simply bystanders who lend a hand to someone in need. We are God's hands and feet on earth. Just as God made Adam and Eve stewards of the Garden, we are the inheritors and caregivers of all around us. 

Compared to lots of folks, I have little to complain about. Just spending some time thinking of what others are facing, I feel rather petty about complaining about allergies and a sore nose. I have learned over the years that it is much healthier to tell God what's on my mind, lay it in God's lap, and leave it there unless I experience an insight or revelation of how to resolve whatever it is. And God inspired someone to discover anti-allergenics to help with sneezes, runny noses, and watery eyes. All I have to do is get some. 

God must have similar resolutions for other things we haven't found yet. It may take a couple of centuries, or it may come tomorrow, and it just takes patience and trust.

Pardon me while I get another box of Kleenex. 

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 26, 2022

I See the Moon

The moon visited me the other night. I woke up in the wee small hours of the morning to see a strange light shining through a tiny slit in the Venetian blinds. I didn't remember a streetlight being in that location, so I got up and looked closer. Lo and behold, it was the moon -- or most of it. It was short of being full, but it was mostly there and shining brightly. I went back to bed but now and then opened my eyes and was able to still see it, only as its proper self, not some imitation electric globe. Somehow, it was very comforting to see that moon shining in my window as if it knew I was restless and couldn't seem to settle into sleep. Shortly after finding it with my eyes, those same eyes closed, and I slept soundly until the cats woke me up with breakfast demands. 

The moon is the balance to the sun, which gives light by day. The moon has many uses as a calendar marker, an influencer of tides, a night light, and an object of wonder and exploration. The date of Easter, one of the holiest celebrations of the Christian year, is based on the Sunday after the full moon on or after March 21. If the full moon falls on Sunday, Easter is celebrated the following Sunday. The Jewish festival of Passover is the 15th day of the lunar month of Nisan, frequently close to the date of Easter. Muslims celebrate Ramadan, a month of fasting and prayer, beginning on the day after the rising of the new moon in the ninth month of their lunar calendar. 

Lunar calendars are based on months or weeks between full moons. Occasionally, we will have a Blue moon -- an unusual and infrequent occurrence. Full moons also affect tides, and there are months when the moon is closest to the earth, which causes higher than usual tides. 

During the Exodus from Egypt, the Israelites had a pillar of cloud to guide them by day, but the moon and a pillar of fire at night. Why would they move at night when it would be much easier by daylight? When the sun is closer to earth in the desert, the heat can be blistering. Travel by night is cooler, and navigation is easier even without a pillar of fire. The Magi traveled at night because they were following a particular, very bright star, one that would not be wiped out by the moon, even at its brightest. 

At least for me, the moon is a comfort and a friend. Its light often softens sharp edges and angles and brings out birds and animals that sleep by day and feed or hunt by night. Sound seems to travel further in the dark, and everyday sounds are either muffled or absent because the night is a time of rest and sleep for half of the world at a time. 

Thinking of Genesis, when the stories tell us of God creating the light of day and the dark of night and the forming of the sun and moon, it was like the beginning of time. The sun and moon revolve on their axes, but their compositions are different. The sun, the burning ball of fire, has no dark side, but the moon, the cold dark world closest to us, does indeed have a side that never sees the sun. When the moon is not shining in the sky, we call it the dark of the moon and wait for the next phase, the new moon, on its way to the full and then waning phases. 

I think of the night Jesus spent in Gethsemane, praying to have the strength to do what God had asked him to do. I hope the moon was there, keeping watch while the disciples slept, leaving Jesus all alone. During his time in the wilderness just after his baptism, perhaps the moon gave him some comfort and respite from the heat of the day and the temptations of HaSatan. 

I think the moon should be part of my Lenten meditations. I have loved it since I was a child, and I still love it. I am grateful to God for providing this time of rest and relative peace, with a glowing reminder of God's eternal presence, even in the dark, whether physical darkness or an internal one. 

As an old childhood prayer comes to my mind, "I see the moon, and the moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me." It's as true today as it was then, thank God.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 19, 2022. 

Life and Roller Coasters

 

I can't speak for anyone else, but thinking about life this week has led me to conclude that it's like a decades-long roller coaster ride. Now, I have a love-hate relationship with roller coasters. It took me a long time to conquer my fear and first ride one, but that same night I rode the thing a dozen times, enjoying it more every time. I've ridden many others since then, enough to feel I can make the comparison between life and roller-coaster rides.

The thing about coasters is that they are always going up and then going down, with an occasional high-speed curve and maybe a total 360° loop in there somewhere. If I'm watching someone riding on a coaster on TV, I notice I always catch my breath when they reach the top of the track and then face the downward part. That's how I remember riding them myself. I also notice that the higher the uphill part goes (and the slower it goes), the downhill is much faster, steeper, scarier, and often longer. That's what makes them fun, if a bit terrifying at times.

When I say life is something like one of these amusement park rides, I mean that when I look back on my life, I see times of great happiness and success (the uphill side) and great sorrow, fear, anxiety, and depression as life seems to plunge out of control before another small hill pops up.

Now that we are in Lent, we expect that life is not supposed to be a thrilling ride. We're supposed to feel reflection, remorse, and repentance, but occasional flashes of joy and pleasure are built in. Babies are born, and that becomes a time of joy, Lent or not. Grief also comes, and Lent seems much darker than usual. This year, we are still coping with COVID and its variants. We also see pictures of innocent Ukrainians fleeing their homeland in search of safety. They are carrying their most precious things – their children, their pets, perhaps an icon or a family heirloom, and, I'm sure, many look back as Lot's wife did, looking for one last time at the wreckage of the cities and towns in which they lived and worked.

