One day, one life

There are no coincidences.

One aphorism has it that "Coincidence" is one of the names God uses when S/he wants to remain anonymous. Another is "Serendipity." In the traditional language of the church, there is no such anonymity. We know God's name as "The Holy Spirit."

I've been thinking some Very Big Thoughts this past week.

Two of my parishioners are under the care of Hospice. Both have been told that they have 6 - 8 weeks to live. Family members are flying in from all over the map, to celebrate life, to share memories, to say their goodbyes.

I've been doing several Eucharists at home - small, intimate gatherings that are filled with paradox and emotion. In the midst of death, we celebrate life. Life is changed, not ended. It's the message at the heart of the Christian faith.

And yet, I grieve. I weep right along with the rest of the family. After six years of privileged service at St. Paul's, I have fallen in love with the people of my congregation. Oh, some of them drive me right round the bend. I suspect I do the same to them. Still, we love each other.

It's a great, wonderful, humbling mystery.

In the midst of this, I have been running the "Christmas in July" fundraising campaign to keep Bishop Gene safe at Lambeth. To date, it's been more successful than I could have asked for or imagined. We've picked up over $2,000 in the first five days.

I've also picked up some sharp criticism for doing this. Some of them are my dearest friends. The silence from others has been deafening. Their silence contains the same message as those who have been vocal:

"Why are you doing this, Elizabeth?" they ask. "How can I justify sending money to contribute to Gene's safety while there are people starving in the Sudan, there are on-going recovery efforts in China and Mynamar, and children who go to bed hungry every night in our own country? How can I justify the obscene amount of $70,000 for security for one person when perhaps he should stay home and contribute the money he would spend on security for himself to children who have been orphaned to AIDS in Africa?"

Yes, yes. I hear you. I struggled with many of the same questions before I decided to launch this campaign.

When you consider how much money will be spent, how much jet fuel will be used by bishops, primates and others traveling to Lambeth, how much paper will be used in the Market Place during the "fringe events", $70,000 seems fairly minuscule.

Someone suggested that perhaps Lambeth should be canceled and that money donated to the poor. Not a bad suggestion. However, that won't change a thing. Lambeth won't be canceled. Money will be spent, jet fuel will be consumed, an entire section of a forest will be sacrificed to the "education" of everyone on either side of the various issues that will present themselves at Lambeth.

After all is said and done, all the arguments, pro and con, made, all the people on either side of the fence satisfied that they have 'the truth', it comes down to these two questions: How much is the safety and security of one person worth? What is the value of one person's life?

I was thinking about all these things, deep in my heart, while I was planting flowers in the front yard of the rectory yesterday, my alleged day off. Well, that's the rumor, anyway. I got called out twice to tend to some pastoral situations and then gathered last night for our parish's "Movie Night."

As I tallied up the cost of potting soil, mulch, seeds and flowers, it hit me again. Would this money be better spent on Mynamar, China or Louisiana? Perhaps. I kept hearing the words from the proper preface for the Eucharistic prayers for a burial:

"Life is changed, not ended."

I also remembered a story once told by Robert Raines, the former director of Kirkridge Retreat Center, about a woman who, upon hearing that she was dying of cancer, took the money she would have spent on health care not covered by her insurance and planted daffodil bulbs on the one acre slope in the front of her house.

While she has long since left this earth, in the spring of every year, when people drive by her home, they are greeted with a riot of yellow daffodils, all competing with each other to shout "Alleluia" to the resurrection.

Robert Raines called her "A Plotter of the Resurrection." His sermon encouraged us to all to hear the words Jesus spoke to his disciples when Judas criticized the woman for anointing him with expensive oil: "The poor you will always have with you, but you do not always have me." (Jn 12:8)

And, that's when I made my decision.

It's been three and a half years since my daughter Jaime died. Some of my very dear Roman Catholic friends contributed money with a note that said, "Please use this for a Mass for the repose of her soul, or in whatever way you wish. "

Well, I knew I wouldn't spend it on a Mass. While I understand the sentiment (as an Anglo-Catholic, I really do), there is enough of a 'reformed Catholic' in my soul to have that smack just a wee bit too much of the old 'plenary indulgences' which were one of the issues of the Reformation. I suspect some of my friends knew this.

There is a rather large recess in the front yard of the rectory from where a tree once stood. It had fallen a decade or so ago during one of the storms. It has always annoyed me - a blemish on a not-so perfect-anyway lawn that served only to emphasize its imperfection.

Before my brain had thoroughly engaged, my body already knew what to do. I got up from kneeling at the flower bed and, feet and hands still dirty, and made my way over to the car to head back to "The Farm" where I had purchased the flowers.

Before I knew it, I was talking with one of the young men about trees. I told him all about my daughter and how I believe that "life is changed, not ended" and that I wanted to put that belief into action.

He asked me what was her favorite time of year. That was easy. Christmas. "Ah," he said, "then I have just the tree for you."

We chose a white spruce - perfect for the front yard and perfect to decorate with lights at Christmas. "The cones will also provide a feast for the squirrels," he assured me.

Within half and hour, two men, Lucho and Manuelo, arrived to plant the tree. Lucho was a man in his twenties. Manuelo was probably in his early 50's. I watched as Lucho respectfully did most of the 'heavy lifting'. The whole procedure took less than 20 minutes, but it was a most amazing time.

Both men treated that tree as if it were an infant they were putting to bed. They were gentle, respectful, almost reverent and prayerful as they placed her in the hole they dug. They were very careful to position her 'just so' before they cut her loose from her burlap cradle, poured nutrients around her roots, finishing off the job with enriched potting soil and mulch.

Then they soaked her with water and asked that I soak her every day for the next two days, then every other day for the rest of the summer. They might as well have been giving me instructions on how to properly feed a newborn. They obviously took great pride in their work, but somehow also communicated a love of the earth and that tree which they carried with them from their Peruvian ancestors.

The tree cost $130. It cost another $130 to have it planted. I tipped each man $10. Would that money have been better spent educating children in Belize or making sure children in Newark don't go to bed hungry?

I have no doubt.

Neither do I have an iota of guilt or shame.

The psalmist reminds us that

"One day tells its tale to another*
and one night imparts knowledge to another.

Although they have no words or language*
and their voices are not heard,

Their sound has gone out into all lands*
and their message to the ends of the world."

I believe one life also tells its tale to another. It is, therefore, important to witness, to be present. It is important to honor and respect. It is important to remember. These are things beyond price or cost.

Maslow was right - there is a hierarchy of human need. But, Jesus, thousands of years before, was way ahead of him:

There is no hierarchy of Christian generosity. We are, at our best, "Plotters of the Resurrection."

I believe in the incarnation. I believe in the resurrection. I believe in the Holy Spirit - who sometimes comes to us as 'Coincidence' or 'Serendipity' - to guide us to all truth in believing.

I do what I do in memory of all those who have lost their lives to senseless human violence, born of ignorance and prejudice.

I did what I did in memory of her.