Traveling behind the iron curtain

I have returned from a month of travel in Europe encompassing six countries: The Netherlands,  Germany, Hungry, Slovakia, Czech Republic and France. It was a multi-purpose trip: celebrating a friend's birthday, visiting sites related to the life of Martin Luther and the 500th anniversary of the beginning of the Protestant Reformation, visiting Budapest and Prague, because they were nearby, and walking in the steps of Jeanne d'Arc with  a group of teenaged girls on their Journey to Adulthood pilgrimage.

As you can imagine, it was a monumental trip.  Planning for the Luther leg and Jeanne d'Arc journey were several years in the preparation, identifying accommodations, booking tours and guides in various cities and towns, locating reasonable hotel space, finding the perfect mountain top restaurant from which to view the town of Wartburg, climbing the Fishermen's Bastion in Budapest, viewing Wenceslaus Square and the Astrologic Clock in Prague, and timing the visit to the Eifel Tower so it glittered as we ascend the Metro steps to the Trocadero, these were the many facets of a month "on the continent".  They were wonderful moments that will remain in my memory forever.

My friend, Peter, was born in what was known as East Germany, but escaped with his family to live in the west. There were several people at his birthday party who had grown up in the eastern part of the country, the "red" kind, the "communist" side...as we post-World War II kids, thought of them, as we were taught. We knew that the real Evil Empire was located behind that imaginary curtain that separated east and west Europe, friend and foe, democracy and tyranny, goodness and evil. And we knew that the people who lived there were both suffering and brainwashed. But what did they think of us? Surprisingly, they thought the same thing.  

Jeanne d'Arc/ Orleans, France

But there were other eye-opening moments. The interactions with folks who grew up on the other side, the "evil" side of the infamous "Iron Curtain" was a most interesting part of the trip.

From restaurant at Romantic Hotel in Wartburg

Our tour guide in Wittenburg told us how excited he was as a young child to see real soldiers with real guns in his town.  He related how he was taught in school that the Americans were evil incarnate and would come in and shoot them all if they could.  The Russian soldiers were there to protect them. He now laughs at it all, but it was not so funny when he was a six year old school boy wondering when and if the Americans were going to shoot and kill his parents and grandparents.

Two retired educators, a husband and wife, told us that their jobs depended on tacitly accepting the status quo and how one got along under the rule of the East German puppet government. They shared that even though they were baptized as Christians in the Lutheran Church, neither they nor their parents practiced that faith because to do so would mean your career would suffer and economic hardships, something they all faced, would become more and more unbearable.

And the greyness of the landscape was ever-present. Roads were grey; streets were grey; houses were grey, office buildings were grey; churches were grey; shops and stores were grey; life in general was grey. Food choices were extremely limited.  The wait to buy a new state manufactured car was fifteen years; a used one was more expensive than a new one because it was more readily available. There was no unemployment and everyone had a place to live, but housing often came with no heat nor hot water, and the jobs were redundant.

There is still a remnant of this mindset in the local hospitality industry. During this trip I stayed in five hotels/inns located in what we would consider to be behind the "Iron Curtain". It was an experience.

Central European accommodations are sketchy at best.  We stayed at world-wide chains and small family owned spots; old world grey ladies and modern hotels retro-fitted into beaux arts buildings near the riverfront. But one thing sort of stuck out: a radically different welcome is needed. A few suggestions follow:

1. Have a list of nearby interesting sights/museums/shops to offer guests; special pricing or discounts are a plus.

2. Recommend and call local restaurants to check on availability. Know their price point as well.

3. Have a taxi service on call.

4. Make sure you have at least one (BBC would work) English language station in your cable  offerings. I do not mind Al Jazeera English, but others do.

5. Keep your in-house restaurant/bar open and available for your guests.

6. Know where the closest post office, ATM, cash exchange, bank and hospital are located and how to get there easily.

7. Offer a space for local artisans to display and sell their wares.

8. Have coffee/tea making opportunities in the room; a refrigerator is a plus.

9. Have comfortable lobby seating.

10. SMILE!!!!!

Go to Central Europe...it is reasonable priced and lovely.  The people are warm and the sights are interesting.






                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Onboard Trivia

There we were on yet another Trans Atlantic cruise. Some folks wonder, with some concern in their voices, just what one does for ten days at sea since we basically have only five port stops. These cruises are basically repositioning journeys for

Cruise ships moving from a winter market in warmer Caribbean climes to the cooler waters of Northern Europe in anticipation of summer travelers to the Baltic or Scandinavian states. They only happen twice a year: Spring and Autumn when the need arises.

