My prayers this morning are for those in Oklahoma.
Father of all, we pray to you for all those who have died in Oklahoma, and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.
O God, whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be numbered: Make us, we pray, deeply aware of the shortness and uncertainty of human life; and let your Holy Spirit lead us in holiness and righteousness all our days; that, when we shall have served you in our generation, we may be gathered to our ancestors, having the testimony of a good conscience, in the communion with the Church, in the confidence of faith, in the comfort of holy hope, in favor with you, our God, and in perfect charity with the world. All this we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
They loved it. Went nuts over this tiny church (50 folks max --standing room only) that stands back a dirt road nine or so miles on an open place above the Moreau River (a tributary to the Missouri, that runs the width of the Reservation --some 70 miles north of the Cheyenne River, also a tributary, which runs through the Reservation west to east too).
It would have been difficult to call it a River at that point... it was a series of puddles. The drought has been so severe that the River beds have been nearly naked. For a while now. Dry.
Until... until just after the rattle snake crawled out from under the church about two feet from Joel's feet and when someone (one of the brothers) said SNAKE Joel laughed because he thought they were joking --and he turned, saw it, and then doesn't remember how he got away from the proximity of the fangs, except he surprised himself by not having a heart attack...
And then the snake crawled under our car --of course. And Mr. Witty and Paeha were having a fit with all these grown men running around the car with big sticks and a pitchfork, hitting the ground and shouting at each other.
And then, after the snake had been pulled from its ill chosen hiding place and was killed and carried away on the pitchfork and placed over in the prairie dog city away from the church, the storm hit. At first, it was just a little windy. Then the drops began --big huge drops that hurt when they smacked the arms and face. And then Ina showed up saying 'get out, get out now --get out, a storm with high winds, hail and lots of rain is coming, and you have to get out now while the road is still passable.'
So, as we all ran to the car, the storm really hit us. We all got soaked to the bone. And we caravanned out the road, slipping and sliding in the mud. Catching others as we could as they were trying to make it down to On the Tree. The hail became so big and nasty it broke some one's windshield. The mud was thick and sticky.
Oh yes. And the huge tent they were putting up was quickly dropped to the ground as we left... hoping it wouldn't blow away....
And it rained. And rained. About three inches of rain. Three. Inches. More than we've had in a year. And we were all so grateful for the rain. And so bummed we had been rained out.
So we ate and talked. It grew dark. And we talked some more. And then we prayed. In candlelight. With an icon on the altar. We sang as we prayed. While it rained.
Children who had never been still were mesmerized.
The older women bent their heads and longed for those long gone to be present --to be beside them in living flesh and blood.
The young adults sang in lilting voices, with their eyes closed --their testimonials before the service --at how much this type of prayer had changed them --evident in the caress of prayer.
And the old men and elders sighed. As close as they can come to weeping.
Canticle: Song of the Redeemed
Magna et mirabilia (Revelation 15:3-4)
O ruler of the universe, Lord God,
great deeds are they that you have done, *
surpassing human understanding.
Your ways are ways of righteousness and truth, *
O King of all the ages.
Who can fail to do you homage, Lord
and sing the praises of your Name? *
for you only are the Holy One.
All nations will draw near and fall down before you *
because your just and holy works have been revealed.
After the silent prayer, I heard a waterfall. A real waterfall. So. Not. Good. And I got up and searched for the source while others continued to pray....
A river of water was coming in under the back door. Going under the wall from the hall to the sanctuary. And falling in to the heating duct.
So. Not. Good.
While others began to sing the final prayers, I got out the mop and bucket. I drew up the water in the mop and wrung it. I couldn't keep up, so I put a towel and down before the door and stuffed a plastic bag around the sill, and began again.
By the time I got all the water up, the cake had been served, and was nearly gone. One of the brothers asked what a 'flash flood' meant --as every one's phones were beeping up weather warnings. I laughed, and thought to myself --it's the Eve of Pentecost... a flash flood is like that --like that unexpected fire.
--the elders thanked everyone for their prayers and for bringing the rain we so badly needed.
And then we made sure everyone had a dry place to sleep.
The next morning... the churches I was planning to attend, down the back roads --they all called by 7:30ish... too much water --the river is too high to cross --the road is too awful to travel --don't come.
Unexpected.
So I put on my red robe and stayed in town. Shared bread and wine, with an extra dollop of water.
Sunday night I drove out-back to White Horse, for a wake.
And the desiccated river ran full between its banks.
And at the wake, over the meal we shared, we all shared stories of what the living water had done.
Water as fire.
The IRS "scandal"... conservative political money launderers upset.... WE should be upset that these groups are allowed to apply for tax evasion exemption at all. Conservative or progressive. And, besides, they weren't denied their sought after tax status --they just weren't approved. Yet. Don't like waiting.... A pox on all their houses.
The free press scandal... looking for leaks. C'mon. Because of the way advertisers limit what can and can't be said, we haven't had a free press for decades. I mean, please remember how the so-called free press was manipulated in to supporting a war under the Bush administration, what with the hype of weapons of mass destruction and embedded reporting.
"As conglomerates swallow up newspapers, magazines, publishing houses and broadcast outlets, news organizations are folded into entertainment divisions. The news hole in the print media shrinks to make room for ads, celebrities, nonsense and propaganda, and the news we need to know slips from sight." (Bill Moyers, 2008)
And the Koch brothers wish to buy up the LA Times.... Yeppa. That's some free press. And watch out Chicago and Baltimore... they want to manipulate your news propaganda machines too... only further controlling what can and can't be said and read and heard --in other words, controlling the political theater in these places to their advantage. Yeppa. That's some free press.
