Easter Dawns

I wrote this poetic piece as a reflection on how I have been feeling in dealing with my mom's death and wrestling with what Easter means in light of this personal time of grief.  It seemed to me that Easter ought to have something to say about a personal grief, if it reflects some deeper truth about our lives with Spirit.  At heart, Easter is about how life shows up despite death's best efforts.  And no matter what else it is, life is certainly good.

Easter Dawns

This Easter

all of the metaphors

about Spring and new life

crowd into my mind. 

One after another,

they try to explain how it works,

how life can rise out of the frozen

muddy earth.

But none of the explanations

get it quite right…

Until I realize that words and metaphors,

symbols reaching out toward hope

need to be grounded in this reality

here and now

in this moment:

“Life has hold of us

even in the midst of death,

and life is good."

Lent 2016

            I came home today after a long visit in Florida.  The ride from Albany was wet as the rains poured down continuously.  By the time we arrived home, sleet was beginning to fall, and tonight snowy ice coats the ground.  It is so strange to think that my Dad played golf after dropping us off at the airport.  Sunshine and relative warmth kept him company for most of the day. 

            The circumstances of our lives can be so very different depending on where we find ourselves.  Some of these circumstances are somewhat under our control.  We may not be able to guarantee sunshine, but a trip to Florida usually means warmer weather than we are apt to experience in Vermont this time of the year.  But other aspects of life are not so easily controlled.  What was meant to be a vacation became the beginning of a time of mourning when my Mom passed away a week before my family planned to visit.  I hurried down immediately to be with my sister and Dad, who were both there, thankfully together, for such a difficult passage.

            This was not the trip I expected, nor was it the one I would have chosen, but there were elements of it that were surprisingly positive, and healing in ways that I did not expect.  Primarily, it was good to be with family, to simply be together as we grieved and began to process our deep loss.  We actually laughed a lot as we shared stories about Mom and poured over family pictures.  The laughter was not at all what I expected, but somehow it broke through our sadness and helped us get in touch with our hearts.  At the very center of our emotions was gratitude for sharing our lives, and for being a family whose love holds strong through what is a very difficult time.  It surprised me that the central emotion that swirled around us was joy and not grief, despite the depth of our loss. 

            Being family, loving Mom, is a shared joy that gives us the strength to come face to face with the powerful sense of grief that we feel.  Essentially, over the past few weeks, joy often won out over grief as we laughed and shared together.  I imagine it will continue to do so in the weeks and years ahead.  The joys of a life shared win out over the grief of death that parts us from those whom we love, and this is the heart of the Easter message that I often start gearing up to preach at this time of year.

            For Christians, the Lenten journey is just about over.  The pattern of this seasonal rhythm is familiar to us, and yet there is always room for God to surprise us.  New life is promised, and we never really know what that might mean for us in any given year.  It becomes especially poignant when we walk through dark and difficult times.  Like the laughter my family shared as we mourned, the light and love of God continues to break through into our lives in the most surprising and beautiful ways, lifting our hearts and reminding us that life not only continues, but it gets better as we learn how to love one another through the challenges, how to be there for one another in the midst of sorrow, how to live into this new life together.

Living Well, Dying Well

Today, a mid-February day in Vermont, it is in the 50's and rain keeps moving over the meadow in waves.  Maybe it is the weather and longing to get outside into the garden again, or maybe it is seeing signs of green shoots of plant life beginning too early, making me question the relativity of the whole life-death continuum, but for whatever reason it brought to mind this piece that I wrote in April a few years ago.  I'd like to share it with you, so here it is:

I took a walk with our 21-year-old cat, Olive, today.  She is not eating much anymore, and seems to live on direct sunlight, as plants do.  I know she cannot photosynthesize the sunlight, but it seems like a good thing for her, and so when she meowed to go outside, I took her out, set her on the grass and we walked down to the garden together.  My intent had been to grade papers this afternoon, but when Olive contentedly settled into a soft place in the garden, nestled in the shadow of a tuft of grass and mustard, I decided instead to do some weeding so that she could enjoy a little time outside.

When life is nearing the end, choices become so much simpler.  Being in the moment, in the garden, was the only thing to be done, the only place to be, when it was what Olive wanted and needed.

