Day IV: "What they can't control . . ."

 

 

The Coronation of Queen Cleopatra

I’m afraid the difference of hours and the experience of cultures finally caught up with me. 

 

I thought it was because I am not as young as I think I am but, you know, even one of the young members of the staff who was delayed because of a difference about COVID testing was a bit off her mark. In her case, the hours got to her.

 

I am more overwhelmed by the richness of the experience of being here, in the cradle of civilization. They don’t call it that for nothing, you know. I mean, name it: Engineering. Agriculture. Architecture. Writing. Religion. Medicine. Surgery. 

 

All of that happened in Egypt long before the country of my birth was even considered as an idea, much less and ideology.

 

Here’s the truth of it: It’s humbling to be here.

 

And the experience of all that humility is part of the exhaustion.

 

I am constantly – in my mind and when I’m not actively thinking about it, in my body – deconstructing my own assumptions and expectations. 

 

For example, this morning, Saturday, October 9^th, I walked into a Temple – Kom Ombo, which was just a short walk down from where my luxury boat hotel was docked – and discovered that the person who finished the temple was Queen Cleopatra.

 

I took off my shoes and put my feet on the path where Queen Cleopatra once walked.

 

When I visited the area where confessions were heard, and saw the hieroglyphics and realized that sin was confess and forgiveness and mercy promised, I realized that I was on holy ground. I took off my shoes and as I felt my feet touch the floor I found that I was weeping.

 

And then, I was sobbing. Because for whatever sin I held in my heart for which I will perhaps never be forgiven by the those I have wronged, I knew that God has forgiven me and is and has been and will always be merciful.

 

Oh, my dear friends, God is so much bigger, so much more, that we could ever imagine.

 

I knew that. I’ve known that for some time. But, rediscovering it here, in Egypt, has been most humbling and invigorating and exhausting.

 

One of our guides said something this morning that startled me. He was talking about how there were many crocodiles here on the Nile, and how they were so admired because they would quickly snatch their prey and drag them off to be even more quickly eaten.

 

The guide said, “What the Egyptians couldn’t control, they worshiped.”

 

What they couldn’t control, they worshiped.  And so, they worshiped the crocodile and made him a God and mummified their bodies and worshiped them.

 

I have been examining my relationship to Jesus and I must say, I don’t worship the God I know in Christ Jesus because of lack of being able to control the God I have come to love. I don’t even worship God because I think God controls my life.

 

I worship God who sets me free in Christ to try to love as God loves me.

 

What they couldn’t control, they worshiped. I don’t think that dynamic is limited to ancient Egyptians, however. I think some of us do that today, don’t we? Even those of us who say we follow the Way of Jesus.

 

Those of us who don’t often feel overwhelmed and humbled.

 

It’s exhausting. But, I’d rather that than misplace my adoration.

 

I hope I’ll be able to have more to write – and post on my blog – later on. It all really depends on the WiFi. Which I can’t control. And I definitely don’t worship.

Day II: Truth by blatant assertion

 

I honest to God don't even know how to begin to describe this day. 

So, let me just start with the obvious: geography. Egypt is part of the northwest continent of Africa, but it is also part of the Middle East and it is also part of the Arabic Nation. 

The people here count themselves as part of the descendants of "Poor Old Aunt Hagar" and her son Ishmael. One of our tour guides proudly said, "We are descendants of Ishmael". I said, "Really, so tell me: With whom did God make a promise?"

He stopped for a moment, his mouth dropped and his eyes got as wide as a 6th grader being confronted by his teacher with a pop quiz, and said, "Well, he made the covenant with Ishmael but he told it to Hagar. So, we are descendants of Ishmael."

"But, " I said, "God promised Hagar that her son would raise up a great nation of his own, right? The first time the promise came through an angel when Hagar ran away from her tormenting mistress, Sarai. The angel told Hagar to return home and have her child, saying,  'I will so increase your descendants that they will be too numerous to count.'"

Then, after Sarai became Sara and had Isaac, she became jealous of the potential conflict over who would become Abraham's heir - his FIRST BORN son (Ishmael) or his "LEGITIMATE" son (Issac).  So Sara convinced her husband Abraham to send Hagar and Ishmael to the desert where they would surely die.

This time, God spoke directly to Hagar as her son was near death. God repeated the promise to Hagar that the descendants of Ishmael would increase so "that they will be too numerous to count."

Twice the promise was made to Hagar. Once thorough an angel and once directly from God.

"I mean," I continued, "Hagar even named God, 'El Roi', "The God who sees me," because God saw the suffering of Hagar and Ishmael. Indeed, Hagar is one of a very few and select people to actually talk with God, and the second woman, Eve having been the first."

"Yes," he said, straightening his back and clenching his jaw, "so we are descendants of Ishmael, the first born son of the issue of Father Abraham - may his name always be praised - and, despite what you Christians and the Jews say,  rightly inheritors of the mantle of Abraham." 

Clearly, he was not having it. At. All.  Having grown up Roman Catholic, I can recognize the dynamic of "truth by blatant assertion" at 20 paces.

Once you start there, well, it's an incredible down-hill ride.  

