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community, helped, helper, helplessness, interdependence, patience, serving, sick, Thanksgiving, The Sophia Center for Spirituality
I’m looking out at serious snow this morning…as promised by meteorologists whose forecasts seem to be more frequently correct these days. Perhaps their instruments truly are quite improved. They couldn’t have missed this one though. It appears that the storm is affecting most of the Midwest all the way to the East Coast. And the flu remains rampant.
At our house, we’re taking turns being server and served. Falling one at a time, even as we are very careful to isolate ourselves, it seems the germs are winning. I was second to succumb to some iteration of flu-like symptoms (although not serious) and am still (for the third day) relegated to my bedroom. It’s difficult for someone who is normally so healthy to hear the scraping of a shovel on our sidewalk and not be able to help with snow removal – or just taking the trash out for pick-up day.
It’s probably good to have an occasional experience of helplessness, allowing others to care for us rather than the reverse. Good for humility and a sense of gratitude, but difficult for those whose orientation is toward service. More to the point for me is the willingness to admit the need for interdependence when I would much rather be the help-er rather than the help-ed.
So today is a day to pray in thanksgiving for the blessing of community, to remember those who have no one to care for them and to behave myself by resting and practicing patience until the sun shines again – inside and out.
Today is the feast of Teresa of Avila. Because it is Sunday, always a “first class feast,” we don’t hear about Teresa this year. I find it difficult to let it go by, however, without some mention of this woman who is one of only four women thus far in the history of the Roman Catholic Church to achieve the title of “Doctor of the Church.” Sister Teresa was a mystic, but also very active, tireless in her work of reforming the Carmelite order of nuns in the 1500’s in the most rigorous – some thought too extreme – way. Her writings were extensive and her spiritual practice was constant, although for many years she suffered many physical illnesses and a deprivation of any spiritual consolation. She never despaired, even in the face of investigation by the Inquisition, and her writings are considered one of the great treasures of Christian mysticism.
Today as I sit in my chair waiting for light to come I have a sense of urgency because there is a lot to achieve before my head hits the pillow again, so to speak. The days are getting shorter now. I was dismayed to know that when my alarm woke me a while ago it wasn’t a mistake. It was 6:30 and still dark outside. And yesterday we needed lights on in our living room by 6:00PM. I wonder why I was so astonished; the solstice was almost two weeks ago! I guess it is true that the older I get, the faster time seems to go.
There is a very rotund, very large groundhog living under our conference hall right now. Lately s/he has a routine of coming out and heading directly for the pear tree in the back yard. S/he doesn’t seem to mind that the pears are still very hard and (I suppose) unripe. I wonder at the quality of this amusing animal’s digestion. We also have an apple tree out there whose fruit is looking quite enticing. One of my housemates is eagerly awaiting the first frost which signals the moment of readiness of the apples for consumption. Since they have already begun to fall to the ground I suggested that they may have defied the usual moment of truth this year – but she tried one yesterday and only needed one bite to know the necessity of following the rules. So I wonder: would the groundhog get a stomach ache if s/he ate an apple today? Would the pears go down easily for us? Otherwise expressed: Does the same rule apply to all fruits and all eaters?
The verse before the gospel today was encouraging. From Paul’s letter to the Philippians, it urges us to shine like lights in the world as you hold on to the word of life. (2:15D, 16A) Thinking about my day yesterday with a group of parish faith formation leaders, some of whom who are wrapping up a challenging year in their churches, I was happy to reflect on their willingness to live in the reality of their experiences while still fanning the flame of hope in their hearts. The day was not an intensive, content-heavy experience but rather offered them some simple practices for everyday life that also included a brief nature walk and some poetry. The important element, as I saw it, was simply their presence together in community with no expectations except the support of one another. It was clear to me that they are, indeed, “lights in the world.”
As I look out a west-facing window this morning in Latham, New York, I am drawn in by the reflection of what is happening on the other side of the building that I cannot see. The golden blaze of the rising sun is visible to me on the trees that still hold many of their leaves, burnished gold by this date but receptive to the illumination of the sunrise. This is a season of surprise as we are amazed when the temperature reaches 65 or 70 degrees Fahrenheit and then hear that tomorrow we will be shoveling snow! The environment can be such a goad to our learning of patience in swift change, all the while giving us gifts of beauty and terrifying power at the same moment sometimes.
It is often said that “life imitates art.” This morning’s gospel reminded me in a nearly perfect analogous situation that sometimes “life imitates gospel.” We had in our yard a beautiful hibiscus tree, a memorial to my father, that was moved early in the spring of this year out of necessity. As the year progressed I was concerned to see that it produced no flowers – even no leaves – so it seemed doomed. When our handyman asked if he should cut it down I used almost the exact words of the gospel, saying: Leave it for this year. I shall cultivate the ground around it; it may flower in the future. (LK 13:8-9) I must admit that my hope was not strong but, miraculously, just last month we saw a bit of green on a couple of branches and even a few buds. Two weeks ago, during a Wisdom School at our retreat center, I asked a participant from Maine who is an expert on all things natural and agrarian to look at it. She assured me energetically that the tree would survive and even thrive next year, telling me what nourishment would help if I’d just dig around the base and add what she wrote down for me. I don’t know what happened to the poor fig tree in the gospel but I do trust that I will see the beauty of hibiscus again next year.
Part of my preparation for receiving the sacrament of Confirmation was to memorize all the gifts that I would receive from the Holy Spirit. Since I was only twelve years old at the time, I’m not sure how I understood the promise of those gifts. Much later, when teaching Confirmation classes to teenagers, it was still difficult to imagine – even in new translation – how suddenly the confirmands would become spiritually adult, having received gifts of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, right judgment, courage, reverence and wonder & awe in God’s presence as the bishop laid hands on their heads and anointed them. I was lucky to team-teach those classes for a couple of years with a colleague of my age who explained very well to candidates that these gifts, if nurtured by the recipient, would grow in them as they matured. I remember the first time he said, “I was in my thirties when I first realized what that meant.” For him – and for me still – it was good to pull that list out from the brain filed under the title 
Today’s Scripture readings are filled with warnings about the dangers of riches and power. From the first (the prophet Amos) to the last (Luke’s gospel) we hear chilling words about those who seek worldly wealth and power and the consequences of being unaware of the needs of others. It is only in the reading from the first letter to Timothy (6: 11-16) that I find some advice for escaping the pitfalls recounted in these texts. It is the first sentence that calls out to our best selves where he names us people of God and tells us to pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness. That’s a big order but certain to keep us on the right path. As I think of those words, I see the central two (faith and love) strengthened by the practice of the first two (righteousness and devotion) and flowering in the last two (patience and gentleness). That may sound a bit contrived but it seems to work for me as a plan so today, I’ll think on that pattern and hope for the best!