Death and making the transition from this life to whatever comes next, has been on my mind recently.  It’s not exactly a subject we carry in the forefront of our thoughts, and yet something that we all do need to face at some point.  My father-in-law passed away a few weeks ago, and all who gathered around his bed at the end agreed that it was “a good death.”  Even the hospice staff, commented on how well he was accompanied in this final transition of his life.  His children read from some of his favorite books, played music and sang for him, spoke of deep things, of their dreams and hopes, of the many accomplishments of his life, and simply sat with him, holding a hand, communicating with eyes and touch once words ceased to be useful.

John O’Donohue, the Irish priest and poet speaks of death walking beside us throughout our lives, not in a way that is meant to threaten or frighten us, but rather as a reminder that this opportunity to live our one amazing life should not be taken lightly.  He closes his blessing “On Death” saying,

“And decide carefully / how you now can live / the life you would love / to look back on from your deathbed.”  

Living well gives us pleasure in the present, as my hour in the garden with Olive gave me today, but it also allows us to eventually leave this life with a deep contentment, knowing we have done what we could.  We can die in peace, knowing we have answered and lived into the calling of our spirit and of our destiny.

This springtime, as so much comes to life around us, maybe we can feel ourselves participating in the fullness of the circle of life, and be grateful for the gifts… so many gifts that surround us and make our lives good.

Blessings,

Shirley

(Originally published April 2012 on https://wildwoodumc.wordpress.com/ )

"Grace" as a New Year's Resolution

 January 2016

Dear Friends,

            This is the season when many of us think to ourselves, “now, what are my intentions for this new year?”  We make resolutions, usually having to do with diet or exercise, and carry them out with varying degrees of success.  The people who study these things claim that it takes 66 days for a practice to become a reliably adopted habit.  So, if we can just get through the first three months, then we are well on our way!

            Some old-fashioned religious terms have been working on me as I think about what my intentions will be for 2016.  The words are “mercy” and “grace”.  Life these days tends to be so contentious, that many of us have built up thick protective walls to our hearts.  We are on the defensive, on high alert, looking for any transgressions that might cause us harm or pain. 

            Mercy and grace stand in stark contrast to a closed-off and carefully protected heart.  They coax and invite us to consider a different way of being in relationship with others.  They ask us to embrace and embody a softer and gentler way of being in the world.  In a recent lecture, Richard Rohr, a Franciscan monk and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation, spoke about the freedom we give to ourselves when we let go of the need to always be right, to always do exactly and only the right thing.  He invited his listeners to consider that being loving was a higher value than being right.

            This sounds to me like a worthy New Year’s resolution, to choose to be loving rather than focusing my energies on always attempting to be right.  I like the freedom inherent in letting go of the need to judge every situation.  I look forward to seeking out ways to express my love and appreciation without the need to assess the rightness or wrongness of a person or of their choices.  I appreciate the challenge of breathing new life into seemingly old-fashioned concepts like mercy and grace, so that they can gain credibility in a world that has become way too contentious.

            I don’t think my resolution is going to be easy to keep.  In fact, a diet or exercise program might be a whole lot simpler, but I feel the need to stand in opposition to the violence that permeates so much of our lives today, and this seems like a powerful way to do it.  Even if it doesn’t make a dent “out there” in the world, I have a suspicion it will make a big difference “in here” in my heart and in my life.

May grace and mercy be with you in this New Year.

Shirley

Brigid's day

  

February 2 is a cross-quarter day in the earth-based spiritual calendar.  Imbolc, as it is known, is the half-way point between the Winter Solstice and the first day of Spring.  As you might expect, it’s energy is all about getting ready to welcome the return of the light, of growing things, of life.  The day also honors Brigid, both goddess and saint, who had a soft heart for the poor.  One story says that she confronted the owner of a large parcel of land and obtained that property for the peasants by getting him to agree that the peasants could have whatever land Brigid’s cloak would cover.  Her cloak miraculously stretched to cover the whole area, and the landowner reluctantly agreed to keep his promise.  Brigid’s hand-fashioned cross (shown below) made of the rushes protects many an Irish home from fire and evil.