Health care scandal.... legislators took their 37th vote to repeal health care reform --which wasn't really health care reform, but health insurance regulation.... I'm still waiting for the health care reform that's necessary --you know... like, if your diagnosis is wrong, you shouldn't have to pay a freakin' dime. Among other things.
The continued oppression of the poor in the refusal to roll back sequester cuts (except for the parts that effect the rich), and the selfish interests of the rich to cut social security instead of bellying up to the bar and paying their fair share...
And the continued scandal of the destruction of our planet ---researchers described climate change as "the single greatest challenge facing fishery managers.
It's little wonder: Decades of technological improvements, including the rise of GPS and fish-finding sonar and the deployment of massive trawl nets and more muscular boats to pull them, have permitted commercial fishers to hunt with an ever more brutal efficiency -- faster, deeper and over wider areas. And these developments have come in tandem with other ocean stressors like the increased demand for seafood, wanton coastal development and proliferating ocean pollution, all of which can spell trouble for anglers and their quarry.
Object lessons abound, including the collapse of Canada's Atlantic cod fishery 20 years ago. ... While two decades of restrictions have begun to yield small signs of recovery, the amount of codfish in and around Newfoundland's Grand Banks remains just 10 percent of what it was in the 1960s, according to the intergovernmental Northwest Atlantic Fisheries Council.
Great Britain is now grappling with a cod collapse of its own, and the aggregate size of commercial hauls the world over -- from Peruvian anchovies and bluefin tuna to Irish Sea sole -- are shrinking as populations of fish go bust. A famous study published in the journal Science in 2006 predicted that, absent efforts to reverse the trend, all known commercial seafood species faced collapse by mid-century.
Oh... yeah, and current law makers are astounded that previous law makers gave the President, Bush at the time, so much power over the armed forces... any time, any where.... they are calling it in the headlines "Obama War Powers".... Where was the presumed outrage when it was the Bush War Powers --or more likely, the Cheney War Powers.
And that's just this week....
I find it difficult at times, to maintain an even keel in all this kind of news. Sure, there is the video of the dad making his quadruplets laugh.... but there seems to be little relief from constant news, the accumulation of which feels like the structure of 'end times' --yes?
As I say morning prayer, and these things and more --all the faces before me, sift through my prayer stream (for lack of a better description of what happens to me at morning prayer), I strive not to hyperventilate --but rather to find that still place... I strive to clear the debris of opinion and fear, and offer it to God. At times, I have even written 'a list' and placed it in the offertory at Eucharist.
Give it to God.
Give all of it to God.
For now --wait. Be still.
I often wonder what the disciples felt and did in that time between the Ascension and Pentecost --in knowing the presence of Christ Risen and then the waiting absence. Did they make plans, prepare a map and divide the landscape --you go here, I'll go there... Did they sew new clothes they might need. Did they call in the neighborhood action groups for grass root movement.... Did they begin the petition drive, the 501c3 and c4 applications....
I think not.... I think there was fear and confusion, spiritual chaos.... he said to wait here --we can't wait here, it's dangerous here --we must wait here --no, he didn't say women were equal, and Mary, just because you were the first to see him outside the tomb doesn't mean anything....
In those ten days of in between, our old ruts were probably reinforced, our prejudices affirmed, our habits, customs, preferences were all shined up glossy and slick....
I catch myself in old ruts, prejudice, habit, custom and preference.... I find myself worn thin in a desire to see God strike my opponents dead, drowned in the sea... --deal plainly with them. I cringe at my own liberal sensibility that each opinion is worthy, because THEY are obviously and willfully wrong and selfish....
But, I also know we shall have to deal with the reckoning, at one time or another, regarding the way we treat the planet --the way we treat the poor....
It's gonna bite us --whether we think it is a sin, or whether we are just plain too lazy to change....
Because I keep coming back to the revelation that is it not them and us... it is only us.
At prayer this morning (beginning at Ezekiel 34:17)
As for you, my flock, thus says the Lord GOD: I shall judge between sheep and sheep, between rams and goats: Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet? And must my sheep eat what you have trodden with your feet, and drink what you have fouled with your feet?
Therefore, thus says the Lord GOD to them: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep. Because you pushed with flank and shoulder, and butted at all the weak animals with your horns until you scattered them far and wide, I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged; and I will judge between sheep and sheep.
I feel so restless... so helpless and so restless. I guess war and judgment is always easier than prayers....
(Luke 10:38-42)
Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.
But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.”
But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”
We are precisely in that in between time of Ascension and Pentecost....
--and even when the Holy Spirit came and knocked them senseless enough to appear to be drunk on the streets, there was not a clear vision of the way forward. There was more confusion and dissension. And death.
Hey God, it's margaret here. Okay. So, working on the judgment thang, working on the 'too much disaster to cope with' mantra --working on centering in prayer. Waiting. Working on feeding the poor and burying the dead. Waiting. Looking for that pesky Spirit. Amen.
And --it's Bishop Hare's day -- (it's Hare --with an 'R' --not an 'L') --and we have a Niobrara meeting tonight and tomorrow.... I wonder how this collect will fly here... (alright --truthiness --I'm going to tweek it... just sayin') --because we shouldn't really honor the Bishop without honoring the faithful people, --yes?