And so we journeyed to the sunny skies of Miami only to navigate our way north through the Atlantic passing through the Azores on our way to some of the sights in France, England, Belgium and the Netherlands before reaching our final destination of Copenhagen and on to Malmo, Sweden in May. That may seem like a long time for some of you.

But, do not fear! We are seldom bored on board.

First of all, most of our fellow travelers are experienced cruisers with many sea voyages under their belts. They are, for the most part, interesting and articulate folk who have lived interesting lives. They bring much to the table.  

As for an me, this is my fourth such voyage, and, I must confess, I really do love them.  My days are full, and I do enjoy some solitude time in which I spend aimless hours  reading "mind candy", easy reading of recent fiction of the mystery genre or such that keeps one engaged, but not to heavily in the "thinking" zone.

And the there is Trivia.

Those of you who know me know that I take my trivia mighty seriously. This is no joke. You either can step up to the plate and score, or you can strike out and never be called up again. You get one shot at the show, and if you falter and fail, there is no redemption. At least in our tight knit trivia group.

Our current team for the morning game consist of my two traveling companions, a retired military officer and reyired educator. Our other member is a long time aquatience and grad of Sty High (known to all NYC kids as the smart school) and a CUNY grad, like me.  He is both a travel agent and tax preparer, and I have used his services in both areas successfully. But the most important thing is, he is very smart.

We have won, tied or placed at every event in which we participated. Prizes will be cruise line paraphernalia will go to my grand kids and daughter-in-law for student prizes. But the fun is irreplaceable!

Unfortunately, there are some teams that take this all to seriously, yelling at the often young and often limitedly educated cruise employee who is charged with the task of keeping this unwieldy beast of a crowd in some semblance of order. Sometimes it works; most times it does not. Of course it makes sense in this day and age of instant internet access that every factoid is "googled" to within one inch to double check the validity and voracity of each answer. Some are blatantly untrue.

No, the Queen Mother no longer owns a castle in Scotland mostly because she passed into eternal rest over ten years ago. Also, the capital of Andorra is at a higher altitude than Madrid....we checked it.  Just sayin".

So, go ahead, have some fun...trivia on board is a great way to spend some time, but user beware....not all trivia is equal, and errors abound.  Just be aware: It isn't rocket science and it is sometimes incorrect.

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Medition for Good Friday: Was she there?

John - 19:25 Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 
                                                            

In two weeks I will celebrate the twentieth anniversary of my ordination to the Diaconate in the Episcopal Church.  In preparation for that event, I was in the formation program for three years, and as part of that program did some study of both Old and New Testaments. I remember one class in particular when we were reviewing the passion Gospels where I was struggling mightily with the written texts. “ I just can’t relate to this as it is written”, I told the instructor, a female priest of this diocese. “Why not?”, was her question.  “I don’t see myself in this.  It is too masculine.” She smiled and said,   ”Okay; go with that.” And that was the beginning. I began to look at the Gospel text through two lenses: a diaconal one and a feminine one.

This was a personal revelation for me, but one that sort of made sense in my own life.  I already felt a cosmic connection to Mary, the mother of Jesus, the patron of this beautiful church.  Both she and I gave birth to children on December 25^th.  Now I know that to be historically accurate, it is probable that Jesus was not born in December, but my eldest child was born two blocks from here in what was St Vincent’s hospital at that time. I will never forget that one of the elderly nuns who came by to visit all new mothers shared with me that “Only special people are born on Jesus’ birthday”, and then went on to explain that in the Dark Ages, the French would often kill children born on Christmas because they believed one of them could be the anti-Christ…. thank you, sister, for that image.

So looking at this Gospel passage, I wonder where the women are, and I find them in two places.

When Jesus is taken away to the house of Annas, there was a woman at the gate, in some translations she is a servant girl, in others she appears to be some sort of gatekeeper, but she is certainly a person of keen observation because she recognizes Peter as a follower of Jesus, and calls him as such. She says,” You are not also one of this man's disciples, are you?” and he claims not to be a follower of Jesus…a pattern he will follow two more times. She is a vessel of fulfillment; she has set the stage for the prophesy of Christ to come to fruition. In her small role in this unfolding saga of salvation, she has framed for us all Peter’s denial…an act that can be linked to our very human instinct for survival. Then she disappears and is seen no more in the story.  She has served her purpose; she has pointed out the fragility of human nature, our primitive instincts that allow us to hastily switch stories to save our own skin standing in contrast to the ultimate sacrifice Christ makes in his death on the cross.

