On Fragility…

Tags

cycle, death, fragile, God, hidden, life, loss, prayer, pregnancy, thin space

Photo credit:  www.extremetech.com/extreme/191233-new-nanoparticles-get-us-closer-to-artificial-photosynthesis-mass-carbon-capture

I have talked before about how, as a priest, the life cycle is ever present in my work [see post here].  Simultaneously celebrating new life and honoring earthly death can sometimes happen within days or hours.  But this week I have been reminded of how sometimes we do not even see or think about that thin space between life and death because, all too often, we have the privilege of not having to think about it.

This week, one of my close friends celebrated the fifth anniversary of the birth and death of her child.  The baby died in utero around twenty weeks.  That event was formative for our entire community of friends.  Suddenly, pregnancy was no longer a happy, idyllic time, when everything always turns out okay.  We all began to see the dark side of pregnancy, and understand how much we take a “normal pregnancy” for granted.  In thinking about baby Ella this week, and the impact she had on so many of us, I find myself humbled by how much her death gave us.

And like any other cyclical week in the priesthood, what news should I learn but of a friend who was surprised to discover she is pregnant after having lost her first pregnancy over a year ago.  I was equally elated and terrified.  Elated, because I knew how much the couple hoped that maybe, just maybe, they might be blessed with a successful pregnancy and birth.  But terrified because they, and I, know how fragile these next thirty-four weeks will be.

So this week, my prayers are with all of those who walk through the journey of life, death, and pregnancy.  I especially lift them up, because all too often, their joy, grief, and anxiety are hidden.  For fear that life will not be viable, many couples elect to keep their pregnancy quiet for as long as possible.  Whether they share or not, the couple faces consequences.  When everyone knows about a pregnancy that is lost, the couple can have to retell the painful story over and over again.  When no one knows about the pregnancy, the couple can feel isolated and alone in their grief, because to share their story, they have to tell you that they were pregnant and are now no longer pregnant.  There are no easy ways forward, and so for those in our midst walking the path of longing to create new life, fearfully growing new life, birthing new life, and mourning lost life, our prayers are with you.  You live in a fragile reality that we honor and hold with love and that we lift to God.  You are not alone.

Sermon – Luke 1.39-45, A4, YC, December 20, 2015

Tags

acceptance, authenticity, Christmas, community, Elizabeth, fear, God, intimacy, Jesus, love, Mary, pregnancy, relationship, Sermon

This time of year, seven years ago, I was about a month into pregnancy.  The season was one of expectation, disbelief, and excitement, but we were not telling anyone about the pregnancy for fear that something could go wrong.  Hiding one’s pregnancy in those first months is a common cultural practice for many women and families who are sensitive about the uncertainty of pregnancy.  But holding a secret like pregnancy can invoke a mixture of emotions.  You may feel anxious that someone will discover your secret.  You may feel afraid that something will go wrong and worry about how you would share the news.  You may feel guilty about telling white lies to hide your ultimate secret.  Holding a secret about ourselves can create an inner tension and an outer isolation that is unsettling and unnerving.

We do not know whether Mary had planned to tell Elizabeth about her pregnancy.  In Luke’s gospel, Mary never gets the chance to tell Elizabeth the news herself.  Luke only tells us that after Mary is told that she is pregnant with Jesus, the angel tells her that Elizabeth, who is past the childbearing age, is six months pregnant.  Mary immediately goes to Elizabeth.  Most scholars believe that Mary goes to Elizabeth to offer care for Elizabeth’s pregnancy.[i]  But we cannot know whether Mary planned to tell Elizabeth about her own pregnancy.  Mary had every reason not to tell her.  To an outsider, Mary’s pregnancy is not good news. She is unwed, young, poor, and pregnant.  This combination would make her an outcast, and typically no man would take her as a wife.[ii]  In Mary’s day, her pregnancy and her resulting un-marriable status is almost a death sentence.  Women in this time depended on a husband for financial support and social acceptance.  Although Mary’s pregnancy is good news from God, in the social context, that joy is negated and forced into silence.  Given her situation, we can imagine that Mary might have wanted to keep her pregnancy a secret.  Although she is rushing to Elizabeth to care for her, Mary may have been dreading the pending time of holding a secret and the inner tension and outer isolation that her secret will cause.

