Celtic Advent - Day XXXIII - December 18

The Annunciation by James He Qi - China/USA

Celtic Advent - Day XXXIII - December 18

 

A Prayer

Refuse to fall down
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down,
lift your heart toward heaven,
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising.
But no one can keep you from lifting your heart
toward heaven
only you.
It is in the middle of misery
that so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good
came of this,
is not yet listening.

― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, The Faithful Gardener: A Wise Tale About That Which Can Never Die

 

 

Parish ministry is an odd beast. Sometimes a priest will be asked to see “the mother of a friend of my neighbor” or “my cousin’s next door neighbor’s uncle” because “they don’t have a church” or “they left the church over ‘the troubles’ (pick one) and could really use a priest” – “I know you’d be a big comfort to them. Could you call or visit?”

 

And, off you go. 

 

Of course, you go. 

 

Some call that “evangelism”.  Those are the folks who want the clergy person’s role to fit into a particular wedge on the pie chart of church finances. There are other people who call it foolishness. Indeed, it may well be as it will probably not be a “cost effective” activity. In my experience, no contribution or pledge to the church will be forthcoming.

 

And I? I call it being a priest. Part evangelist, part fool, to be sure, but mostly, someone called to love all of God’s children who has made a vow to “nourish Christ's people from the riches of his grace, and strengthen them to glorify God in this life and the life to come.”

 

So it came to be that I visited a woman I’ll call Emily, a 95 year old woman who was related to one of my parishioners by the proverbial “six degrees of separation” that is so common in church communities.

 

She was, at first, a little leery about my visiting. Neither of us was clear about my role. All we knew was that her daughter, with whom she had been living for the past five years, thought it would be a good idea if she had a pastoral visitor “once in a while.”

 

Emily was a very private person by nature but her last experience with the church had been far less than pleasant. She was very reticent to have a conversation any deeper than safely on the surface. 

 

Eventually and slowly - very slowly over time - after she and I shared our stories about family and friends and life in general and listened together to some of our favorite music, and I read poems and passages from some of our favorite books, she grew to like me and I grew quite fond of her. More importantly, she began to trust me.

One day when I went to visit she asked me if I heard confession. Yes, I said. Well, did I give absolution? Indeed, I said. Well then, said she, I have a story to tell you.

She took a deep breath and said, "When I was 15 years old, I was raped by my uncle. I didn't even have a word for it. I just knew that I was violated. A few months later, I found that I was pregnant. I was scared. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do except to lock myself in my room and cry."

"One of those times, my aunt, my mother and uncle's sister, came into my room and saw me in tears. She asked whatever was the matter and, against my better judgment, I told her. Once I started, the whole story spilled out. My aunt listened carefully and then announced that she would take care of everything but I was not to tell anyone. No one was to know. Not my father. Not even my mother. Not anyone. Not ever."

"So," she took a breath and continued, "I had an abortion. This was 80 years ago. It was illegal. But, my uncle was the 'star' of the family. The whole world was his oyster. Nothing could interfere with his future or his success or the family name."

"You know, I had no choice,” she said. Not about anything. Not about the person with whom I would have sex. Not whether or not I would get pregnant. Not whether or not to have an abortion. All of those choices were taken from me."

"And, " she said, "I told no one. Not my mother. Not my father. Not my husband. Not my children. My Aunt was the only one and she took that secret to her grave."

 

"And, now you know. You are the only other person on this earth to know my truth."

"So, here's my question for you: When I get to heaven - IF I get to heaven - will the soul I aborted hate me?"

I was quiet for a while as I took her story to my heart and listened deeply to her question.

I looked deep into her eyes, past the tears, past the pain, and into her soul and said, "I know this much to be true: There is no hate in heaven."

A tear fell from her eye and, after a long while, she smiled sadly and said, "Thank you. I don't need absolution. I got everything I need from you. I feel suddenly free - liberated - from the burden of this secret. Now, I can meet the one who created me with a clean heart. Now I can meet that soul and greet her - or him - in love. I can probably even meet my uncle again and forgive him. Thank you."

 

When I was a child – and even as a young adult – the emphasis on the telling of the story of the Annunciation (Luke 1:26-36) was always placed on “Mary’s obedience”. 

 

We were required to memorize these words, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word." (KJV)

 

I don’t read it that way anymore. As I read it, Mary clearly has agency, which is respected by the Angel Gabriel. The Incarnation would not have happened without Mary's consent.

 

The great sadness of Emily’s story is that she had no agency. All the decisions in her life – everything from whether or not she would have sex and when and with whom, to whether or not she got pregnant and what to do about that pregnancy – were taken from her.

 

Her decision that she did not need the church’s absolution is, for me, the triumph of the story. All she needed was the assurance that there is no hate in heaven.

 

Emily’s story is no less filled with compelling moral choices than the story of Mary. Indeed, our lives are multi-layered with the choices we make – or are not allowed to make for ourselves.

 

Believing in the unconditional love and forgiveness of God is the gift of the Incarnation. Because God was once human, God knows the complexities of being human. Grace is always available, pathways to redemption are always open.

 

And, no matter how old we are or how late in life we find ourselves, God sometimes sends us to be vehicles of grace and redemption for each other.  

 

Here are two readings for your consideration and meditation:

“Though fairy tales end after ten pages, our lives do not. We are multi-volume sets. In our lives, even though one episode amounts to a crash and burn, there is always another episode awaiting us and then another. There are always more opportunities to get it right, to fashion our lives in the ways we deserve to have them. Don't waste your time hating a failure. Failure is a greater teacher than success.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype

 

"No woman wants an abortion as she wants an ice cream cone or a Porsche. She wants an abortion as an animal caught in a trap wants to gnaw off its own leg."

 

Frederica Mathewes-Green, who later became a pro-life activist and noted that both pro-choice and pro-life advocates appear to agree with the quote.