So, Matthew asserts - without even one shred of evidence (I mean, after the 'virgin birth' and the whole entire concept of the incarnation, why start now?) - that an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream and that he had better leave Bethlehem and be safe for a while in Egypt.

Well, what good is a sacred story like that without a way to tell it "from generation to generation"? Especially one that secures the position of the prophetic leadership of Jesus with the prophetic position of Moses?

So, we followed the flight of the Holy Family today, and visited the shrine which, it is "believed" (because no one can actually prove it), that this is the "cavern" where the Holy Family lived several months of the two years they were in Egypt. (Or, was it four? But, it might have been twelve, if you read the scholars who inspired Ann Rice).

We stood over the well from which the Holy Family drew their drinking water, and visited the room where they had their meals, which is now used by the Orthodox Priests as the place where they consecrate the bread in private - away from the uninformed eyes and minds of the laity - before they bring it into the church for distribution.

Because, sure, that's exactly the way Jesus and his parents would have wanted it. (Sarcasm fully intended)

That was actually at the cave of the martyrs Sergius and Bacchus, known as Abu Serga. I've posted a picture of the "hanging church" of St. Mary which was built on top of the cavern where the Holy Family is believed to have lived. 

I do have to point out that right across the street from all this deep spirituality and religious belief and cultural history and myth and legend and scripture is a very modern subway stop. 

There are people going to and from work and doctor's appointments and visits with their relatives and just the every day events of life. They seem totally nonplussed by the deep, rich significance of what is just across the street. Well, I guess, if it's been there since long before you were born and, PS&OBTW, it has nothing to do with your faith and belief as a Muslim, well, I guess it makes sense to be nonplussed and just be about your business. 

So, if that wasn't ancient enough history, we then spent some time learning about the Pharaohs and Egyptian culture as a prelude for learning about the application of the religious beliefs - like resurrection - which shaped and formed so much of their culture and society and cosmology.  That's where we'll pick up with Sr. Joan tomorrow out on the Nile. 

I've got stuff to say about Sr. Joan in a minute but I just want to share this with you. The Egyptians, of course have a story to tell because they wrote so much of it down on papyrus - thick paper made from the pith of the papyrus plant. 

Here's what I learned about papyrus. I always thought papyrus was the Egyptian word for paper which is, in fact, the word from which we derive our word 'paper'. 

 Not so.  papyrus is really a combination of three words - pap (way) py (knowledge) ra (God). So the word papyrus means 'the way to knowledge is God'. 

Think about that for half a red hot second. Now, think about the story of the Garden of Eden. And, think about how the Pharaohs thought of themselves as Gods. And, remember that the Pyramids were built as invitations to the Gods to come and relax and bring their cosmic energy to earth. And remember that oral history is not as reliable as written history and that the victor gets to write the story. 

See also: Truth by blatant assertion. 

Now, back to Sr. Joan, who is anything but "truth by blatant assertion". She is the real deal. Smart. Sharp. Quick witted as an Irish ditty. Has no tolerance for institutional arrogance and oppressive tendencies. Makes no friends with blind obedience, thoughtless compliance, or appeasement. 

Our day ended with an absolutely delightful dinner with Sister Joan who held court with "stories from the life of and extraordinary nun". No, she'd never say that and she'd slap my hand if she knew I wrote that but, you know, that's really what it was.  

We talked about vocation and corruption and abuse and love and relationships and bureaucracy and community and salvation and resurrection and still managed to eat supper and drink wine and not get one twinge of dyspepsia. 

Her meditations start tomorrow on the boat. I can't hardly wait. 

So, we're up tomorrow morning at 5 AM. Breakfast is at 5:30. We leave for the airport at 6:15. Our plane leaves for Aswan at 8 where we'll catch our boat on the Nile which will be our home until next Tuesday. 

I'm not sure about the WiFi connections on the Nile but I'm told I can use our Guide Essam's 'hot spot'. Fingers crossed. I'll still blog but I may not be able to publish them until next Tuesday. I'll try to keep up on Factbook. 

Be well. And, if you really want to walk like an Egyptian, here's a tip from the Pharaoh's that I learned today. If you look at their statues, every single one of them leads with his left foot. That's because Egyptians believed you stepped with the left foot to trod out evil so the heart could proceed.   

I've decided that I'm going to try to be more mindful of walking like an Egyptian from now on.

I don't know if its true that you can trod out evil, but heck, nothing else has seemed to work, so it's worth a try. Anyway, I'll assert it blatantly - six times before breakfast - until proven otherwise. 

Cairo: Sleep Deprivation and Joy

Well, we have arrived.

I'm not sure how. I mean other than the great tub of the plane that carried over 200 souls in a 300 passenger capacity Boeing 777. We were delayed at the baggage claim because a father and son team had their luggage delayed by 24 hours. The airline was thoroughly apologetic and told the father and son to go out and get whatever clothing, toiletries, etc., they needed and send them the bill.

Well, we were all just punchy enough to try and barter our own way into a similar deal. No dice. These Egyptians are highly skilled barterers and we were regular probies (as they say on NCIS).