In modern times, we too struggle with sharing information within a community.  One of our most common greetings is, “How are you?”  And the usual response is, “Good.”  But our common greeting is rarely a genuine question about how someone is actually doing.  In fact, many of us have a short list of people with whom we avoid asking that question altogether because we know we will be there an hour later hearing about aches, pains, and their crazy neighbor.  We prefer our short greeting and response because not only do we not want to really hear about someone else’s problems, we do not want to tell others how we are truly doing either.  “Good” becomes our code word for, “I am mostly fine, but I don’t want to tell you how I really am.”  Sometimes “good” is a necessary response for keeping others from prying into our lives.

But sometimes “good” is a way of preventing authentic relationship.  While I was in seminary we were required to serve part-time in local parishes.  At the church where I was serving, Easter Vigil was a big deal.  We had many more acolytes, ushers, and Eucharistic Ministers than normal.  As we prepared to line up the large group for the procession, I noticed one of the acolytes was not as chipper as she usually is.  I asked her if she was okay, and she blurted out that she had had a fight with her parents on the way to church and was still in a bad mood.  I was surprised by her candor, especially in front of all the other acolytes.  But as soon as she shared her frustration, several of the acolytes gave her a pat on the shoulder, or commiserated with her experience.  Somehow, saying out loud why she was in a bad mood allowed her to release some of her tension and start fresh that night.

Preventing authentic relationship is not just something we do with each other.  We also struggle with sharing information with God.  During worship, we model corporate confession to God.  But how many of us really take our personal struggles to God?  Perhaps we have been so ashamed of something that we could not even talk to God about it.  Or perhaps we have been angry about how something is going in our life – the job that we did not get, the unhappiness we are having in a relationship, or the illness that is not healing.  Sometimes our anger about a situation clouds our emotions so much that we cannot imagine lifting the situation to God in prayer.  At times of heightened emotions, we feel the least capable of inviting God into our shame, anger, or grief.

The encounter between Elizabeth and Mary today offers a complete counter to our natural tendencies toward being guarded and resistant to authenticity and intimacy.  Before Mary can offer a veiled “I’m good,” Elizabeth immediately greets Mary with joy and blessing.  If Mary is at all concerned about Elizabeth’s judgment, shunning, or slandering within the community, Mary misjudges.  Instead of the expected judgment, Elizabeth offers Mary warm acceptance and praise.  Elizabeth not only blesses Mary for being the carrier of the Savior, she also blesses Mary for being faithful to God.[iii]  Elizabeth does not tentatively ask Mary if she is going to be okay or encourage her to be quiet about her shameful pregnancy.  Instead, Elizabeth sees the glory of Mary’s pregnancy, ignores cultural norms, and celebrates loudly the magnificence of what God will do through Mary.  Elizabeth proclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”  Elizabeth’s response is the exact opposite of what Mary may have expected.

The countercultural response of Elizabeth to Mary is the same countercultural way that God operates among us.  God chooses Mary, a young, poor, unwed woman to be the bearer of God.  God chooses Elizabeth, a woman far beyond the age of conception, to be God’s prophet.[iv]  God lifts up the poor and oppressed and calls them blessed.  God takes on human form in Jesus, lowering God’s self to come and be among us.  God’s way is almost always countercultural.  God has a way of turning things upside down and shaking up our thinking.  Through the brief encounter between Elizabeth and Mary – two marginal women – God reveals the earthy, authentic, countercultural way that God calls us to be in relationship with one another and with God.  Looking through this very human interaction between two women, we are able to anticipate the very human child of Jesus who will transform all our relationships in a countercultural way.

As we anticipate the celebration of Christ’s birth and we await the coming of Christ again, we are reminded through Elizabeth and Mary of the invitation that we have into authentic, Christian relationship with one another and with God.  Mary and Elizabeth’s encounter reminds us that our church community is a gift.  Our community is a place where we can be vulnerable with one another, share our hopes and dreams with one another, and share our shame, guilt, and fear with one another.  Our community is a place where when someone asks you how you are, we really want to know how you are.  Our community is a place where we can expect beautifully, and often brutally, shared honesty.  Our community helps us model the kind of relationship that Elizabeth and Mary have.

Elizabeth and Mary also invite us into authentic relationship with God.  Most Sundays we open our worship with a prayer called the Collect for Purity.  We pray: Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid…”  Weekly we admit that despite the fact that we do not want to take our shame, our anger, our fear, or our secrets to God, God knows them anyway.  God is the Elizabeth for us Marys.  God greets us with joy and blessing before we can even share our secret.  God already knows and God loves us.  God wipes away tension and isolation and throws upon us the cloak of love.  As we enter into a time with family, friends, and church to celebrate Christ’s birth, I invite you to let go of anxiety and isolation.  I invite you to consider the warmth of Elizabeth toward Mary and God toward us, and to give that anxiety and isolation to God.  Give those feelings to God because perhaps this year, you will find an Elizabeth in your life who can warmly embrace you into the love and acceptance of Christ.  Amen.