Collect of the Day: William Hobart Hale, Bishop of Niobrara and of South Dakota, 1909
Wakantanka, Holy God, you called your servant William Hobart Hare to bear witness to you throughout the vast reaches of the Niobrara Territory, bearing the means of grace and the hope of glory to the peoples of the Plains: We give you thanks for the devotion of those who received the Good News gladly, and for the faithfulness of the generations who have succeeded them. Strengthen us with your Holy Spirit that we may walk in their footsteps and lead many to faith in Jesus Christ, in whom the living and the dead are one; and who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
Yesterday, after the meeting, I drove D, one of the fundraisers for the youth group we are planning to begin in the fall, out to one of the locations that I think will be a good place to call the youth together. White Horse. They have a big parish hall built by a mission group a couple of years ago --it actually has electricity AND water --so they have toilets that work. Most of the time.
As we drove up the main road to the On the Tree turn off, the farmers' work of the last two weeks has begun to show itself --a soft green that is overtaking the winter stubble. Although that hope --the green-- was not yet evident in the mass grave... opposite the On the Tree turn off is a big stone memorial, telling the story of the drowning of the People's homes and churches and schools when the Army Corp of Engineers built the dam upstream of the State Capitol along the Missouri, but took 10% of the Reservation land (again) --the best land, the fertile land. And the 'old' cemeteries from the 1860s and on --rather than lifting the corpse up on a scaffold as the People had always done, the new way of giving loved ones over to the spirit world was to bury them. A difficult transition from air to earth at best.
And then, the same government that told them to bury rather than elevate, dug all the bodies up from their individual graves, left behind the graves stones and markers to be inundated with river turned to lake water, and took the bones to a cross roads, where no one sits with a friend and gossips, where no one lives, and put them in the rocky shale of the hill in mass trenches. And buried them again.
I stop every now and then at that monument at the cross roads. And talk. Hello people. You are not forgotten. The children are struggling. The elders weep. There is a generation missing. Pray for us.
But, yesterday, I did not stop except to let D see the monument --and under his breath I could hear him murmuring --what we have done....
Then we turned down the road that follows the river valley --a tributary to the great river turned lake --not the road that is paved that follows where the train tracks were laid 100 years ago --but we turned down the dirt road that follows the paths the people have walked for centuries, and the people before them --along the river.
The churches are built along that river road. Every ten to 15 miles or so. Walking distance. Horse and cart distance. There were churches that were down in the valley that is now flooded, and they were moved --moved up to the hills alongside the great Missouri River, or moved to the towns alongside the railroad tracks --like Eagle Butte. You can tell they are railroad track churches, because they have no cemeteries of their own to anchor them.
Driving down the dirt road, the green shows its face again. Peeking through the winter remains. On the hills, in the valley. This time of year, the back roads all get re-graded --to abolish the pot holes and ribs and washboards that form --to prevent the prairie from taking it all back. It wouldn't take long for the whole road to be green again --maybe two summers, at most.
Life is like that.
Soon, the shale cemetery at the cross roads where no one gossips will be knee deep in dense green. The winter that seems to last forever will be oppressed by the hope of spring and summer heat and grass hoppers and meadowlarks. Prairie dogs will chatter and scream at the shadows cast by eagles and hawks. The tadpoles will grow legs and burrow in to the mud and eat the wandering flies. The horses will stand sentinel on the hill tops until it is time to run to the river and wade and drink. The snakes will shed their skin and grow and try to cross the road. They will make it if they are not seen. But the people will stop for the turtles.
If they are sober.
Life is like that.
At prayer this morning (Luke 10:25-37)
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?”
He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”
And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”
He said, “The one who showed him mercy.”
Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
D loved White Horse, where I think we should start a youth group. It is at another cross roads, where a paved road stretches back to the river valley road from the rail road track road. It has everything we need --basket ball courts, running water, electricity, access.
Now he will return and seek out those who are willing to bandage wounds, pour oil and wine, and leave some money to help the healing --to share what they have...
It is time --to begin to cultivate a culture of hope. Not the hope of the American Dream... that hope is like a sultry whore --and too expensive. But the hope that is found in new grass. The hope that is whispered by shale hills and along the river banks.
Hope for a life yet unseen. But known.
We have threaded the wilderness with the thin line of a pale gravel road. There have been robbers and priests and Levites galore.
The Samaritans were despised outcasts --outlaws themselves....
Is this really how it works?
I hope so.
(Life is like that.)
It rained in the middle of the night. Joel said that the thunder shook the house like a bomb. I never heard it. But I knew something was probably bad because I was awakened by a certain dog sitting on my head --trying to get close... which is what happens when the thunder and lightening is bad.
I think the grass in the yard grew a foot. I didn't hear that, either. Thunder of another sort. It must be, pushing the earth back like that --
When we got back from Rapid last night, there were 17 messages on our phone.... And packages that FedEx had delivered, left outside the door, they had been opened... it makes time off a real pain, you know what I mean? The packages contained candles for the sanctuary lamp, and charcoal for the thurible --but the new baptismal register is missing --yeah, had to order a new baptismal register. I did 60 some baptisms last year, and I've done 30 something so far this year --and all those baptisms filled out the register that we had been using.
And, so, there we are. One of the messages was from the Bishop... guess who's coming for lunch! We are meeting to discuss a plan for a youth group here --we got a grant from the greater Church. Very exciting. So, I guess I better get ready....