 I love the easy flow between Christian and Pagan calendars in the Celtic tradition, exemplified today by the celebration of Brigid who is accepted as both a sainted holy woman and a goddess.  Is it possible to let this openness to spill over into other aspects of our lives?  Can we stop holding labels in such high regard, and focus instead on the heart, the intention and what is common between us?

New Year - Clean Slate?

A New Year!  A clean slate ready for all kinds of possibilities!  

… So, now what?

It is so interesting that we look for these opportunities to start fresh.  Rather than continuing on as we have been doing, we emphasize the benefits of having the space to do something new, even if it is just a metaphorical space.  After all, tomorrow will dawn much the same as every other day dawns. The biggest change with a new year is learning to write 2011 on our checks, isn’t it?  Everything else goes on much as before.

Why do we get so excited about a new year?  Why does it stir our imagination so powerfully?  I think a large draw for us in contemplating a new year is the fact that we are not always satisfied with our lives, or with the choices we have made.  We wish we had done some things differently, and other things we wish we had not done at all.  As a child, my family moved when I was 11, and I remember thinking about changing my name and asking people to call me something totally different.  I was tired of being who I was, who I had come known to be, and thought that by changing my name I could shake things up a bit.  But it turned out that the hardest one to change was me.  As I thought about a name change, I realized I didn’t have an adequate idea for a new identity.  I might have been tired with who I was, but I didn’t know yet who else I might be.  It turned out that a name change was not what I really needed.  What really shifted things in that new place was a teacher who encouraged me to start writing, and who saw in me a talent that I had not realized.  Over the course of a year spent in her classroom, I came to see myself in new and wonderful ways.

I don’t think changes happen all of a sudden, with a family move or with the coming of a new year.  Changes happen slowly, over time.  They move in on us by increments, altering things in barely discernible fractions.  Looking back over a period of time, we might recognize that much has changed; however, we might not even have noticed the small changes as they took place along the way.

In this new year, maybe our best bet would be to target one small aspect of our lives or our way of being in the world that we would like to change.  It should be something do-able, perhaps something we don’t even think will be hard for us.  Chances are, this small, possible change is just what we need to start the new year fresh and ready for all that it might bring.

Happy New Year Everyone!

May it bring all you dream of and hope for.

Shirley

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage is a concept that is experiencing a renewal throughout the world.  People are  increasingly interested in a spirituality that draws them outside themselves and into the world.  While Gary and I were in Ireland, we thought of our time there as a pilgrimage in general, but we also went on specific pilgrimages as well.  Up in the northern part of the republic of Ireland, at a place called Glenn Colmcille, there are several sites associated with Saint Columba.  (“Columba” is actually a version of “Colmcille.”)

We purchased a little booklet that outlined a pilgrim path or “Turas” that incorporated several stopping points where certain prayers were proscribed.  The sites were an interesting mixture of Christian and pre-christian traditions.  The beginning and ending point was St. Columba’s Church, while other stops were at standing stones with Celtic designs and crosses inscribed on them and a cairn of stones some of which were said to have healing powers if you passed them around your body three times.  There was a holy well, St. Columba’s chair and also his bed.  At the bed, which was a large flat rock, we were instructed to lie down as the ground underneath it was filled with healing energy.  At the well, we were told to add to the enormous rock cairn before leaving, for good luck.  One standing stone had a hole in it through which some had been said to see heaven.  (Every place we went was beautiful, so I have no doubt that heaven looks at least something like what I saw through that tiny hole.)

What I find powerful about doing something like this pilgrimage, is that, as you take on the challenge of finding each site, you are setting ordinary time aside.  You are on a quest to find certain places, and to spend some time with God, with the Holy, but you are also on a quest to go deeper into yourself.  A pilgrimage takes you out of the usual mindset of hurrying from one activity to another, from one responsibility to another, and invites you into sacred time and space.  In sacred time, there is no need to hurry.  Everything unfolds as it must.  In sacred space, you discover that you are exactly where you need to be.  Your soul gains just what it most desires.

I believe there are opportunities for pilgrimage embedded throughout our daily lives.  We just have to shift our perspective a bit in order to see them.  What sacred moments do you notice, when you open up to these possibilities?  What holy sites are hidden in plain sight?