The next time we encounter the feminine in this Gospel passage is close to the end.  And this one gets a bit confusing, and intriguing. At the foot of the cross three women with the same or similar names are holding vigil. As well as their common name, they share a special relationship with the crucified Christ: a mother, an aunt and a companion in the way. I would dare say that many, if not most, of the women here present have shared one or more of these roles with important people in their lives.  I know I have, and looking at the crucifixion through these eyes gives us a really different perspective.

Mary, the mother of Jesus has been given many names and titles: Blessed Virgin, Queen of Heaven ( Regina Coeli), Our Lady of Sorrows, Our Lady of Good Counsel, Immaculate Mary: these are some of the names she is called, the one that resonates the most with me is the Greek: Theotokos: “God bearer”. We have heard it said that the most difficult thing for any parent is to live through the death of a child.  I believe this is very true. Whether one loses a child to miscarriage, fatal accident, drug overdose, self-inflicted suicide, disease or any other event, it is something one carries to the grave.  A scar that opens and closes many times in your life that merely scars and scabs over and over again. And to be a witness to the unthinkable suffering that crucifixion brings to one’s offspring must be among the most unbearable moments of one’s life as a parent. I can remember the first time I saw Michelangelo’s Pieta as a student when it came to NY for a World’s Fair, and later on a trip to Rome. It depicts in stone a moment that is both tender and sorrowful, a mother’s final embrace of the child she brought into the world knowing the suffering he endured was something she could not stop.

Mary, the wife of Clopus, has been long thought to be a relation of Jesus, an aunt, perhaps. She may also be one of the women who will later go to the tomb to anoint the body only to find the it empty. She stands in support of her friend who is losing her son to a horrific death.  She stands as so many other folks have stood by in witness to the personal suffering of many, a role many of us have played in our lives.

And finally Mary Magdalene, one of the most enigmatic personas in the Gospel stories. She is one of the mystery women in Scripture, misrepresented and maligned for many millennials and underappreciated, but that is for another day, not this one. In this version of the Passion she serves as a sort of “everyman”.  Our eyes and ears and thoughts at that troubling time.  She stands firm; she does not run away; she watches the whole event and it is seared in her memory. Her steadfast determination and faith in her Lord is tested on that day and does not fail.  She represents the best in us: true companion and witness to the end.  Her reward is to be one of the first witnesses to encounter the Risen Lord.  She represents our eternal hope, hope in new life and resurrection.

And now, as we come to the time of memorializing Jesus’ death on the cross, a death he suffered for you and me and the servant girl, and his Mother, and his companions and all the other “Marys”  his life has touched over the ages, let us, gathered here this afternoon, remember in humility and awe, that the Son of Man, came down to be among us and sacrificed himself for each of us, the ultimate gift, to free us from our sins and make us worthy to truly be Children of God and heirs of His Kingdom.

New Beginnings

Fifth Sunday in Lent

“ Jesus began to weep.” John 11:35    

It may be a surprise to some of you, but not to my family members, I love Trivia Contests.  Back in the day my spouse and I were a killer Trivial Pursuit team to such an extent that several friends refused to play with us because we, in their words, “Just knew too much.”  It mattered not the subject chosen: I whizzed through history and literature, my husband tackled math and sports…together we aced science and current events.

Now much of it was useless information (for example, did you know that Coca Cola was invented in 1886 and was originally green?? Or that goldfish have a life expectancy of ten years and are subject to motion sickness?), but on a recent cruise, and you all know how much I love cruising, my crackerjack team made up of my two travelling companions (to whom I refer as part of my cadre of Lutheran cousins) and newly met trivia compadres, a married couple from Michigan…a college recruiter and electrical engineer, either won or placed in every trivia game we showed up for. But here was one question that really stumped us.  I wrote it down so I will never forget it: “What is ‘lacrymophobia’?”  Anyone want to hazard an educated guess.  If you studied Italian or Latin at some point in your life…I have four years of it, you might be able to figure out the root word.  In my case, I could identify the root word, but could not pull the meaning up out of my memory.  So for those of you still in the dark, “Lacrymophobia” is the fear of shedding tears or crying.

And, by the way, in case you did not know, there are three types of tears we humans shed. Basel tears are basically eye lubrication. They keep our eyes in good working order. Some medication may cause us to have “dry eyes”, which can easily be treated with a solution of artificial tears that mimic those naturally secreted by our own bodies. Reflex tears are the body’s reaction to irritants like dust, smoke or even cold; they help to clear out these foreign bodies from our systems. And finally “psychic tears” are those that flow as a reaction to emotional stress. These are the tears we learn that Jesus shed when he was confronted by the realization that his friend, Lazarus, was indeed dead.