At prayer this morning (from Luke 10, after verse 17)
At that same hour Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. ..."
Yeah. I'll think on that today. Mix it in with the mud left from the rain --toss it in the puddle in my driveway and see... leave it on the porch overnight for folks to pick through --those things hidden from the wise and revealed to infants.
Revealed. Revelation. Thunderstruck.
Help us, O God our Savior;
Deliver us and forgive us our sins.
Look upon your congregation;
Give to your people the blessing of peace.
Declare your glory among the nations;
And your wonders among all peoples.
Do not let the oppressed be shamed and turned away;
Never forget the lives of your poor.
Continue your loving-kindness to those who know you;
And your favor to those who are true of heart.
Satisfy us by your loving-kindness in the morning;
So shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.
Josh has posted a prayer list. Please pray for all those suffering with mental illness and addiction.
I like kimchi. I NEVER EVER thought I would say that! It's too spicy for Joel --but I loved it! And, we had seasoned, cooked soy bean sprouts --delicious! --and boiled peanuts in a soy sauce and honey concoction --Joel's favorite, --and I had chicken braised in a red and very spicy coating that was very tasty, served over roasted onions. Joel had pork with a not so spicy sauce. For dessert, Joel had a sweet potato rolled in coconut deep fried and then smothered in chocolate. I had green tea ice cream rolled in a rice paste --loved it --not too sweet.
Can you tell we left the Reservation for dinner?! We went to a Korean restaurant... neither of us had ever had Korean food before. Next time, it will be the traditional soup.
We're in Rapid for a follow-up doctor appointment for Joel.
Who knows what we are going to eat for lunch! God is good.
At prayer this morning (Luke 10:1)
After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way."
It is a challenge to switch from burial in the late afternoon Saturday to baptisms early Sunday morning. For me, at least.
Although, it is getting, ummmm... easier is not the right word, but it's the only word I can think of right now. I usually fall asleep in prayer in the evenings after a funeral with the sound of the earth hitting the rough box like a drum still reverberating in my ears. It is THE sound of finality. An uneven sound like a wave hitting the beach. And, then, when a baptism follows these rough-box dreams the next day, the sound of the water pouring in to the font and the words We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death bring these two actions in to a not so distant horizon.
Earth. Water. And at each the Paschal fire burns. It is not the same... but it is the same holiness. Each, a death to self. Each a new threshold in our life in Christ.
One might wonder at the 'death to self.' But, 'death to self' is not an annihilation of self --it is more like a fulfillment of self. It is more like Irenaeus said --The glory of God is the human person fully alive. To be fully alive is to die to one's self... you know... there is a bible quote about that. Something like --to seek one's life is to lose it; to lose one's life is to gain everlasting life.... (Luke 17:33; Matthew 10:39)
You should have seen these beautiful children yesterday morning, introduced by their elder siblings --the boys in their crisp shirts and ties, and the girl in a princess-like silky first communion dress with many layers of frantic slips underneath that made the whole skirt-part of the dress buoyant. (I later saw that the girl had been given an eagle fan of bright white feathers --a girl now becoming a young woman. But the buoyant silky skirt and the eagle fan were quite a contrast.)
It has suddenly occurred to me that an American "paradise myth" is present in my thought and writings... I abhor that. Building an ethos of romanticism and desire --for the 'other' --for something that is not and never was. --for the noble American Indian suffering and living with dignity on the great plains.... I don't mean to imply that.... although there is plenty of suffering and dignity galore, there is also so much else....
And, the contrast of burial and baptism is not romantic. It is not nice. It is the absolutism of mortality --of death...
--and yet all of it is pure beauty and holiness. Which is, I guess, why the image and knowledge of the Cross fascinates and is adorned...
I think even the nails are rosettes....
--am I going there again? Into the American myth? I seek something else....
I do not see atonement theology in looking at the cross --you know, his death as payment for our life....
I do see our mother earth suffering at our own hands --I see whole peoples devastated, murdered by greed and wickedness --I see in the Cross what happens all too often to goodness and truth and mercy and life.... I see the cross all around me. Every day.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that those newly baptized, their fresh eagerness, delight and enthusiasm --the knowledge that they too will suffer and they too will die... and the horror and shock of that is as blatant as the sound of dirt on the coffin.
It is grief and joy. Roses on the cross....
--and, the knowledge of my own death as I feel the earth and the water in my hand for the sake of others, doing for them what which none of us can do for ourselves, and proclaiming life in Christ in each instance....
Grief. Joy. Roses.
At prayer this morning (Luke 9 ending with verse 62)
As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”
To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”
Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
Homeless.
Proclaiming the kingdom of God in the midst of death.
And don't look back.
Yeppa. Death to self. To all our plans and agendas and perspectives and all....
Hmmmmm.... and this, before Pentecost.
Fully alive. Dirt in one hand, water in the other. Out with the old life, in with the new.
Amen.
Arise, all women who have hearts, Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies, Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice." Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means Whereby the great human family can live in peace, Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, But of God.
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask That a general congress of women without limit of nationality May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient And at the earliest period consistent with its objects, To promote the alliance of the different nationalities, The amicable settlement of international questions,
Sometimes when I am doing a service, it feels like there is a wall between me and the people... I can't reach over it, can't get under it.... Last night, there was a wall like that --and I blame myself.