The arrival at the hotel was a bit chaotic, mainly because the driver was trying to sell bottles of water (3 for $2 - a much better price than the hotel would charge us for it, we were told), and we need it to wash our faces, brush out teeth as well as drink. So there was all that going on while we were getting rooms assigned and arrangements for luggage to be dropped off, and tying to pay attention to places to have lunch and the currency exchange, and, and, and . ... . . .

We must have heard it twice from each guide: Do Not Drink The Water. Do Not Brush Your Teeth or Rise Your Mouth With Water. Do Not Eat Salad. Apparently the Revenge of the Sphinx is 10 times worse than Montezuma's Revenge. I don't want to have either - ever! - so I put down my $2 and walked into my room with three bottles of water. 

I kept getting flashbacks of the scene in Slumdog Landlord when the boys are in the kitchen and one of them is filling the bottles with regular tap water and then sealing the twist off top with Crazy Glue. 

 

Yes, I've checked the rim of the bottled water. They are covered with plastic you have to peel off.

My hotel is lovely with a promised spectacular view. Additionally, there's a wedding and reception happening in the hotel plaza with a live band performance after the ceremony. I can look out the window and out onto the festivities. 

 

It's wonderful to see people happy and dancing and singing.

I'll tell you what, though: These Egyptian women know how to dress. They may be covered from head to toe with flowing fabric but OMG they are gorgeous and their outfits are gorgeous and their eye make up is a work of art and they have just the right amount of glitter and sparkles here and there and the whole megillah is a look that is positively stunning. 

 

As far as I know, Sr. Joan is not yet here. There was an additional opportunity to precede this pilgrimage with one in Jordan, which Sr. also led. I'm such a huge Sr. Joan fan-girl that I've actually been practicing my greeting so that I'm dignified and respectful and, well, adult. 

 

Even so, I'm sure when I see her I'm going to gush and say something stupid like, "Oh, and I've read ALL your books," which is totally not true - close but not ALL of them - but I'll still say it and smile broadly like a goof and not be able to hold up my end of an intelligent conversation. 

 

She's with us in the morning. Yay!

I did take a wee bit of a nap and had some amazing fish on a bed of mashed peas that was to absolutely die for. And, I wanted to not waste the whole afternoon in a nap so I did walk around a bit but it was so HOT and I am so punchy that I just gave in and rested. 

We're up and at 'em tomorrow at 6 AM and off to visit the holy places in Cairo. Tomorrow is the closest we get to being tourists as we ease into the desert and prepare ourselves for the Nile.

We did talk to our guide, Esau at dinner tonight and he has arranged for a 30 minute camel ride for those of us who want it (Ummm . . . yeah! Are you kidding me right now?). 

 

And, and, and, and, and, and, AND . . . . . Esau personally knows a relative of Razouk, the Egyptian tattoo artist I met in Palestine (thank you, Lindy) who did my latest tattoo. Razouk's family have been tattoo artists for over 700 years. This tattoo artist may be able to meet me in Aswan and add another tat to the stack on the outside of my left leg.

I know. I know. I'm on a pilgrimage. But riding a camel, like riding an elephant, is a spiritual experience. Trust me on this. And, you know, I can't put into words what it's like to add ink to your body - to mark an event or an experience on your body with something that will last as long as you have skin covering your bone. It's a whole creative process, which always involves the Holy Spirit. I can't wait to see what we come up with this time. 

 

I'm think it will be or include a Horus who, for me, is the prototype of the eagle symbol for St. John's Gospel because John's soaring poetic rhetoric, like the eagle, flew so high, the eagle was believed to be the only one of God's creatures to see the face of God and live.

It's now a little after 9 PM and I'm starting to fade. I'm going to take another hot shower, drink some camomile tea that I bought while I was out and about, and turn in early. Tomorrow is a very full day. 

Not a lot of picture. Yet. I'm still getting my bearings.

Film, as they say, at eleven

Egyptian Pilgrimage: It begins

 

And so it begins. 

 

I'm at JFK in NYC, awaiting my flight to Cairo and my pilgrimage to the footsteps of Moses and the flight of the Holy Family. 

 

I've never flown out of JFK for any destination. I've flown from most of the other major airports but not this one. I'm here to tell you that every horror story you've ever heard about the way things work here is absolutely true. 

 

Honest to Ethel! I'm convinced that if the folks who run this airport gave their employees a sense of pride in the work they do, treated them with respect, and paid them a decent wage, people would be singing the praises of this airport. Seriously. 

 

Anyway, that's behind me now. Only wonderful stuff is ahead. My dearest friends, David and Sean, not only gave me (excellent) food and (amazing) shelter, with great conversation and bucketloads of love, they actually arranged for my transportation to the airport which was lovely. 

 

And, and, and, and, and, and, AND . . . . David blessed me with special sacred oil that was blessed at the Orthodox Shrine of Saint Irene around the corner. I'm convinced that I made it through that crapshow at the ticketing counter because Irene was guiding and protecting me . . . or, maybe protecting others from me . . . whatever, thank you David and thank you, Saint Irene. 

 

So, it's a direct flight from NYC to Cairo, which, I've discovered on other flights has its plusses and minuses. Near as I can figure, Cairo time is about six hours ahead of daylight savings time in the USA. 