It breaks our hearts to see such pictures and the refugees' suffering. I wonder, though, did we have such empathy with the Afghani people under similar circumstances? They too left with what they could carry, including many of the same things the Ukrainians did but were countries outside the area lining up to offer them refuge? Does this particular dip in the roller coaster ride of time have a religious component built into it?

Something else I saw this week online was a comparison of US citizens sitting in their expensive cars, watching Facebook and Twitter on their $1000+ telephones, and taking their refuge in their costly homes in "nice" neighborhoods, complaining about still having to wear masks at times and the skyrocketing cost of gasoline. Compare that to the Ukrainians walking as far and as fast as possible for safety as their country is bombed and shelled around them. Who has more reason to complain? Besides the pictures of destruction, there are also pictures of people staying and even returning to their homeland to defend it from invaders. I had tears in my eyes when I saw a picture of an older woman, on her belly in the grass, pointing a rifle and giving every appearance of planning to stay there as long as necessary. God bless her and all the others who stand and fight, as well as those who flee to save the lives of their families.

We're only in the first full week of Lent, but I'm already wondering when the downward rush will end and how it will all turn out. I know I'm not the only one praying for peace and safety and for a sign that the bottom of the hill will not be a total crash. Other things are going on in the world we need to keep in our awareness, and people around us who have needs we can supply or bring to the attention of those who can help if we are unable.

Spring is coming, so the roller coaster will go up a bit with the warmer weather and the blooming trees and flowers. Like the cars on the coaster, Lent will come to an end before starting up again, this time with the joyousness of Easter. There will still be giant hills and steep slopes in our lives, but we will have hopefully grown through the process.

May we all find this Lent to be a blessing, even if in disguise.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 12, 2022.

The Blessings of Lent

 I know it isn't happening everywhere or to everyone, but it seems like this year is going by fairly quickly, even if the individual days or weeks may seem to be interminable at times. It's Lent already, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it. 

Lent is a penitential liturgical season, focusing on reflection, remorse, and acts of repentance. There are days (like Ash Wednesday and Fridays) where we are encouraged to show our repentance by fasting, particularly from eating meat and giving up something we enjoy eating or doing (like eating chocolate or drinking beer or coffee). We are also encouraged to take on extra spiritual duties, like additional times of prayer, reading spiritual books, attending study groups at church, or performing acts of charity in addition to any we may already be doing. The whole focus is to develop ourselves spiritually and to recall that Jesus often did these same activities as part of his ministry. In short, we are encouraged to be more like Jesus.

Many people don't really "get" the idea of Lent. They will give up things like chocolate or only eat fish or vegetarian (sometimes vegan dishes) on Fridays. Jews fast on special holy days such as Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and other days listed in Jewish calendars marked for fasts. Muslims fast from dawn to sunset every day during the holy month of Ramadan and three days every month. Hindus restrict themselves to vegetarian meals and fast Monday and Saturday during July and August. Fasting is not strictly a Christian practice, but Christians often undertake Lent as a time for fasting in remembrance of Jesus's forty days in the wilderness just after his baptism.

This week, I've been perusing the thought that there's more to Lent than gloom, doom, and mental (or physical) flagellation. Take Sunday, for example. The forty days of Lent only include Monday thru Saturday. Like every Sunday in the Christian calendar, Sunday is a day of remembrance of Jesus's resurrection. We celebrate the Eucharist on Sundays. Although the music during Lent is more somber and the readings a little more penitential, we still have Sunday as a kind of day off from regular Lenten disciplines.

Also, when we observe Lent, that doesn't prevent us from looking out at God's world and seeing the beauty and joy of nature. It's the season of birth, and the sight of bouncing baby lambs, kids, and calves can't help but raise our spirits and make us thankful. Trees begin budding, and flowers pop up, even snowdrops and narcissi pushing their heads out of snowbanks to reach the sun. 

Although this Lent is bruised and battered by thoughts of things going on in Ukraine and other places worldwide. During Lent 2021, we were in the throes of COVID and wondered if it would ever end. It still hasn't completely vanished, but we are freer to gather, pray, and celebrate together than we have been for many months. We pray earnestly for relief from illness, natural disasters (like Tonga), and war. We ask for God's blessings on those who suffer in any way and God's help in bringing peace and comfort to the world. 

While we ask for blessings and healing, we also need to be grateful for things we often forget to mention in our prayers. We should be thankful for those of us with roofs over our heads, health, employment, transportation to where we want and need to go, and violence-free streets and neighborhood. We pray for first responders and service workers who put their lives on the line to keep us safe, healthcare workers who are exhausted but still struggling to save lives, and those who try to keep our supply lines moving and our stores stocked with food and other necessities. We can be grateful for our four-footed friends who often seem like lifelines and who love us unconditionally. We should never forget to be thankful for those we love and who love us. The list of "gratitudes" could (and should) go on forever.

So this Lent, let us be mindful not only of what we lack in our spiritual lives, the things for which we should be repentant, and the ways to show that repentance, but also for things we need to remember to be grateful. It's another way to live a more Christian life and a fuller one through Lent. After all, Easter is only about seven weeks away!

This week, think of Lent as a blessing, not a burden.