So... after the wake service, a woman jumped up by the podium, and although I had given plenty of time during the service itself for others to speak, she began to preach. Repentance. Sin. Being saved. This way. And then she invited an 'uncle' up to speak --and for 45 minutes or more (I left to go check on Joel at the 45 minute mark) we got fundamentalist conversion therapy.
I thought it a little rude... not even asking. But even more so because I do not think a time of grief is the time to preach conversion.
Just sayin'.
Besides, that meant the family in the kitchen was serving dinner (which got cold) at 9:30 at night.
Last night, the fundamentalist stuff sounded pretty much like a vicious children's game, with lots of rules and narrow escapes. Not much beyond 'do this and you will get that' kind of thinking. This morning, it is still ringing those vicious tones.
I didn't interrupt it because I didn't know if some member of the family asked for it, or not.
You know... fundamentalism is a purely American religion --born of individualism and capitalism. Spread through the world by the means of both. There is no humility in it. There is no community in it --just personal salvation. (And when it has been said in more ancient Christian Tradition that we have a 'personal Lord and Savior, it does not mean an individual Lord and Savior for me, mine --it means someone you can meet face to face --you know, Incarnational stuff.... Just sayin'.)
Actually, last night.... then the Mormons showed up too --didn't stay for the service, didn't stay for the meal, didn't stay to listen, didn't stay to introduce themselves to me --just came to check in on someone, and then left.
I struggled to make room for it all in my soul... but my welcoming mat was worn pretty thin. At least when the Lakota Traditionalists show up with drum and sage and prayers, they come and shake hands, introduce themselves and ask permission. So far.
--sigh....
So... today... I will preside at the funeral, wondering what is under the surface all around me... It will be difficult to focus, at best.... Yet, I must. To give full honor and respect.
What irks me, is that when a comfort service was asked for and offered earlier this week, everyone in this family was too drunk to show up.... just six of us gathered in a room set up for sixty.... Jeeeeeezus and liquor.
--sigh....
Guess my goat is running rampant and got caught.... But, I feel a sense of responsibility for what is offered from this pulpit. Just sayin'.
At prayer this morning (from Luke 9, ending with verse 50)
Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.”
While he [the son] was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.
While everyone was amazed at all that he was doing, he said to his disciples, “Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands.”
But they did not understand this saying; its meaning was concealed from them, so that they could not perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him about this saying.
An argument arose among them as to which one of them was the greatest. But Jesus, aware of their inner thoughts, took a little child and put it by his side, and said to them, “Whoever welcomes this child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me; for the least among all of you is the greatest.”
John answered, “Master, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not follow with us.” But Jesus said to him, “Do not stop him; for whoever is not against you is for you.”
Well.... there we are. The whole kit and kaboodle. Unsuccessful faith healers. Demons. Betrayal. Conceit. Openness.
And I stand in the midst of it. Smack. Dab.
What Grace.
Even so, what shall I say in the funeral today, God? Why did your perverse faith not save this man from the demon of alcohol? Or, am I like one of those wondering which is greater, needing a child to remind me? Or, are we all in the same boat --is it all to your glory, God?
On one hand, I can see that we are all in the same boat. On the other hand, I feel I am in a whole different universe....
I am really going to struggle with this one.
Really going to struggle....
Hey God, it's margaret. Heal me of pride and arrogance; give me what to say. Please. Knock down our barriers and walls. And be present to this family in their grief. Amen.
Show us your mercy, O LORD, *
and grant us your salvation.
I will listen, O LORD God, to what you are saying, *
for you are speaking peace to your faithful people
and to those who turn their hearts to you.
Truly, your salvation is very near to those who fear you, *
that your glory may dwell in our land.
Mercy and truth have met together; *
righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
Truth shall spring up from the earth, *
and righteousness shall look down from heaven.
O LORD, you will indeed grant prosperity, *
and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness shall go before you, *
and peace shall be a pathway for your feet.
Tonight we will begin the wake.... We buried his brother last month, his sister two weeks ago, and now him. It will be a very long day --until we bury him tomorrow in Cherry Creek.
So, today I press in to everything I will have to do until Monday. And who knows --maybe by Monday it will be a whole different world. And Monday I will have to press in to everything through next Sunday because there is a big council meeting coming up, a discussion with folks regarding grants for a youth group program here, a group of young adults visiting from Ohio, Taize at On the Tree --yes, four Taize brothers and 20 youth... it is going to be a very good week. A very good week.
Of course, those are the current plans... it could all change. Probably will.
Joel makes plans all the time. In the midst of me saying oh this is coming up and then I will be doing that, he says things like --well, I am making plans to go to China, and then visit the great pyramids of Egypt, and on my way back home, I will stop in California for some sourdough bread and crab.... and he explains in great detail each step of the way, sometimes even the description of the hotel and why he chose it. Of course, he says --that is what I have PLANNED.
He hooked my sister once --saying he had plans to go to England over Christmas and New Years, and he began to recite the itinerary. My sister listened politely, and then with an edge of something or other in her voice she asked --but, what about margaret? Why don't you wait until she can go? And then we both laughed and laughed, and Joel announced --it is just my PLAN... something else will probably happen, but it IS my plan.
I think God plans like that too --in a way. But because chaos is also always and everywhere part of God's plan, there is a constant cosmic shift... I mean, not that God makes plans per se... but I do think God dreams.
God dreams for us.
Dreams of mercy and truth meeting. Righteousness and peace kissing. I think God liked that very much when the prophet said those things --God said, Oh YES! Like that! Let's plan it!