 

So, we are scheduled to leave at 6:30 PM today and arrive at 11 AM tomorrow. Which I figure will be around 5 PM in my body. We are scheduled to be greeted at the airport and whisked away to our hotel (which reportedly faces the Sphinx and the Pyramid of Giza), eat supper, and then, TBTG, allowed to crash.

 

I think maybe this company has done this before, right? 

 

We ease into Cairo and our environs the next day, getting acquainted and oriented and (oh, joy!) hearing meditations from Sr. Joan Chittister, our Pilgrimage Spiritual Guide (I KNOW, right? Can you stand it? I'm anxiously awaiting her appearance at the airport gate.) 

 

On the third day, we board a plane and fly to Aswan, where we will then board a riverboat on the Nile. This is where we will enjoy breakfast and dinner every day and sleep while the boat takes us to our next sacred place. A fellucca - a small Egyptian boat - will take us to and from the riverboat to land every day.

 

Riding and eating and sleeping on the Nile! Cleopatra ain't got nothin' on me, kids!

 

Looks like we WILL hit all the usual spots like the Kom Ombo and the Temples at Edfu and Luxor and the Karnak Temple and the Obelisks of Queen Hatshepsut, the only female Pharoah, and the Valley of the Kings and Queens - because, I mean, seriously! I'm here! Why not?- but these places will be viewed through the perspective of what we know from scripture about Moses and the Holy Family and the Desert Mothers and Fathers as given in meditations by Sr. Joan. 

 

I can hardly sit still I'm so excited.

 

I feel so enormously blessed and privileged to have this opportunity. And, honestly? I'm excited to have you all along with me. You all have been great travel companions in the past and I have absolutely no doubt you will be this time, as well. 

 

So, welcome. Come with me! See what I see. And, if you have been here before, please don't hesitate to give me some information and any suggestions or hints you may have.

 

This is going to be SUCH fun! Onward!

Things get loose

 

 A Sermon preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Church

Georgetown, DE 

and live broadcast simultaneously at

Sirach 26:10 on Facebook

Pentecost XIX - Proper 22 - B

October 3, 2021

When I was a kid, Saturday mornings had their rituals. There was furniture to polish and laundry to be done and floors to wash and polish. That was what we kids did while my parents did the grocery shopping. Oh, and after our chores, (or, sometimes, during) we watched Saturday morning cartoons.

 

There was an order to the morning busyness that was prescriptive. The afternoon, on the other hand, was free for bike rides or a pick up game of softball or basketball or Jacks, or hanging out at a friend’s house, listening to the latest song on 45-rpm records.

 

My father, however, could always be found on Saturday afternoon, in the garage. Working on his Oldsmobile – which, I recently discovered, they don’t make any longer. I would ask him what he was doing and he would say, “Working on the carburetor.”

 

As I remember what my father taught me, the carburetor was a large, bulky contraption which sat on top of the engine which provided the necessary fuel to the engine and spark plugs to get the engine going. But nowadays they don’t use such a system.

 

I clearly remember the day I read in the newspaper that new cars used a 'fuel injector system'. It was the 80s and my dad had long ago traded in his Oldsmobile for a newer model. And yet, as I pulled up to my parent’s house one Saturday afternoon, there was my dad, in the garage. The hood of the car was up and my father was bent over the engine, wrench in hand.

 

Smart Alec that I was, I greeted my father who continued to work with his wrench, moving it here and there. “So, dad,” I said, “I understand that these new cars don’t have a carburetor. I think I read that they have something called ‘fuel injection’.”

 

My father kept working as he nodded his head in agreement. “So,” I said, not really asking a question about carburetors or fuel injection but rather to gently tease and test him, “if you’re not working on the carburetor anymore, what are you doing?”

 

My father was not a man of many words. He was taken out of school after the 6^th grade to work the farm and whatever he knew, he taught himself. Daddy continued to move his wrench here and there on the engine and said, “Well, things get loose from time to time. You gotta tighten ‘em.”

 

Things get loose. You gotta tighten ‘em.

 

I think of my dad’s “Garage wisdom” whenever I read today’s collect, which begins, “Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve.”

 

I imagine God out in the heavenly garage, tightening things up on a Saturday afternoon so they don’t get loose. And, when they do, well, God’s got the wrench out and ready, before we even know something is loose.

 

Or before we, like Job, are even able to get out the potsherd, a fragment of pottery, to scrape away the ravages of sin, God is ready to forgive, ready to help us save  ourselves from the temptations of The Evil One for yet another day.

 

Over in the Gospel lesson, Jesus has his scriptural wrench out and ready, tightening up the understanding the Pharisees have had about divorce. Well, they didn’t really have a question about their understanding concerning divorce. Smart Alecs. They just wanted to test Jesus.

 

They asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” Jesus answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.”

Understand, please, that women of antiquity - much like their sisters in many of those same countries in the Middle East - had no social standing whatsoever without a father or a husband. A divorced woman, much like a widow, was the poorest of the poor. Women - and children - were consider property. So, if a man wanted another woman, he could simply write a letter of dismissal for his present wife and move on, without any regard for the status of his wife.