Jesus is not the only one shedding tears at the tomb of Lazarus.  His two sisters, who we know from prior Gospel Readings, are inconsolable.  Martha has, of course, uttered the words that we hear echoed in hymn 355 when she said, “Yes, Lord I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God who is coming into the world.” The younger sister Mary greets him at the tomb with the words that if he were present earlier, her brother would not have died, and the other witnesses to this event are moved by Jesus’ tears proving his affection for his friend.  As humans we can definitely relate to those psychic tears Mary Martha the crowd and Jesus are shedding. 

Many tears have been shed in this place as well.  I arrived at Christ Church in the fall of 2010 at the invitation of Father Chuck.  He had just struggled through a difficult physical time battling mononucleosis. I remember that I had met him at the Soup Kitchen at Trinity Lutheran and he turned to me and bluntly said, “So, when are you coming to Christ Church to be my deacon?”  I was taken aback, but that opened the conversation.  That evening my husband kept saying, “You should go.  You should go.”  And I did, and it has been really wonderful being here.  But thing have shifted, as they always do.  As I look around this space I have thought about all the times we have shed some very sad psychic tears.  I look at our choir and see some holes where at least six of our senior members are no longer here, but probably singing in larger celestial choir.

I have stood as witness and often as a liturgical participant to times of great communal sorrow as we all shed more of our mutual psychic tears as we laid to eternal rest leaders and faithful members of our congregation who have run the race with great courage and dignity.

And yet there have been other times that our psychic tears are those that sprung from joy filled emotions and not sorrow filled ones. Weddings, baptisms, graduations, homecomings, new beginnings, many, many moments of joy filled and happy celebrations.  The vast number of times our children and those of our larger Christ Church Community have entertained and enchanted us and others with their developing musical skills; these are times that bring smiles to our faces and happy tears to our eyes in the mere act of conjuring up the memory. Christmas pageants and All Saint processions that seem to miraculously come to fruition out of utter chaos have given us a plethora of remembrances that cannot be removed.

These are the memories that I will take with me from this place. A place that will ever hold in the words of Janis Joplin, a rather large “piece of my heart”.

And there is one more thing that we can all hang tight to: Jesus cried.  His humanity broke through, and he shared a very human reaction with those around him and with us. In this Sunday’s passage his tears were those that rose from emotional sorrow, but if he could cry with grief, he could also cry with joy.  And the thought of Jesus joyfully crying is an image I want to hold onto when I think of you all and my time in this sacred space.

                                                

                                                                                                                                      

The March Snows...

I woke up this morning at around 6:00am.  My condo apartment faces east, so when the eastern sky begins to lighten up, I wake up. I do not have shades or curtains by choice, so my sleeping patterns are governed by the natural cycle of the four seasons in the Northeast section of North America. Sun is up??? Odds are I am up as well. Today was no exception. The sky was a bit overcast, but no precipitation , but then....about an hour later, it started.

Started quietly, that is...a gentle rain hitting against the window, but enough to cause me to abandon my plans for an early morning at the gym.  The gym is only around the corner, but I have to go up and down a flight of stairs over the local train, so I just made an excuse to stay in and hunker down.  But soon the snow was flying.  At first it was a pretty sweet flurry with a gentle wind that made it swirl lightly around the roof deck clinging to the now frozen rements of the summer potted plants I neglected to remove. Soon the snow was clinging to the cold wrought iron balcony railings making its presence felt in the delicately curved circles and curves of its utilitarian design giving it a dollop of what looks like snow-inspired whipped cream topping.

But then it intensifies in strength. A pall of greyish white descends over the harbor; I can no longer see Brooklyn.  Soon the bridge disappears. The freighters and cargo ships anchored nearby are no longer visible, and the fog horns begin their solitary moaning  in a rhythmic call and response pattern. The cars on Bay Street become fewer and fewer and their headlights become muted and blurred in the uncontrolled tumble of larger and gloppier snow flakes.  The snow seem to crash into vehicles as they wind their way down to the ferry terminal. The pair of pigeons who normally perch briefly on the roof deck wall are huddled close together cooing and searching the quickly shrinking horizon for their other aviary companions, but there are none in sight.

So life here is slowing down at a winter pace forced upon us by nature and time of year. Yesterday I was thinking of what to plant in the containers I keep up here.  Today I called to make sure the cab I need to my trip to the airport will be here tomorrow  The news of yet another winter storm is floating through the airways, and contrary to most around here, it is making me smile.

And that is because I am leaving the cold for another warmer place. Leaving tomorrow for Los Angeles and then on to a cruise on the Pacific to Hawaii, something I have wanted to do for quite some time. And even though these plans were several months in the making, it seems this is the perfect time to spend in the sun.  I will come back with a better attitude, I promise.