God dreams those things for us. Plans those things for us. Prepares those things for us.
And it is not necessarily dependent upon our hearts being ready, our hearts being open... I mean, Jesus came before the world was ready --and then, we always want to see him to fix the politics or kingdoms or our enemies --instead of our own hearts.
I mean, who was ready for a poor, wandering, powerless leader without political connections and was unwilling to use violence... who exposed all the systemic stuff no one wants to look at and was executed as a criminal for that?
So... there we are....
But, how does one plan to fix one's own heart? No... that usually just hits us up the backside. --although, I do think certain mystics cultivated the 'I'm ready to be hit up the backside' routine...
--if you know what I mean.
So, today, I will go about the plans, take joy in Joel's plan what ever that might be --and strive to keep my heart ready for what may come....
And dream the dream of righteousness and peace kissing....
God willing.
Yes.
It was pretty awful --getting that call. Two much beloved and respected members of the Reservation pulled out of their driveway on to the highway and were broadsided by a semi-truck. They both died at the scene of the accident.
I changed my clothes to my collar and black jeans and jacket. Went down to the hospital. Some family was sitting outside, some family inside, some family in the back room. The shock and grief were oppressive.
They couldn't recover both bodies easily. It took a couple of hours to get the jaws of life to work properly to get one of them out of the wreckage. The ambulance drivers who finally arrived back at the hospital with the bodies looked drawn out in shock --like they had just been to the front lines of war. It was all so awful they wouldn't let the family see the bodies.
Oppressive, intangible grief. How could this happen? How could this happen to them? He was a former police officer. She was a mother and soon to be grandmother. They had been together for more than 20 years.
A month ago, we buried a cousin, three months ago we buried a sister, five months ago we buried the matriarch. Same family.
I have lost all my neighbors this winter, says one auntie. The preachers all tell us to rejoice because they have gone to a better place. But what about us? How can we rejoice?
The weeping young mothers take their children home to bed by nine. The young fathers won't drink coffee, still angry that they weren't allowed to go down to the scene of the accident. The daughter is cared for, taken to a cousin's home.
One side of the family chooses one funeral home; the other side of the family chooses another. Some things run deep.
It is just the aunties and grandmas who gather in the back room after 10 --waiting for the last of the funeral homes. After 11, when the body is rolled out in the purple bag atop the gurney, the quiet weeping begins. Experienced weeping. The weeping that is always just below the surface of the skin. The weeping that has a large reservoir of experience, fed by a deep well that goes back generations. A well that is always filled to the brim. With still, dark waters.
On the way home from the hospital, I couldn't see the stars. The lights from the hospital parking lot crowded out the dark. And down the road, by the school, the police vehicles branded the night with pulsing blue and red. I didn't stop to look. As I pulled in to the church driveway and drove to the back of the lot to my house, the comforting dark eased my eyes up to the milky way --in the stories of the People the milky way is the light of the campfires of all the People who have gone before. The biggest camp in the cosmos. To light the way Home.
This morning... this morning of the Ascension, the body, the whole living breathing body lifted to the heavens above.... I wonder again at the words of Jesus --the Kingdom is alongside us --among us. The heavens above are as much here as in the light of the milky way. There should be no longing for some other place... but long for it we do. The place where the suffering is no more, and the questions are answered. And our neighbors don't die. And preachers don't speak.
The place where Sacraments cease. The signs are no longer needed. The miracles are unnecessary.
How can we hold the truth that the Kingdom is here simultaneous with the weeping of the grandmas?
I am not talking about meaning....
I am talking about holding a pregnant woman while she weeps for her dead mother. And is afraid to weep for her dead mother for the sake of her unborn baby.
At prayer this morning (Luke 24:52-53)
Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.
Funny... I strive never to speak of that "better place" the other preachers speak of. I think it only encourages despair. And all kinds of poor theology. But that "better place" is ingrained in the psyche of the People --the campfires that burn and sparkle above us proof that our ancestors are waiting for us. In a better place --where there is no sighing or crying....
I do speak of God knowing, personally, all our suffering --as even Jesus wept at the death of his friend. I do speak of things --seen and unseen, right alongside us. I do speak of God taking a cold, rock hard tomb and making it a place of new life. I do speak of grieving in a holy way, full of honor and respect --not lost in masking the pain, but making room for God in that pain.
What I am left with this morning is the certain understanding that the body is holy --that life is sacred. It is the 40th day of Easter. It is the Ascension --one of the most ancient holy days in Christian Tradition... and the People suffer. And weep.
Holy Thursday (William Blake)
Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.
For where'er the sun does shine,
And where'er the rain does fall,
Babes should never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
On Another's Sorrow (William Blake)
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear -
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
O He gives to us His joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
Heaven is not some place else. Christ holds all things in being --all things. And when he bodily ascended, he lifted all creation, the whole cosmos with him. All of it is with/in/by/through him --hid with him in God.
We sit by God. And God sits by us. There is no place else. There is no better place.
My "big" dog stretches, legs back, nose up. The sun pours in the window. He sniffs and sneezes, and then curls up in the sun. We have stopped turning the heat up... waiting for the day to warm up. The little dog yawns and throws himself over my beloved's leg.
I took this picture yesterday of the little dog --after I put his hair up. Until we get him professionally groomed, I have had to resort to a top-knot of sorts...
Paeha with his top-knot (sangtu)
(Paeha means 'Your Imperial Majesty" in Korean.
