Why?

I met K. 14 years ago, at church. I barely got to know her, when I heard through the grapevine that she and her then-husband were going to prison(embezzlment or something like that - they divorced while he was in prison). She got sent off to Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women. A year or so later, I heard she was being released early because she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. After the mastectomy and several rounds of chemo, she came back to church sporting a crew cut. Now a breast cancer survivor and a single parent, she decided to work with the youth at church -"God has put me here for a reason", she would say. Kids loved her. She became the regional youth director, in charge of all the youth camps at Hargis Retreat, etc. But that job doesn't pay very well, and she never could manage money, so she ended up filing for bankruptcy. She lost her apartment, and needed a place to live, so she came to live with us (in our barn apartment - she had no pride). Twice after she moved into the barn, we had to go pick her up after she wrecked her car - she was a terrible driver. A while after she moved in, her neck started to ache, and she learned that she had developed cancer in her cervical spine. More chemo, but she survived that, too. Then her parents died - in the span of about two weeks, she lost her mother, then her father.

She moved into her parents home, but that didn't work out. She wanted to be independent, so she got an apartment in Cahaba Heights, and worked as a church secretary, barely able to pay her bills. Earlier this year, she started losing weight, and this past summer, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer; it's been downhill ever since.

I never heard her complain about any of it - prison, divorce, bankruptcy, losing her parents, or cancer (three times). When I last sat down to talk with her, before it got really bad, she still laughed at my lame jokes. Three weeks ago, she insisted on going back to work - for an hour a day, which was all she could do. As of last week, she was still paying rent on her apartment, hoping she would be able to move back in, although she's lived with her daughter and son-in-law since August.

So I guess you could say she was an ex-con who had bad luck with men, who couldn't balance a checkbook, who "caught" cancer like some people catch colds, beloved by kids she shepherded at camp, a wonderful mother and mother-in-law, and a dear friend. Oh yeah - and an awful driver.

Watching her disintegrate in her hospital bed, the question I keep wrestling with is "Why?". I think she knew the answer:

"God has put me here for a reason" is what she would say.

Matzah

If you search the news about the Episcopal Church ("ECUSA") these days, you will come across the phrase "There is a crisis in the Episcopal Church" far more often than phrases like "What a wonderful place, this Episcopal Church". There are wars and rumors of wars on every side, about homosexuality, the role of bishops, the future of the world wide Anglican Communion, declining numbers, money problems - you name it. It's a major distraction, to say the least, and many, many good Episcopalians are spending many, many hours thinking, writing, talking, traveling, meeting, arguing, and stewing over "issues". Our former rector spent the last year or two of his time with us in turmoil over these "issues", or so it seemed if you listened to his sermons. He was, and is, an incredibly talented, intelligent, gifted man - but it seemed that the "issues" got the best of him - i.e., each week, the liturgy seemed to point to some aspect of the "issues", and less and less to some aspect of our brokenness, our relationship with God, our day-to-day lives.

There is, however, much important work to do, if we could stop contemplating our own belly buttons long enough to do it. Close to home, my dear friend is still on her deathbed (see the earlier post), and to say her family is suffering right along with her is the understatement of the day. The oncology ward at Children's Hospital is full, too. There's a war on, and people on both sides are being maimed or killed with numbing regularity. There's this poverty thing, and this HIV/AIDS thing, and this international drug problem thing.

On the flip side, there's lots to be happy about - my buddy G. and his wife S. just had a beautiful baby boy, and my friend B. just came back to church after being on sabbatical for a few months; there's actually a whole heap of things to be joyful about.

It just seems like we spend a lot of time and energy on ourselves, and not enough time and energy sowing the seed of the Kingdom, rejoicing in our brother's and sister's blessings and happiness, and helping those who are "in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity" (BCP, p. 329).

When Jesus instituted the Lord's Supper, (aka the Eucharist, Holy Communion), it was during the Jewish feast of the Passover, commemorating God's protection of the Jewish people during the plagues. He served the traditional foods - unleavened bread and wine. The bread was unleavened because it was important for the Jews to be prepared to flee at a moments notice from Pharoah's henchmen - therefore, the dough didn't have time to rise. As a matter of fact, it wasn't supposed to have any yeast in it at all, only the simplest of ingredients, flour and water. So, it was called both "the bread of haste", since you didn't have to wait for it to rise, and "the bread of poverty", because it was so simple and cheap.

