What happened yesterday...

I don't know if this had anything to do with it.

I had a little headache on Sunday afternoon and felt a little blech. But by evening I was feeling much better.

I had a hard time sleeping Sunday, was up at 4:00 a.m. knitting, of all things. Then I went back to bed.

Since my husband was still feeling sick, I was planning on a lazy day, working on a piece I was planning to do for a Healthy Communities meeting tonight. I had a few notes, was a little anxious about it, but pretty confident that as I journaled on Monday, I would come across the thing I most needed to say. I was going to call a few leaders, too.

At about 9:00 I had a feeling of foreboding. Things deteriorated rapidly after that. I hadn't had much to eat, but it didn't matter. I don't want to go into details, but at 2:40, I asked my husband to call 911. I had talked to a friend a while earlier, and she said that I sounded dehydrated, and I should go to the emergency room. I said that I didn't think I could get in the car. So I waited.

At 2:40, I got a ride in an ambulance.

It seems embarrasing to say this now. But I really didn't think I could stand up. The ambulance crew said that my blood pressure was very low. They started an IV with saline water, and that seemed to help some, although I still felt very achy and tired.

My husband said I looked about as white as a sheet.

I didn't have to stay overnight. I was sent home at 6:00 p.m. with a couple of prescriptions. Unfortunately, I waited so long to pick them up that my regular pharmacy was closed. The next pharmacy I went to didn't have the medication. At the third one I waited so long I almost started crying.

To be honest, part of me wanted to stay overnight in the hospital, because I have never stayed overnight in the hospital. But, part of me wanted to go home. I still hoped I could speak my piece at the meeting tonight.

It was a Healthy Communities meeting; did I say that? It was to be about Health Care, but more than that, about Health -- about how our communities promote our health, or not; about caring about not just our own life, but our neighbor's, too. It was for a hope for communities which care for and empower all people.

I'm not there tonight.

The Red Scarf, TV Dinners, Ben Hur

This evening I spent a little time knitting the famous Red Cable Scarf. I feel like I'm making progress now, although I'm not nearly as far along as I would like to be. I figured out that, along with my own ignorance of the dreaded braided cable, the instruction book itself had a mistake in one row. When I figured that out, I felt quite brilliant.

In the background I watched and listened to a little bit of the movie Ben Hur. I hear it's quite good; four stars and all, but I don't think I've ever watched it from beginning to end. I get snatches, here and there: the old magi Balthazar, reminiscing about his trek to Bethlehem many years ago; Judah Ben-hur's mother and sister, hiding in the shadows, because they have leprosy; the famous chariot race (I just hear the sounds of it, though: I'm not paying attention then.)

In the bedroom my husband tries to feel better. He's barely eaten all day. I keep asking him if he wants anything; he usually says no, although I did get him several glasses of water this morning. Finally he had a teeny bit of jello.

I was worried and distracted earlier this evening because I thought I had lost something important. I kept going through pockets and re-tracing steps, and looking under car seats. Then suddenly, I took a deep breath,reached into a crevice in my purse, and found it. (My dad's voice, "Why is it always in the last place you looked?")

My mind is going back and forth between many things, important and mundane: a thoughtful meeting with a public official yesterday (He's a genuinely good person, I thought, while we were talking; he's talking about community solutions and deep democracy and innovation and justice); our first communion students, all lined up in the chapel to taste a bit of wine for the first time; bananas and white toasted bread and chicken soup; taxes and exercise and cholesterol; marigold seeds and containers for a children's sermon; the grain of wheat falling into the ground, disappearing from sight, and the trust it takes to let go of that seed, to let it fall and trust that it will bear fruit.

I think of the seed of myself: here I am, a woman of a certain age, married with step-children and a dog, and wondering if I can believe that if I throw a certain seed into the ground, that later on, it will be a marigold, or carrots, or tomatoes, even. What more is there inside me, even now?

It's late and I should be in bed. The red cable scarf is on the sofa, waiting for me to stitch the next row; the children will be waiting tomorrow with their hands cupped in anticipation; other children will cup their hands and look at tiny seeds -- "Go and plant them," I'll say. "They'll grow. I promise."

And then I'll take the invisible seeds I am so afraid to spend and I'll toss them into the wind, and whisper to God, "Go ahead. Use me too."

Book #13: The Cape Ann

Book #13 for me was our March book group offering The Cape Ann. Although this book has been around for many years, and has been well-regarded, I had never read it. Our book group read another, shorter book by Faith Sullivan several years ago, one called What a Woman Must Do.

