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'.

Meeting up in the Digital Age

In September of last year I decided, after talking to a few single seniors, to throw my hat into the ring and dive into an online dating site. I specifically chose one that was geared to those of us over the age of 50.  I was heartened to see that one of my favorite writers had met a nice guy on the site I had chosen, and a friend had recently met someone who seemed like a good match for her on the same site. I was ready, or so I thought.
Over the past four months I have "met" several prospects.  I have met them cyberly, an interesting phenomena. I have spoken to a select few on the phone, but have yet to take the "plunge" and meet one or two in person.  There are a few prospects, so we shall see.
There have been several things that have struck me during this process, and I am willing to share them with you now:

1. If you are contacted by someone who is "really" a friend of the "real" person on the site odds are they are as "real" as Santa Claus. And if they ask for your email or phone to sent a message, remember that you are on a secure site for a reason, and get rid of them.  Sometimes you can amuse yourself at their expense for awhile, but it is better to report them and block them from contacting you.

2. Distance is an issue. I have limited my contacts to folks in the Metro area.  I am sure Huntsville, Alabama and Santa Clara, California are lovely places, but I am not going to spend my time in a long distance exchange of niceties.  Just not my style.

3. If you admit that you are still married for whatever reason...and you can insert any mental distress or other illness here...and your spouse/partner is not responsive to you, don't expect me to be either, Buddy.

4. Give some thought to the photo you are placing on this site. First impressions are indeed lasting ones....'nuf said.

5. And talking of first impressions, the name that you decide to use tells more about you than you know.  Some folks use initials and numbers. Other monikers give a fleeting reference to one's current or former profession.  Others give a very clear message about what you are thinking or not thinking about.  A cyber name like "Socraticsage" gives a nice glimpse into a thoughtful intellectual whereas "Hunglikebull" conjures up some disturbing visuals that are difficult to shake, or who would bother to respond to anyone whose "handle" is "IMPicky"?

So, there it is....you have to go into this with two things: a sure sense of self worth, and  huge sense of humor...and the ability to take most everything with a grain or a full shaker of salt. More to follow.

Melancholy Christmas Carols

This is the time of year that is kind of warm and fuzzy with snowflakes, candy canes, jolly white-bearded guys in red suits, angelic cherubs and cuddly shepherds singing sweet carols of Christmas.  But not all of the tunes written for this season are happy, slappy , sappy songs.  Some are rather melancholy and somber with a hint of irony. The list is not too long, but here are a few from my collection of off-kilter, but relevant Christmas tunes..some not quite carols that have spoken to my soul at one point or another during my lifetime:

1. "The Coventry Carol" dates back to the 16th Century and is part of a play remembering the slaughter of the Innocents during the reign of Herod during which the Christ Child escapes to Egypt with the Holy Family.  It is set as a lull-a-bye sung by the mothers of the slaughtered children to the babes they will hold no more.  How is that for melancholia?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIvH5GdY4JE

2. "Gabriel's Message" is a Basque folk tune and 13th century carol that came into the English lexicon in the 19th century.  It recounts the Annunciation to the Virgin Mary by the Angel Gabriel that she would bear the Savior, the Son of God. It also echoes the opening of the Magnificat, one of the canticles used in Morning Prayer.  Sting's recording is probably the most familiar.  I do like this one, but I am a sucker for any Sting tune.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GF2BzUDeTkY

3. "In the Bleak Mid-Winter" was written by English poet Christina Rossetti in response to a magazine that wanted to publish a Christmas poem.  After her death, it was put to music and placed in the Anglican hymnal...so the Episcopal church included it in theirs.  I happen to like this one quite a lot.  It just speaks to me, even though I find its theology a bit simplistic.  But, that is another discussion.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0aL9rKJPr4

4. "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day" was written in 1863 by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow after receiving new that his son was seriously injured in a battle during the Civil War. It was first called "Christmas Bells' and was actually written on Christmas Day.  In its entirety, it references events that happened during the war that impacted Longfellow's thoughts. At the end, the bells bring hope for peace...a sentiment we can still relate to.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccHLJ7J84k4

So, there they are.  I am sure you have your favorites.  But I think I need to end this on a lighter note, so I am including a link to my new favorite Chanukah song that I heard at a recent concert.  It is sung in Ladino, a dialect spoken for centuries by Sephardic Jews living in Spain and along the Mediterranean.  It is called "Ocho Kandelikes"; I hope you like it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9h3u88wLrAQ