In Lakota it means "crane" as in the bird.)
If anyone had ever told me that I would be living in the middle of a Reservation with two dogs small enough to be carried away by an eagle, one of which needed his hair pulled out of his eyes with a top-knot, I would have said THEY were crazy. But, since it is true, I guess I must be crazy.
Or something like that.
I have had a few days respite --the only pressing emergency yesterday was a young man in trouble with the police... he's got an awful battle in front of him. He is always soft and gentle and respectful to me --it is hard to comprehend the charges against him of aggravated assault, although I don't doubt their veracity to some extent... his soft, gentle, respectful way to me is the way he presents his 'con'.
And I don't think I'm being jaded when I say that... been around the block a few times. Con or not, it still breaks my heart to see him in such a way.... And I do have an affection for him --a guarded affection.... If he goes to jail, which I am pretty sure is where he is headed, I will have to visit him. He kept saying to me --the FBI aren't involved --this isn't going Federal. That's big around here. Because the Reservation is Federal land, the FBI have immediate jurisdiction in many instances. If someone burgled our house, they would go to Federal prison, not jail.... I think.
It's hard to keep it all straight --the layers of jurisdiction upon jurisdiction... What I do know is that everybody would rather go to jail than Federal prison.... And around here, it's mostly a straight shot to Federal prison for infractions of the law. So, I hope he is right....
Thinking of Feds --I still have had no response from my Senators or House Representative regarding the Sequester.... Guess it's time to make some phone calls or something.
And this morning, I read this about wage earners that work full time and yet remain below the poverty level:
--since the recession officially ended, lower-wage jobs have grown nearly three times faster than jobs that pay more.
While more and more Americans try to get by on these wages, many of the major employers of low-wage workers are reaping big profits. Between 2007 and 2011, the corporation that owns KFC saw its profits rise by 45 percent. McDonald's had an even better run, posting a 130 percent profit surge in the same period.
For decades, many of these corporations have justified their wages by portraying their job offerings as stepping stones to the middle class. But labor economists and other scholars have often questioned the validity of that premise, and some argue that it's more hollow now than ever.
First, I didn't know that the recession had officially ended. Really? For whom? Obviously only for those reaping a 45% rise in profits....
Second, when I was reading some of this aloud to Joel, he gave it a name --modern day cannibalism. The rich eating the flesh and blood of the poor and of the workers.
I think he hit the nail on the head --cannibalism. Boom.
Anyway --as I putter around and find winter weed patches in my head, beginning the marathon that will be the next couple of weeks --council meetings, funerals, visiting youth group, Taize here and then at Pine Ridge --I know I have to deal with the big stuff, like capitalistic cannibalism, in a purely face to face way --locally... Mostly because I am not in a zip code that has much political pull or clout.... It certainly doesn't even get auto-responses to email....
--or something like that.... Perhaps I need to pay closer attention to the way my dogs stretch and yawn.... Recall not the battles, but the small still joy that is always ours...
At prayer this morning (Luke 12:22-31)
Jesus said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.
Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!
And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?
Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you – you of little faith!
And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.”
Joel and I chose this gospel to be read at our wedding. I am glad to read it again today.
Hmmmm.... perhaps it is the inbreaking of the Kingdom that I witness in the way my dogs stretch and yawn....
Yes. Something like that. Kingdom doesn't really work culturally here --perhaps, just simply, God's territory --God's turf.... something like that. --in a little less incarnational way --God's presence (but that seems so intangible....)
God bless all who reveal God in our midst. --oh my.... taking the long way 'round....
I am not at all sure that I will get a day off again until about three weeks from now --so yesterday, early, with the sun out, we got in the car to go look at beautiful things. Like, the way the dry, pale winter grasses are giving way to green --the sky, which has been so closely bound to the earth with gray clouds opened the way to heaven in transcendent blue --people have tilled the rich dark earth in the hope of planting something, and men in broad rimmed hats were out checking fence lines --new, wet calves stood awkwardly without pin in the ear or brand --the knobby knees a joke in the long legs of foals --the yellow breasted meadowlark sang recklessly atop the fence post which looked so virtuous standing upright in the snow but now looks like some shabby relic that cannot contain the life thrusting its way toward fulfillment....
The prairie is not flat... it is an ocean of broad rolling hills that crest in waves by valleys worn deep by rivers, or hills that are cut by wind, water and snow, spalling off in ragged chunks, the way an iceberg gives way to the ocean. As we emerge from the places where the water courses and trees bless the protected places, the earth gives way to sky in a sudden rush that presses against my heart and hands. There is no holding the breath in --it escapes in the awe of the power of eternity writ as the plains. And then, in a while again, we lose sight of the open horizon and enter the secret life of another valley, close and lazy, dolling about in its abundance.
The lone male prong horn presses his forehead and black face against existence by the fence --against God's own self. God made him that way. The females have gone off in some more remote place to give birth. To join in the cacophony. They hate fences, male and female alike --won't jump them, but instead will crawl through a wide space between the barbed wire. Sometimes a stranded yearling will pace the fence, tongue out and eyes wide, as the family passes through the fence and disappears in to the field. But not yesterday --they are all hidden, except the sentinel male. Hidden to increase.
The deer are suspicious of the prong horn, what with their bold white necks and unwillingness to jump. But more deer fall prey to the vehicles, treating the fences as nothing --as a leap easily accomplished they wander too often in to the road....
It seems the pheasants and skunks are hypnotized by the road too.... To their own destruction.
