Time

When I walked through the front door yesterday of a home dedicated to the care of those with memory impairment, I was surprised to see Matthew sitting just outside the office. He greeted me and took my hand as he always does.  He had some papers in his lap, and said he was waiting to make an important  phone call.  I know he loves the worship services, so I mentioned to him we would be starting in a few minutes and invited him to join us when he was through with his conversation. I noticed that on one of the papers, there was a hand drawn face of a clock. I understand that sometimes people are asked to draw a face of a clock when there is a question of cognitive ability.  

  

"No, no, I want to come with you now.  If I start the conversation, I will miss the service."   I think Matthew's sense of time is just fine.

 

We walked down the hall, arm in arm.  "They are all gathered for you.  I am glad you come to us." I tell him I, too, am glad I come.  

 

As we turned the corner, sure enough the gathered were there.  Greetings were shared. A space opened up for Matthew, and I took my place at the table. I waved to the one who whistles instead of sings. Sister J. (who is a nun) was there. Her hair and makeup had been done.  I told her she looks beautiful. I do not know if she cares about that sort of thing, but obviously someone in her life still does. There was the couple in their usual spot, holding hands.  When they are separate they never take communion, but together, hand in hand, they do.  Doug was there, too.  When I ask him if he wants communion he always replies with effort, "It would be an honor."  I move through the group listening to broken speech and silence, trying to fit words and intentions together as best I can, and simply praying when understanding does not come.

Yesterday, while reading from Psalm 84, I felt the words being heard.  I sensed a listening presence settling around us like wings. This love cannot be measured or drawn, but at times is so tangible there is no room for anything else.             

       

How lovely is your dwelling place, 

O LORD of hosts. 

My soul longs, indeed it faints 

for the courts of the LORD, 

my heart and my flesh sing for joy 

to the living God. 

 

Even the sparrow finds a home, 

and the swallow a nest for herself, 

where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, 

my King and my God. 

Happy are those who live in your house, 

ever singing your praise.  

 

Psalm 84:1-4 

    

Easter

Dear Friends, 

Well, every Easter is different, of course, but this Easter will probably find me back at Kaiser sometime today, and I think this is a first for me.   The cough has worsened.  I will not try to attend a worship service.  Yet, I have always found encouragement in the post-resurrection stories.  Jesus appears very much a human being, but even those who were aching in what they thought was his absence were slow to recognize him.  I do not think much has changed.  

So, as organs ring out, alleluias are raised, and greetings exchanged, let us not forget to look for Jesus among us.  In waiting rooms, airport terminals, and grocery stores, let us remember to look for Jesus.  In the silence and the storms, let us take note of the very human Jesus.  When we are feeling stranded, let us look for the one who will remind us, that no matter what, we are loved.  And let us be that love for someone else. Whether we are atheist, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Christian, or follow some other faith practice that may not even have a name, we can be love.  We are part of the resurrection.

While they were saying all of this, Jesus appeared to them and said, "Peace be with you." They thought they were seeing a ghost and were scared half to death. He continued with them, "Don't be upset, and don't let all these doubting questions take over. Look at my hands; look at my feet - it's really me. Touch me. Look me over from head to toe. A ghost doesn't have muscle and bone like this.   

 

Luke 24:36-40  The Message 

     

        

Tremble

Good Friday finds me in an unexpected place: on my couch reading Take This Bread by Sara Miles accompanied by what is now being called a sinus infection.  Most people I know read this book years ago (the copyright is 2007, the year I graduated from seminary).  I am not certain why I have dawdled.  It is a fine book, and she is an excellent writer. I think, and I know this sounds silly, because we both experienced conversion at the communion table, I just was not ready to read her story.  I needed to make my own way for awhile.  Yes, I know that is a fine way to get lost in the wilderness.  Fortunately,  God has spoken to me more than once through a used paperback edition, and I trust that compass. Today, I am grateful for the company.   

 

A few days ago, I walked up to an older man in a wheelchair, and asked if he wanted communion.  He looked up me, paused,  and then nodded his head. I dipped the wafer and held it to his lips. He tasted it, and then quietly asked, "Is that enough?".  He just did not seem to have the energy to take even a quick dissolving slip of wheat and water.  I placed it in a paper napkin I always keep on hand, and assured him that the bread and cup of eternal life in Christ was his.  He nodded his head again and closed his eyes.  In this same service, Holly, the activity assistant's much beloved dog, decided to sing during the Lord's Prayer.  I looked around to see many of the residents smiling.  I could not think of one reason why we should not smile while saying this prayer. It is so often approached by rote or with great solemnity, but maybe God would appreciate it if we lightened up and celebrated forgiveness and our daily bread with some enthusiasm.  