Right, says, Jesus, that’s because things had gotten too loose. The people had been in bondage in Egypt for 400 years and needed a way to make them a great nation. Moses made things real tight. Jesus says "Moses, because of the hardness of your hearts, permitted you to divorce your wives, but from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’" 

 

Jesus is saying that divorce is the direct result of the hardness of the human heart, but from the beginning, divorce was never part of God's plan.

 

Jesus reminds them that "in the beginning, God made them male and female". In the beginning God made them equal. You can imagine how those words fell on the ears of the Pharisees, right? No, God doesn’t want divorce - God wants us to keep the covenants we make - but God doesn’t want inequality, either.

 

Mark doesn’t report how the Pharisees responded to that, but I’m pretty sure they went back to the Temple very unhappy campers. 

 

To underscore the point, Jesus even allows little children to be brought to him. He was “indignant” with his disciples when they tried to keep them away from him.

 

Children, like women, were considered chattel – or property.  They had no status, no rights. The disciples were men of their culture and time. I can just imagine how their heads began to explode as Jesus began, one by one, to tighten up their understanding of what God wants for the people of God.

 

Here’s the thing: God’s love is a love that liberates. If Jesus sought to protect women and children, then this passage isn’t really about divorce as much as it is about recognizing the imago Dei – the image of God – in everyone, particularly the people society tends to disempower. 

 

What God brings together, nothing can separate. This is descriptive, not prescriptive. We cannot simply discard that to which the Holy Spirit binds us. Divorce must be considered as carefully as marriage is entered into - with deliberation and careful consideration - even when there are irreconcilable differences, or hurt or pain or abuse.

 

Now, I worry about people all the time. It’s both genetic and a learned behavior. I come from a long line of women who worry. Slowly, over the years, I have come to understand that worry is one way to pray – for me, it’s a form of prayer. I ask God to be with those in our society who are as vulnerable as those ancient women and their children who were viewed as property.

 

And, you know, I’ve done this for so many years that I stopped listening for an answer. I just want God to do something for people whose humanity is unseen, let alone the divine image within them.

 

More and more lately, I feel as if the answer that I had stopped listening for is that God has already done something for the most vulnerable among us. Didn’t Jesus show us how to love one another? Jesus didn’t reinterpret the law to be contrary or to challenge those with power for fun. Jesus set an example for us to follow and embody.

 

My father’s Garage Wisdom did come from a book. I think it was divinely inspired.

 

Things get loose. Ya gotta tighten them.  We stray from the knowledge that God’s love liberates. That what God brings together, nothing can separate. That we are bound together by the Holy Spirit.

 

There's an ancient teaching of Rabbis that, before every human being - man, woman or child - before every human being there are 100,000 angels, sing, "Make way! Make way! Make way for the image of God."

 

I think we forget that, sometimes. We neglect to see the dignity in every human being. 

 

Things get loose. Ya gotta tighten 'em.

Whether we know it or not, God is already in the garage, wrench in hand. Because God sees godself in each and every one of us, no matter our age or gender, our sexual orientation or physical status, our race or religious beliefs. God recognizes the divine spark in each of us.

 

Our response is to see God in each other - as our baptismal vows say, "to seek and serve the Christ in each other" - and then behave accordingly.

 

We don’t always, of course. We often miss the mark. But we can be sure that when things get loose, God tightens them.

 

Amen.

Farewell, Sadie Gene

An Obituary for a Beloved Family Member

 

Ms Sadie Gene Waggie-Tail, aka 'Sadie Gene, Jelly Ole Bean', Princess of The Land of Neurosis, first of her name, House Havanese, died peacefully and without pain last night in the arms of one of her humans. She had just turned eleven in August. 

 

She had been diagnosed last October with an abdominal tumor by her Vet, April Reed, who, together with her staff, had provided care with excellent skill and deep compassion. Dr Reed had planned to be here in our home “when the time came” so that Sadie’s two brothers, Lenny and Theo, could be with her as she left us, but Ms Sadie had other plans. 

 

Sadie came to us from a breeder in South Dakota via Millsboro Havanese, when she was 18 months old. After two litters it was determined that motherhood was not her calling and her breeders sought to find her a good home. 

 

As the fates allowed, she came to live with us and she quickly became an irreplaceable part of the pack at Llangollen. She will be missed by her two devoted brothers, Lenny, age 17 and Theo age 13 (recently diagnosed and being treated for cancer of the pituitary gland), her friend and walker, Auntie Anita, her Uncle Bill whom she adored, her groomer, Ryan at Wizard of Paws, who, at the end, groomed and bathed her special so she wouldn’t freak out, and the Fed Ex man, who always fell under the spell of her deep, brown soulful eyes. 

 

Cremation services will be handled by Parsell Pet Crematorium in Lewes (Part of Parsell Funeral Home where her humans will be tended to after death). A Memorial Service will be held celebrating her life later in October. She will join the ashes of her Brother Bogie who continues to keep guard over Llangollen from his spot on the desk, and Ms CoCo Chanel, who is interred in the front yard where she maintains her vigil as Honorary Harbormaster. 

 

Donations may be made in her memory to the ASPCA so that other dogs and cats may find their forever home. Of your mercy and kindness please keep her humans in your prayers as they grieve this unfathomable loss. 