We saw a bunny run right down the main street of Faith.
Seriously.
And the hamburger joint that makes the best malts in the world has opened --it only spatters grease and makes delicious malts a few warm months of the year.... Its 'OPEN' sign is a sure sacramental of spring time.
And then there were the swarms of bees. On the move.
Even the cottonwood trees....
cottonwoods, getting ready
Last night, after we got home, filled with witnessing to the new life, we stood out under the stars in mere sweat shirts --no gloves or hats or boots --saw the multitude of stars which gaze upon us on a moonless night, heard the young people playing basket ball, laughing and running across the open place behind our house --oblivious to the surging life around them because they are so fragrant with it themselves....
I was asked, yesterday, if there was any hope for change.... And I had the opportunity to pause, and search my heart --so present to the overwhelming grief and hurt and self-destruction in this place....
--and I knew once again that life will --does and will edge out death. Every time. It didn't take me long to remember.... And I could say, yes --there is hope. And while Joel and the one who asked the question wandered down the path of remembering the science of alcoholism and addiction and life after that death --I wanted to speak of a different hope.
I wanted to speak of the hope that is in me --the ragged, crusty, dry grass wintered hope --the barnyard hope of blood and guts and death that give way to the wild bird's song on the other side of the fence....
At prayer this morning (Canticle: A Song of Faith, 1 Peter 1:3-4, 18-21)
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, *
by divine mercy we have a new birth into a living hope;
Through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, *
we have an inheritance that is imperishable in heaven.
The ransom that was paid to free us *
was not paid in silver or gold,
But in the precious blood of Christ, *
the Lamb without spot or stain.
God raised Jesus from the dead and gave him glory *
so that we might have faith and hope in God.
--a hope so weighty and ponderous that it is, at times, nearly unbearable-unfathomable... the full weight of joy --and in that hope we live and move and have our being.... --so close.... at time it is hard to see it and know it.
As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives and that at the last he will stand upon the earth. After my awaking, he will raise me up; and in my body I shall see God. I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him who is my friend and not a stranger.
For none of us has life in himself our self, and none becomes his our own master when he dies we die. For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord, and if we die, we die in the Lord. So, then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord's possession. (BCP, p491)
"We will never back away from our resolve to defend our rights and the rights of all law-abiding American gun owners," Wayne LaPierre, vice president of the National Rifle Association, told an audience at the NRA's annual meeting Friday. "We are the law-abiding Americans who believe that liberty is a blessing not bestowed by government but by our creator."
a: the power to do as one pleases
b: freedom from physical restraint
c: freedom from arbitrary or despotic control
d: the positive enjoyment of various social, political, or economic rights and privileges
e: the power of choice
I am not entirely convinced that using this definition 'liberty' makes liberty a primary Christian quality.... Just sayin'. A Christian life is not about the power to do as one pleases...
After delivering his first State of the Union address since winning re-election, Mr Obama pledged to restore the country's "basic bargain", starting with an almost 25 per cent rise in the minimum wage.
"Corporate profits have skyrocketed to an all-time high," Mr Obama said in a speech in North Carolina. "But it's also true that for more than a decade, wages and incomes haven't gone up at all."
Noting that a minimum-wage American worker makes $14,500 a year, Mr Obama added: "If you work full-time, you shouldn't be in poverty".
I agree. (And I wish he would get to work on that.) And as someone said as a result of my Sequester prayer rant last week --margaret, you could have $10,000 a month and it would still not be enough... And they concluded that it is the tremendous and growing gap between rich and poor that is the problem.
I agree. And all that that gap implies. And I promise you, the person that said that is NOT an elitist liberal. But, they do have a good heart --and they 'see' with it. If you know what I mean.
And truly, if anyone has a problem with "redistribution" --they should read the Bible more carefully....
At prayer this morning (ending with Luke 9:17)
On their return the apostles told Jesus all they had done. He took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida.
When the crowds found out about it, they followed him; and he welcomed them, and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured.
The day was drawing to a close, and the twelve came to him and said, “Send the crowd away, so that they may go into the surrounding villages and countryside, to lodge and get provisions; for we are here in a deserted place.”
But he said to them, “You give them something to eat.”
They said, “We have no more than five loaves and two fish – unless we are to go and buy food for all these people.” For there were about five thousand men.
And he said to his disciples, “Make them sit down in groups of about fifty each.” They did so and made them all sit down. And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. And all ate and were filled. What was left over was gathered up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.
So, for all of you who said --I only have a little bit, but you sent something anyway to help those here on the Reservation --thank you. I don't yet know who you are or how much was sent yet --but I know it is another 'fish and loaves' story. I know it. I don't know what it looks like yet --but my talk with the Tribal Council members will bear fruit --I know it.
And it's actions like these that undo the despair that forms when I read the news --all the death and destruction and selfishness and blindness and cold hearts... it is the breaking open of what we have, even though we think it is not enough, and sharing --that is true liberty.
Truth be told... the word 'liberty' is never mentioned in the Gospels... N.E.V.E.R. St. Paul mentions it to the Corinthians --in the context of curbing your own for the sake of others.
Just sayin'.
So. There we are.
And today, I am at liberty to prepare for tomorrow --more baptisms, but first I must make the lectionary sheet and pack the bags and all that --and I am at my greatest liberty when I will preside at a comfort service tonight. The brother of the one whom we buried two weeks ago... please keep this family in your prayers.