After her role as cantor came to a close, Holly walked up to me and I assured her that she could always sing with me, much to the relief of the director.  Holly then walked over to the pianist who also paused to chat with her. The residents continued to watch and smile and even laugh. They are familiar with her gentle wily ways.  Eventually, we all began to sing once more.   

     

Blessings to you all this day. Tremble, but do not despair. Attend to your heart.  

 

Miles quotes this passage, calling it one of her favorite psalms.  According to a section of a prayer book I found online, it is from Psalm 4, but I cannot locate the translation that uses these exact words.   Nonetheless, may this ancient call to courage give us strength to not despair in these trembling times, but to lovingly, and even enthusiastically attend as the servants we are called to be.     

Mary Weeps

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. 

This morning I received an email devotional indicating that today is the feast day of the Assumption of Mary. I do not think that is correct. That feast day is August 15, but my knowledge of the Catholic tradition is limited. Regardless, after reading about the Brussels suicide bombings, I found I could take solace in the prayer above. I often feel Mary's presence in skilled nursing communities. I believe a lot of prayers are lifted to her, and occasionally I am blessed and humbled to hear the soft murmuring of those devotions. This morning, I must add one of my own.   

   

Holy Mother, I know you weep this morning for the suffering and needless deaths of your children. Be with those who are mourning, frightened, misguided, and hurt.  Help us to turn from the seduction and illusion of death, and learn to celebrate and share the fruit of this life.  I thank you for your guiding presence in the halls and at the bedside of the elders I serve.  My tears join yours, so I know they are not in vain.

    

After the Rain, Before the Sun

Blessings to you all this Holy Week.    

  

Love, 

Sue Ann  

     

   

Spring

Here, the first day of spring is full of flowers, gentle light, and soft air.  Say yes, go out and fall in love with God once more. In this world of sorrow there is also joy.  Holy One, I thank you. 

     

The Opening of Eyes 

David Whyte  

    

The day I saw beneath dark clouds 

the passing light over the water 

and I heard the voice of the world speak out, 

I knew then, as I had before, 

life is no passing memory of what has been 

nor the remaining pages of a great book 

waiting to be read. 

It is the opening of eyes long closed. 

It is the vision of far off things 

seen for the silence they hold. 

It is the heart after years 

of secret conversing 

speaking out loud in the clear air. 

   

It is Moses in the desert 

fallen to his knees before the lit bush. 

It is the man throwing away his shoes 

as if to enter heaven 

and finding himself astonished, 

opened at last, 

fallen in love with solid ground.  

 

 

Emptying

Early this morning I decided to empty out a box that looked to be filled with paperwork I no longer needed.  For the most part, I was correct. However, in it I discovered a book entitled Consultation by John E. Kolstoe.  I then remembered the very kind member of a Baha' i community who graciously gave me this book to me during a discussion about addressing conflict in community. As I perused it this morning, the paragraph below caught my eye. It seems worthy of pondering during Lent. 

Everything reasonable should be done to re-establish harmony... But if concerted efforts do not work, let go. Learn to live with it. Everyone has his [or her] own spiritual battle. The contentious have theirs; one of yours is learning to live with them. Place it in perspective. Pray for them. Look for opportunities to establish harmony, but do not worry about it excessively. Concentrate on teaching. It may be best to simply leave them alone (168).   

 Lent is often viewed as a private journey, but for those of us in community, it is, hopefully, also a communal one.  Most Christian faith communities will offer some sort of study or book discussion during this season. However, it might be fruitful to ask at the beginning of Lent (and really, just about any time), "How will we make this journey  together? What do we, as a community, need to consciously surrender to God? How are we being called to being more present to one another and the wider community? From what do we, together, need to fast?"  The answer to the last question may still be chocolate or potato chips, but at least we will have some company!  And yes, this is an example of why getting rid of books can be so difficult.   

  

  

Blessings to each of you as your Lenten journey continues. Let us pray for one another and encourage one another on the way.