Like last month's book, Little Heathens, this novel is set in the Great Depression. But while there are moments of simple pleasure in The Cape Ann, the book most clearly depicts the grim reality of how desperate that time was for many people. The young heroine, Lark, at times seemed to me almost a little too wise beyond her years; other times her words and thoughts were pitch perfect.

The common thread between The Cape Ann and What a Woman Must Do is the theme of a strong woman, doing what is hard but necessary. Lark's mother is portrayed as a larger-than-life character: smart, strong, resourceful, and compassionate: she won't give up her dreams. Many heart-breaking events happen in the course of this story. In our meeting last night, we were struck by the absence of strong male characters (although we all liked Father Delias, when he forgave Lark's sins, but not when he refused to bury Hilly.)

Here is my favorite quotation from the book:
After Lark's confession: "When I thrust aside the curtain and left, my feet were as weightless as I imagined Fred Astaire's to be. I floated down the aisle in a gauzy haze of light and lightness. In my life I had never felt such disencumbrance. If I lifted my arms, I would float up to the dark beams and along the ceiling, and my new innocence would hold me aloft. This was how angels felt."

Potpourri

Yesterday at church there was a big "handicap parking" sign in the sanctuary, as we were encouraged, in the sermon, to consider the differently-abled, and how we are all, in one way or another, differently-abled. The congregation at 10:00 is coming along nicely learning our sign-language prayer:

God, be in my head, and in my understanding,
God, be in mine eyes, and in my looking,
God, be in my mouth, and in my speaking,
God, be in my heart, and in my understanding,
God, be in mine end, and in my departing.

I am growing to appreciate the poetry of American Sign Language. Did you know that the sign for "end" (death) is the same one that is used for baptism?

****

After church a few of us viewed an episode from the PBS Series "Unnatural Causes: Is Inequality Making us Sick?" The episode yesterday was called "Becoming American." New immigrants from Latin America are among the healthiest members of our society, according to this episode. Even though they often come from places of fear and grinding poverty, they come here in better health than most people who have lived here all their lives. But within a generation this changes.

As I was listening and pondering as to why this should be, I was doodling on my note pad. I wrote the word "HOPE" in big letters as I listened. And sure enough, a sense of hopefulness, a sense of possible opportunity, was one of the reasons for the good health of these new immigrants. As well, they often come with strong family systems and ties. But, as they stay, most of them experience a grinding away of their hopes and opportunities, as they also learn to work long hours and experience social isolation. Social isolation is another cause of ill health in our society. And, the program said, ultimately, family is not enough. We need community ties.

As I listened, I thought of the church, the body of Christ, the community that gathers and is sent. I thought: in this day and age people are less and less tied to a Christian community, and less and less able to see the value in that time spent together. But there is value: actually there are many values -- a strengthening of our common hope, an encouragement as we life out Jesus' values in our lives and in our world.

We come to worship to be fed and lifted up. But we also come to encourage and lift one another up. We receive and we give. And we are sent -- for the same reasons -- to comfort the grieving, to lift up the weak, to do justice, and love kindness, to walk humbly with God through all the week.

****

Today at breakfast, I saw a man reading the morning paper. The front page was vivid with the news of the trial for the Craigslist murder. It was a particularly senseless crime: the murder of a beautiful, intelligent, talented young woman for no apparent reason.

The thought went through my mind: The resurrection, in the beginning, was really about justice.

When the idea of the resurrection of the dead developed in Judaism, it seems to me that in part it was to answer the question: if God is just, why do the wicked prevail sometimes in this life? Why do the just die without being vindicated?

As I looked at the newspaper picture of the young woman, I thought about the justice we can do in this trial by rendering a particular verdict. And then I thought: Real justice would be for her to get her life back.

That would be justice for her -- and justice for us, who will miss her gifts, and all that she would have done in and for the world.

Richness

Today I was up early for a Saturday. Our church council decided to meet in order to do something beyond our regular "Yea" or "Nay" meetings. We decided we really wanted to brainstorm about who we want to be and what we want to do. Two outcomes: whatever we do, we want to deepen our discipleship and build relationships (especially integenerationally) in our congregation. So we will look at everything we do through this lens.

Then I went to coffee with a young woman from our congregation. Wonderful conversation -- and we both commented on the lovely spring weather blooming. Such richness.

I stopped in at the hospital before racing home, as my husband had special plans for us. We went out for a quick (and late) lunch, and then visited a place I had heard about for many years: The Pavek Museum of Broadcasting.