 

You’re free now, Ms Sadie. You can run and walk without a waddle and the sound of the dishwasher or thunder in the distance will no longer freak you out, causing you to shivery-shake and tremble. It won’t be too much longer before you are joined by your brothers so please prepare them room. 

 

Thanks to the many wonderful memories you have left us (and password protection) you will never be forgotten. Because you were who you were, uniquely and distinctly, you will always be loved.

 

We’ll meet you at Heaven’s Gate.

 

UPDATE: SADIE GENE'S SIGN 

 

 I know. I'm going to risk looking like a complete and utter fool, perhaps confirming for some of you what you only suspected to be true about me.

As our Ms. Sadie Gene was dying, I kept telling her softly how much she was loved and how much she enriched our lives. I kept telling her that she was going to be missed but she would soon be in a place where there was no pain and where she would be able to walk and run and not be afraid of thunder or dishwashers.

I did ask her - I'm not sure where the impulse came, but the words were on my lips and out of my mouth before I could process what I was saying - that she send us a sign that she had arrived and that she was okay.

Ms. Conroy took this picture at 6:30 this morning when she was accompanying the morning constitutional of Sir Theo Barksalot, first of his name, House Heinz 57, a Rescued Knight of the Abandoned Barn.

Yes, it is a double rainbow. Right on our canal.

Think what you will. My heart is full and my soul is at peace.

Have salt in yourselves

 

A Sermon Preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, 

Georgetown, Delaware

and simultaneously broadcast on Facebook Sirach 26:10 

Pentecost XVIII - Proper 21 - Year B

September 26, 2021

 

Well, the disciples are complaining because John, one of the Sons of Thunder, ran across someone who was healing in the name of Jesus, but he was not a follower of Jesus. Apparently, he had not yet sat for his “Disciple Boards,” or paid his Annual Apostle Union dues, or signed his Oath of Conformity, or placed his hand on a Bible or crossed his heart and hoped to die.

 

Jesus says to let him go, adding, “Whoever is not against us is for us.” Well, that’s a pretty low bar, isn’t it? Indeed, Jesus turns the tables ‘round on the disciples and tells them the personal cost to them if they try to put a stumbling block in the way of anyone trying to do some good in His name.

 

Here are a few examples: A millstone round the neck and thrown into the sea. Cutting off your hand – or a foot – or tearing out your eye. Yikes! Let’s hope Jesus is exaggerating again, just to make a point; that this is just his way of saying, “Listen. This is serious. Pay close attention. I really mean this.” Or, maybe he’s trying to evoke in them an understanding of the suffering of others by citing that which would cause suffering in them.

 

Jesus says, “For everyone will be salted with fire.Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Havesalt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

 

Have salt in yourselves. And be at peace with one another. What in heaven’s name is Jesus talking about?

 

Well, we know that the human body contains many salts, of which sodium chloride (AKA common table salt) is the major one, making up around 0.4 per cent of the body's weight at a concentration pretty well equivalent to that in seawater, interestingly enough.

 

According to the Salt Association (yes, there is such an organization), Roman soldiers were partly paid in salt. It is said to be from this that we get the word soldier – ‘sal dare’, meaning to give salt. From the same source we get the word salary, ‘salarium’. Other sources disagree with this and call it a myth, but I’ve long ago discovered that there are few coincidences in the world.

 

Salt was used for healing and purifying. Salt water was applied to infections and wounds and newborn babies were bathed in it. In some forms of Christianity, “the salt of wisdom” is placed on the baby’s tongue at baptism. That is also later ‘balanced’ with a drop of honey on the baby’s tongue, to signify the sweetness of the words of the Gospel.

 

Salt was connected with worship and covenant[i]. The ‘Covenant of Salt’ God had with King David refers to the imperishable and irrevocable quality of the engagement made between the two parties to the covenant.[ii] Salt was also used as an image for wisdom.[iii]

 

Salt is used for many purposes: Preservative. Adding taste. Cleansing. But, for the punishment of looking back as Sodom and Gomorrah burned, Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar of salt. I know, right? Go figure.

 

I remember that my grandmother always kept a small bowl of salt in her kitchen. She would take a huge handful of salt and sprinkle it into a huge vat of soup or a large casserole pan before hoisting it into the oven. She would rub it briskly into beef or pork or on the outside and in the cavity of a chicken or turkey along with freshly ground pepper kernels.

 

However, it was a good thing that, in those days – with occasional exception –we only took a full tub bath once a week, on Saturday night before church on Sunday morning , because there was always a huge piece of salt cod soaking in the tub. The thick layer of salt had done its work to preserve the goodness of the fish; now it was time to soak the fish in a tub of water to remove the salt and cook the fish with other seasonings, along with vegetables and potatoes.

 

Salt can preserve. Too much salt can burn, which is why there is an old saying about “Rubbing salt into the wound.” It not only burns, but it preserves the hurt and pain.

 

Have salt in yourselves. What might Jesus mean by this?

 

In preparation for my upcoming pilgrimage to Egypt, I've been reading "How to Love" by Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk, teacher, and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh.