"Remember, man that thou art dust....."

One evening five years ago, I attended a liturgy committee meeting at the Episcopal Church where I serve as deacon.  The group spent much too much time agonizing over what hymns would be played for which Lenten services.  As the meeting was winding to an end, I innocently asked if we might consider distributing ashes at the Staten Island Ferry terminal on the morning of Ash  Wednesday.  As I finished, a compete pall of dead silence fell over the group. They stared at me with mouths a-gap...silence, silence and more silence. I searched the room for a friendly face, but even the usually jovial face of my rector, Chuck Howell, was frozen into a quizzical grimace.

I then began to describe the concept or "Ashes to Go" that was emerging in various Episcopal and Lutheran congregations across the nation. With such a warm and fuzzy reception, I figured my suggestion had fallen on decidedly deaf ears.

An hour later, as I was getting ready to retire for the evening, I  got a call from Father Chuck. "That was the most exciting thing I have heard at any Liturgy Committee meeting," he said. "Get more information.  We might do that."

So I got the information, and despite Chuck's penchant for worrying, "What if we get arrested?", he asked. "So we call our attorney and the local newspaper; you  will get your picture in tomorrow's edition, and they will let you go. Bring your purple stole it brings out your eyes," was my  flippant reply.

We headed out for the terminal in Saint George at 6:45 am with Hal, our intrepid lay reader, and June, Administrative Assistant for the local Lutheran Church, for the first of what has now become an annual event. We distributed ashes to 280 people that day. Father Chuck insisted we wait for "one more boat" and "one more boat" until my feet became sore and then numb. And we were hooked on "Ashes to Go".

Today marked our fifth year; we imposed ashes on 396 foreheads before the rains hit.  June and Hal are still with me. Chuck died unexpectedly in 2015.  I like to think that he is standing next to me being the one worrying about all things that might happen, making sure that nothing does happen. Gene, a candidate for ordination to the Diaconate in the Episcopal Church, has been on board for several years. I do enjoy teasing him when the cops, sanitation guys and other city workers offer him a quick, "Thanks, Padre!"  Most of them are still not sure about me, but I often get a nod and  tip of the hat  as "Sister"....which I am, just not a nun/sister.

We met all kinds of folks: office workers, construction guys, Liberty Island Ticket hawkers, moms with kids in tow or babies in strollers, homeless street people seeking prayers for deceased family members, Buddhists enchanted by the ritual with ashes, and folks seeking a sacred moment and space in which to begin their work-a-day world. What these people, these children of the Living God, don't know, is that we, the ones charged with the imposition of ashes, a stark reminder of our common mortality, get so much more in our encounter with them. We meet the spectrum of humanity and see the face of God in everyone who anxiously waits for our reminder : "...and unto dust thou shalt return."

Persisting.....

"She was warned.  She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted"
                                      - US Senator Mitch McConnell

Well, yeah, Mr. McConnell.  We do "persist".  We women of a certain age who are just about fed up with what the "boys" did, have done, and think they can continue to do to the "girls", to us: to the strong, surviving, understanding, gracious,  thoughtful, intelligent, caring, politically savvy, and overall competent women who think you are just plain arrogant/ignorant. We thought we had fought these fights in the 70's, 80's and 90's. I guess we were wrong. And I guess we got too comfortable.

I know that I was among those fortunate ones who were married to a loving man who supported our rights for equality.  It did help that he adored his three children: two girls and a boy who we tried to raise in an inclusive and equal household. I remember fondly the day my son asked me to show him how to iron his own shirts.  He wanted them to his specs, not mine.   He also is the best cook of all three...sorry girls, 'tis true.

But really, gentleman ( I use that title lightly here), silencing one of the few women in the Senate? Give us a break, and get off your high horses, please. We can see through your mealy mouth excuses about "Article XIX"...19 in Roman numerals.  It was a play by the "boys" who were uncomfortable that the "girl" was calling them out. Racism and sexism are still alive and kicking in the United States of America, and , unfortunately, in the United States Senate.

In my humble opinion, that is what defeated Mrs. Clinton.  She was a competent, caring, intelligent and political savvy woman who would not ever win because the "boys" in charge decided she could not, would not, should not be in charge of the nation despite her resume. Her "equipment" was the wrong "equipment".

So now we have a "boy" in charge.  A "boy" who is having a difficult time governing...and I am being nice here. What have we learned?

We have learned that we still have a long way to go, baby. And just FYI:  I do not intend to be anyone's baby...just sayin'.