Drop by most any Sunday at an Episcopal church and you'll see this kind of bread being used in the service of Holy Communion. It's a reminder that we better hurry up and get out there to do whatever it is He has called us to do, even if we don't know exactly what that is. The words of the priest - "The body of Christ, the bread of heaven" - don't really do it justice. Maybe if the priest said "Here, take this bread and eat it fast, 'cause there's trouble out there, and it's coming your way - We didn't have time to bake yeast rolls - Hurry up! - Get your butt out there and get to work - Now!", or maybe "Here, take this bread, it's not much - only flour and water - but God has made it into something incredibly important, just like he can make something truly amazing out of your screwed-up, sorry self". There is so much affirmation in the Eucharist - I've seen people weep with joy and great relief who "get it": There they stand or kneel, some in tears, "in the moment", as they hold out their hands to receive this little piece of unleavened bread. To see it up close, you'd think they were receiving something really, really special...

Did I mention that there's a crisis in the Episcopal church?

Thou shalt not worry

In the homily the other night, the priest explored the subject of anxiety. The scripture, from the book of Matthew, quoted Jesus:

"Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them." And later, "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

(An aside: Rich Mullins, the late recording artist, wrote a song about these verses, and asked, "Does that mean we're supposed to eat like birds and dress like flowers?")

Hmmm... I wonder if Jesus really meant that we're forbidden to worry. In my New King James version of the Bible, it doesn't say "Thou shalt not worry", it only says "Do not worry...". I wonder if I would take this more seriously if He had said "Thou shalt not worry", and included this in the Old Testament as an 11th commandment, along with, say, a punishment: "Whosoever worries shalt be cast into the lake of fire, never to be seen or heard from again" or some other terrible fate.

As it is, I worry all the time, sometimes cloaking anxiety by calling it "pondering" or "planning". But if I'm honest, it's actually just old-fashioned fretting. I worry about whether or not people like me, about the broken things in my life, about losing the things that aren't yet broken, and on and on...

I heard today that the Pope is traveling in Turkey, and he's no longer riding in the "Popemobile", but in a bullet-proof armored car. I guess he's worried, too.

I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to stop worrying, any more than I'll be able to stop being greedy at times, or angry, or unloving. It would be a good thing, I guess, if we were able to keep all the "laws" - Love your neighbor as yourself, serve the Lord with gladness, don't covet, don't lust, be sober, fast, pray, tithe, etc. I can't do it, and I haven't ever met anyone who can. And on top of that, when I realize my shortcomings, I worry that I'm not "good enough" - and worrying is one of those things I'm not supposed to do. Sin is like a perpetual motion contraption sometimes.

In the Book of Common Prayer, there is a "Prayer of Humble Access", which is part of the service of Holy Communion. It contains these words: "We do not come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy...".

I'm really hanging onto the hope that His mercy is really that powerful; that His "property is always to have mercy", even on me; that His grace is really going to clean all the dirt, dust, mold, mildew, cobwebs, and cow patties out of my crazy life. Which means that when I just don't give a damn, He does. When I lust, He knows that I just want to know that I'm alive. When I get angry, He knows I'm passionate about something.

And when I worry, He knows that I'm just hoping He hasn't forsaken me (Mark 15:34).

A friend, near death...

Yesterday, I visited a friend now in the final stages of a battle with cancer. She is almost gone, with family and friends now at watch 'round the clock - the death vigil. All who gather offer support, make small talk, play with cute children so that grown-ups can discuss weighty matters. There is no denial left in this grieving process, only a little anger, some bargaining, lots of sadness, and a trend towards acceptance.

There is so very little to do when a friend is lying there, dying.

Standing at the bedside yesterday, I thought about what I knew of her life, and remembered good times and hard times - she's had cancer before, and has beaten the odds. She was no stranger to trouble - all kinds of trouble - but she was a tough as nails...