 

At the heart of Nhat Hanh’s teachings is the idea that “understanding is love’s other name” — that to love another means to fully understand his or her suffering. (“Suffering” sounds rather dramatic, but in Buddhism, it refers to any source of profound dissatisfaction — be it physical or psycho-emotional or spiritual.)

 

Understanding, after all, is what everybody needs — but even if we grasp this on a theoretical level, we habitually get too caught in the smallness of our fixations to be able to offer such expansive understanding.

 

He illustrates this mismatch of scales with an apt metaphor:

"If you pour a handful of salt into a cup of water, the water becomes undrinkable. But if you pour the salt into a river, people can continue to draw the water to cook, wash, and drink. The river is immense, and it has the capacity to receive, embrace, and transform. When our hearts are small, our understanding and compassion are limited, and we suffer. We can’t accept or tolerate others and their shortcomings, and we demand that they change. But when our hearts expand, these same things don’t make us suffer anymore. We have a lot of understanding and compassion and can embrace others. We accept others as they are, and then they have a chance to transform."

Thich Nhat Han teaches that understanding is love's other name.

 

There is a wise saying that “Jesus and Buddha walk together in heaven”. More and more, I think that may well be true. Jesus is teaching that, once we understand the suffering of others, once we recognize that suffering in ourselves and can see it in others, we find that understanding is love’s other name. 

 

It’s what our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, calls, “The Way of Love.”

 

There is no longer need to criticize or cast out or cut off or judge. There is no need to cause pain. We are called to try to understand – or as Jesus commanded, love one another.

 

Now, I confess to you that I am far from perfect on this Way of Love. I am as guilty as ‘flying off the handle’ and ‘rushing to judgment’ as the next person. That said, you should have seen me before I met Jesus. Let me just put it this way, it wasn’t a very pretty picture.

 

With practice and with (ahem!) age, I have gotten saltier and a bit wiser. I confess that church bureaucracy is still a huge stumbling block for me. I’m a bit like John, one of the Sons of Thunder. The institutional church makes me pull out my hair in absolute frustration. I have very little patience with it, mostly because, like the disciple, John, I really don’t understand it. I admit, this has entered into and been a factor in my decision-making process to be with you consistently for a period of time. 

 

You’ve no doubt heard me talk about “The Four Killer B's of Parish Ministry: Buildings, Boilers, Budgets and …. Lemme think…. There’s a Fourth Killer B . . . Oh, right, BISHOPS!

 

Buildings. Boilers. Budgets. Bishops. The Four Killer B's of Parish Ministry.

 

If we could just worship God together and enjoy each other’s fellowship and hospitality and do the stuff Jesus asks us to do like feed the hungry and welcome the stranger and love our neighbor, and bring more people to Jesus and bring Jesus to more people, well, it would be enough. It would be more than enough. 

 

I honestly love you all and, although we all have our “issues” and there are bumps in the road ahead, I see a bright future, and I seriously want to be part of that journey.

 

So, these words of Jesus sting a bit for me: “Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.” Jesus calls me to realize that in order to be with you, I have to take the salt of the church as institution with the honey of the church as Body of Christ. 

 

I promise to try.

 

It's not unlike the rest of life, right? We have to take the bitter with the sweet. Try to see in every challenge an opportunity - to learn, to grow, to change.  As Rahm Emanuel once said, “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste."

 

“Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.” 

 

These words of Jesus remind me of the wisdom of children’s author Shel Silverstein, 

How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. 

How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. 

How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live ’em. 

How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give ’em.”

Amen.

 

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[i] Scripture says, Season all your grain offerings with salt. Do not leave the salt of the covenant of your God out of your grain offerings; add salt to all your offerings (Lev 2:13). So the use of salt was ordered first for the meal offerings, and afterwards for “all” offerings, including the “burnt offering.”

 

[ii] For example, Don’t you know that the LORD, the God of Israel, has given the kingship of Israel to David and his descendants forever by a covenant of salt? (2 Chron 13:5)

 

[iii] Gregory the Great said, “Now by salt is denoted the word of wisdom. Let him therefore who strives to speak wisely, fear greatly” (Pastoral Rule 4.12).

One small wish

A Sermon preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Georgetown, DE

and simultaneously broadcast live on FaceBook Sirach 26:10

Pentecost XVII - Proper 20B - September 19, 2021

 

When I lived in Maine, my family was very involved in foster care. We took in foster care children, mostly on a short term, emergency basis. That might mean a weekend or a few weeks and, depending on placement opportunities, those few weeks might suddenly become a few months.

 

I’m not going to try to romanticize it: Foster care was hard work. It was a work of the heart and mind, soul and body. It was impossible, at times – especially around the holidays. But mostly, it was humbling. Over time, we learned that what foster kids want is not what we think they want. What many of us think they want are X-boxes or smart phones, expensive sneakers, sports bikes or dolls.

 

Those things are relatively easy to attain but it’s not the thing they want – they want what the thing represents: That they are special enough, loved enough – in fact, enough – that someone will give them the “things” that represent that love, that special status.

 

Some of those kids in foster care wanted us to think they want those things because it is embarrassing to admit the truth of what they really want. It’s humbling to think they might not ever be deserving what they really want: a home, a family, love. So, they don’t – well, rarely – ask for that.