I felt that I had stepped back in time, into a large and wide version of my father's old TV Sales and Service Shop. There was a faint smell of wires and picture tubes, old signs that flashed "Philco" and "Zenith" and "Crosley". We learned about the history of the phonograph and of radio waves, and I remembered how my dad tried to help me understand the difference between AM and FM Radio Waves (Amplitude Modulation and Frequency Modulation -- I think that's right.) We saw a brief movie of a strange instrument called a "theremin" -- (you can hear it in the Beach Boys' song "Good Vibrations".)

Later on, it was still light, still warm, so I took Scout on a brief walk around the neighborhood, where she got some good pets from a friend. Such richness.

Good vibrations. Radio Waves. Conversations. Brainstorms and Visions. Waves and ways of hearing and seeing.

Tapping into the Spirit. Such Richness.

Friday Five: Signs of Hope

Songbird over at Revgalblogpals writes:

My beloved speaks and says to me: “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. Song of Solomon 2:10-13

In the late, late winter, as the snow begins to recede here in Maine, we begin to look almost desperately for signs of spring, signs of hope that the weather has turned and a new day is on the horizon. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Easter and Spring twine inextricably, the crocuses and daffodils peeking through the Earth as we await the risen Christ.

Share with us five signs of hope that you can see today or have experienced in the past.

1. Unfortunately, the early-week thaw has given way to lower temperatures and general greyness. Yesterday and today I was unpleasantly surprised at the temperature drop when walking the dog. But do you know what? I heard birds singing: lots of birds, mocking and chirping and talking to each other.

2. Most of the snow is gone from the ground right now, and,except in the early morning, the ground is mushy, soft, ready for something new to spring up.

3. I no longer feel alone in the justice work that I am doing in the congregation. Building a team is slow and hard work, and I need to be much more vulnerable than I had ever imagined. But I feel that in some ways the ground here is also ready for something new to spring up.

4. We are unfortunately in the kind of climate where crocuses end up martyred to a late frost. I have rarely seen crocuses as the true prophets of spring that they are. They proclaim from the pots in the grocery store, rather than from flower beds and lawns. But I will always remember one unusual spring, an unusually warm spring, when the crocuses came up all over the lawn surrounding the college chapel. It was a riot.

5. I heard an interview with local poet and activist Julia Dinsmore two nights ago. I heard her say "It was the Lutherans who said they want to end poverty in Minnesota." Crazy talk. Hopeful. Like crocuses in February.

The Three Tamars

I can't quite let Tamar go yet. I preached about David's daughter, Absalom's sister, last Sunday, but I keep thinking about her: and her name.

Names are important.

There are three women in the Bible named Tamar. The first one is Judah's daughter-in-law. You can read about her in Genesis 38. She was first married to Judah's oldest son Er, but he did not find favor with God, and he died, leaving Tamar childless. According to the custom of the day, she was next given to Judah's son, Onan, who did not want to bear a child for his brother. He died too. Next Tamar was supposed to marry Judah's youngest son, Shelah. But Judah was afraid his youngest son would die too, so he withheld his son from Tamar.

So she needed to find a way to fulfill the custom, and have a child. To make a long story short, with Judah's unwitting help, she did. At the end of the whole soap-opera-style story, Judah says of Tamar, "She is more right than I am." By the way, she is named as an ancestor of Jesus by the gospel writer Matthew.

It occurs to me, thinking about this story, that the same could be said about David's daughter, Tamar. She is more right, or more righteous than any of the male characters in the story. She is more righteous than Amnon, who deceives and rapes her. She is more righteous than David, who is angry but does not punish his first-born son. And she is more righteous than Absalom, her brother, who avenges the crime against her by killing Amnon, but then goes ahead in trying to usurp the throne from his father.

She is more righteous than any of them, but what does she get for her righteousness?

She becomes a desolate woman in her brother's house: a woman of sorrows, despised and rejected.

Does she remind you of anyone?

I don't want to take this analogy too far, because too often in the past abused women have been urged to go back and "bear their cross". Somehow, they have been told, they can redeem their husbands by their obedient suffering. That is protecting the strong at the expense of the weak, and it's exactly the opposite of what Jesus did.

Oh yes, and the third Tamar? The daughter of Absalom.

Absalom had three sons. We know none of their names. He had one daughter, and named her Tamar.

Perhaps Tamar wasn't totally desolate. Even though she could never marry, she did have a namesake.

I didn't want to leave her without saying these things.