I imagined myself lying there. If I am dying, I thought, I want music around me - I grew up in a house filled with music; the quietness at times like this feels a little like darkness. So, in the silence, as we were standing there waiting for my friend to take another breath, this old hymn came to mind:

"Come thou fount of every blessing, Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet, Sung by flaming tongues above;
Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it, Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I'll raise my Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help I'll come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wand'ring from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed his precious blood.

Oh, to grace how great a debtor, Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, Bind my wand'ring heart to Thee:

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above."

Aside from the beautiful poetry here, written by Robert Robinson, this song contains a reference to something called an "Ebenezer". In the Old Testament, the Israelites had great battles with the Phillistines. Once, after defeating the Phillistines, Samuel marked the victory by erecting a stone monument, which he called the Stone of Help (in Hebrew, "Even Ezer"). It was a way of giving thanks to God for the help that could only come from Him. So, an "Ebenezer" is a commemorative of this fact: Although we have been through a great battle, with troubles, trials, and tribulations, we have had a helper, an advocate, a friend.

This is for K., ever faithful, right to the end. These words are my "Ebenezer", erected in memory of her battle with cancer. It is a reminder to all of us she leaves behind, that although the battle is long and at times the rewards are few, there is a Help in times of trouble, there is a Song in the silence, there is a Light in the darkness.

Cursillo

I had my Cursillo experience in September 2001. For those who have never heard of Cursillo, it is one of several renewal movements in Christianity, akin to Emmaus Walk, Tres Dias, and others. It consists of a long weekend (Thursday evening through Sunday) of silence, singing, fellowship, listening, worship, and prayer interspersed with welcome surprises, all of which lead one to consider God's deep, abiding, unconditional love for you, yourself - something you may have forgotten.

My Cursillo weekend changed my life, in an elemental, basic way, because I had never realized that God's love for me was, indeed, unconditional, until that weekend. I also became connected to thousands of others who had attended similar weekends, and became active in the movement itself through my local parish. Most improtant, however, was the small group of individuals who came to form my "reunion" group, who have become dear and abiding friends, as close (if not closer) than family. We meet once a week, but touch base almost daily.

Soon after I returned from Cursillo, I had this dream. I was attending a church party - it was at my own house, situated on the patio and around the pool. Most of us stood around with drinks in our hands, around the pool. Suddenly, people started jumping in the pool - like little children would do, at a pool party. I jumped in, too, and realized that the people who had actually jumped in were my new Cursillo friends. Renewal was, and is, like that for me: It felt like I had been invited to the pool party, and instead of merely attending ("making an appearance"), I actually jumped into the pool.

Like most people, I started my pool experience in the shallow end, where my feet could actually touch the bottom. Eventually, though, one either gets out of the pool, or goes to the deep water at the other end. There's danger in deep water. But that's exactly where my reunion group meets - in the deep. We spend enough time as it is in the shallow end of life, with all it's noise and distraction. But once a week, we go to the deep end together and focus on the moments in our lives when we have felt closest to Christ - as the two who walked with Jesus on the road to Emmaus did when He was made known to them in the breaking of the bread (Luke 24:13-31).

I realize that one doesn't have to attend a Cursillo weekend to become "renewed"; as a matter of fact, some don't need renewal at all. But I did - and I continue to be "renewed" by the ongoing experience, known as "the fourth day".

And every day that goes by, is better than the day before...

Beginning

Leafing through the Book of Common Prayer, waiting for a web page to load, I came across The Great Litany (pg. 148). The preface reads "To be said or sung, kneeling, standing, or in procession..."; in other words, most any time you feel like it. The BCP contains some of the most elegant, powerful language this side of the Holy Bible, but I had never read through this particular portion in the quiet of early morning. I noticed the words and phrases which were capitalized for emphasis - "thy Word...", "thy holy Incarnation...", "thine Agony and Bloody Sweat...", "our only Mediator and Advocate...". The Agnus Dei. The Kyrie.

I came across this: "That it may please thee to inspire us, in our several callings, to do the work which thou givest us to do with singleness of heart as thy servants, and for the common good."

That's where this blog begins.

Just as in The Great Litany, which begins with adoration, proceeds through confession to prayers of praise, and thanksgiving, and mystery, and supplication, this will not be all about anything in particular. It's just one man's walk, through darkness to light. Or, as Cranmer would put it, "to Light".