 

I remember one teenaged kid – I’ll call him “Ronnie” – we had for a weekend because there had been some crisis in the group home with the foster parent and all the kids had to be placed in other homes. In the midst of this turmoil, the news came that one of his favorite uncles had died in a car accident. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Ronnie felt he couldn’t attend because he didn’t have proper clothing.

 

Ronnie had been in and out of foster care for much of his childhood. He had moved around a great deal, and didn’t even have a suitcase. Instead, every time he moved, all of his possessions were dumped into two large, black garbage bags. Imagine the message that gave about your worth.

 

"I don't really own even a shirt and tie or dress shoes," he said. "I was going to be seeing some of my old family members, and it was kind of embarrassing to not have a suit when everyone else would have one. If I could make one small wish, it would be that I would have something to wear so I wouldn’t embarrass myself or my family at my uncle’s funeral."

 

His caseworker said that she was unable to justify buying him a suit because it was considered a “nonessential expense”. Nonessential. I’m sure in the Land of Bureaucrats and Red Policy Tape, and forms that need to be filled out in triplicate and certified and stamped by a Notary Public, anything that might help the still-forming self-image of a young teenage boy would be considered pretty “nonessential”.

 

But, that ‘nonessential expense’ was the one small wish of this young teen: He did not want to be an embarrassment. It took a lot of humility – indeed, maturity – for him to admit that. As I think about it, aren’t some of our most important small wishes that which seems “nonessential” to others? And, doesn’t that take a lot of humility to admit, especially as grown ups?

 

I remember talking with one of the nuns who taught at the Catholic school where we sent all our kids – the public school system was so bad it was out of the question to send the kids – so we paid the tuition our of our subsidy. Sister knew what we were doing and gave us a bit of a ‘discount’. She listened very carefully and asked me about how much I thought a suit might cost. I did some quick math in my head and told her the number, to which she nodded and then crossed her fingers as her eyes sparkled with hope.

 

Later that morning, Sister called me to say she had received a gift from an anonymous donor and if I would please come by the office and pick up the money she was certain I could find a new suit, shirt, tie, socks and shoes for young Ronnie and still have him back at the convent before the end of the day so another Sister would tailor it for him so he’d look especially sharp for his uncle’s wake and funeral.

 

Ronnie was with us for just a week, but that week changed his life and ours. Indeed, when he left us, he was getting ready to move in temporarily with the widow of his uncle who died. She and he had had some wonderful conversations about the man they both loved and admired, at the end of which, she said she knew exactly what she was to do – something her husband had said was his “one small wish” – to take Ronnie in and give him a home.

 

“I was always resistant to that idea,” she said. “I don’t know why. I really don’t. I guess I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle you. You always looked so . . . lost . . . so . . . scared and sad. But now, you look like a young man who knows he’s going somewhere. And, I want to be part of that journey.”

 

I thought about Ronnie as I considered the lessons for today. The lesson from Proverbs is a recitation of the teachings of the mother of King Lemuel – thought to be King Solomon whose mother would have been Bathsheba. Which sorta makes me giggle. If you listen carefully you’ll be able to hear the ancient wisdom of something that became a hit song in the 60s, by the Fabulous Miracles: “(My Momma Told Me), You bettershop around.)”

 

“A capable or noble woman,” taught Bathsheba, “. . . . opens her hand to the poor, and reaches out her hands to the needy.”

 

I think there are two or three women in this story of Ronnie who fit that description. Bathsheba adds, “Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

 

Somebody give Bathsheba an “Amen.”

 

As for the Foster Care Case worker, it still makes me wince as I remember her saying – with a straight face – that she could not justify the cost of getting a suit for Ronnie because it was deemed “an unnecessary expense.” St. James writes, “You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures.”

 

I suspect what St. James, the brother of Jesus, knew was that to “ask wrongly” is to not ask out of a sense of humility, a place of truth, a knowledge of our own poverty, that “one small wish”. Ronnie knew how to do that. So did his uncle. And, eventually, his aunt.

 

Somebody give James an “Amen.”

 

As Jesus was passing through Galilee, he heard his disciples arguing among themselves about who was the greatest among them. Jesus took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

 

As I think about Ronnie, I find myself wondering what ever happened to him. One of the really hard parts of foster care is that you often lose touch with them as they move through ‘the system’. He only spent one week of his life with us and yet so much happened to change his life and ours. I have prayed that his life with this aunt worked out for both of them.

 

I suspect it did as both of them were answering the “one small wish” of someone else. I have come to know that those “one small wishes” are the prayers that reach closest to the heart of God.

 

I have come to hear the words of Jesus we heard this morning as the “one small wish” from the heart of Jesus deep into to our hearts. If we worked to give Jesus his wish, just think of how different the world would be. If we were as generous as we know how to be and spend lavishly on what others might consider an “unnecessary expense” to build up the self esteem and self confidence of a child, how different might his – and our – future be?

 

The one small wish from the heart of Jesus is this, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

 

Might we be able to do that? Might we consider being servant first and put our own needs after someone else’s? Might we listen for the “one small wish” that’s in our own hearts and be humble enough to ask for that?

 

Jesus said, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

 

Somebody give Jesus an “Amen.”

 

Amen.