[i] Robert Redman, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 94.

[ii] Judith Jones, “Commentary on Luke 1:39-45, (46-55),” December 20, 2015 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2723 on December 12, 2015.

[iii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 95.

[iv] Charles C. Campbell, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 95.

Journeying in the darkness…

Tags

abundance, church, darkness, grief, light, loss, mourning, pregnancy

October is Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month.  In some ways, it seems like a strange month to choose.  In October, we are often focused on the harvest.  We have harvest-themed door wreaths and table decorations.  We enjoy a taste of the harvest ourselves – picking apples and pumpkins.  This is a time we celebrate abundance, and yet this is also the month when we honor when abundance is taken away.

As a child, I knew very little about pregnancy loss.  I had an aunt who sometimes referred to infant she lost by name, but no one besides her talked about it much, and the subject was so hushed and confusing that I never asked many questions.  As a chaplain, I experienced my first pregnancy loss with a patient.  A whole new world of darkness invaded what had developed in my mind as a world of joy.  I was at the age that my friends were starting to have babies.  But no one had ever talked to me about the dark side of pregnancy.  The darkness still felt very “other.”

Finally, a dear friend – one with whom I had shared many confidences – lost her pregnancy.  We lived far away, but I had just seen her pregnant belly at a reunion of friends for the weekend.  We had laughed and shared dreams about the child.  It had been a weekend of light.  And suddenly, that weekend was washed away with darkness.  We all rallied, sending flowers, meals, and cards.  We prayed and we cried.  And we listened.  My friend was very good about being vocal and honest about her pain.  We journeyed with her through the darkness.

During our mourning period, I shared with a few coworkers about my grief.  Slowly, the stories poured out.  Of pregnancies lost, of an infant loss, and even of the grief of trying to get pregnant.  No longer could I go on pretended that the world of pregnancy and babies was all roses and sunshine.  There is a darkness, a fear, and an uncertainty that haunts every pregnancy.  Most of the time those fears are unrealized, but unfortunately, not always.  And sometimes that darkness crashes down on those who never even realized the darkness was lurking.

We don’t talk about pregnancy loss much in church.  We have a liturgy for blessing a pregnancy.  We have a liturgy for giving thanks for a healthy birth.  And we have a liturgy for an infant baptism.  But the liturgies for infant loss are scattered and hard to find.  They are modified versions of other liturgies, often unauthorized by a liturgical committee.  They are like the darkened corner room of the maternity ward where they try to hide away the mom who has to deliver her stillborn.

Today, I want you to know that I am willing to talk about pregnancy and infant loss.  As a priest in the Church, I am willing to journey with you through the darkness – even if that darkness has been lingering for twenty years or more.  Or if you are trying to get pregnant, or even if you are pregnant and are afraid of the darkness – I am here.  You are not alone.  I will stand in the darkness with you – for however long you need.  And for those of you who are just now becoming aware of this issue and want to be supportive, I recommend this video.  You will find great resources on the website, as well as a link to an amazing book of devotions.  Join me in being the Church – a Church willing to sit in the darkness until we can find the light again together.

On Mother’s Day…

Tags

bless, difficult, joy, Mother's Day, mothers, pregnancy, struggle

Photo credit: http://www.modernartimages.com/symbol-of-motherhood.htm

As Mother’s Day approaches, I face it with my usual dread.  Though there are so many mothers that we can and should honor (I love you, Mom!!), there are so many people for whom this is a hard day.  I am at the stage in life when many of my friends are having children.  There are the sonogram picture announcements about the pregnancies, the gender-reveal parties, the showers, and, of course, the onslaught of beautiful baby pictures.  It is a time of great joy and most of the time it feels like a gift, especially to be a part of it all when friends live far away.

But then I remember all of those friends who want to be pregnant, but struggle with infertility.  Each pregnancy announcement is bittersweet.  And I remember all of those friends who have lost a pregnancy.  Those sonogram pictures bring up fresh rounds of grief.  And I remember those friends who have lost children after birth.  Those pictures of swaddled babies bring back the muscle memory of empty arms.

Of course, that does not even include all the other ways that Mother’s Day can be difficult:  the mothers we have lost, the mothers who have been abusive, the mothers who are estranged from their children.  The list goes on and on.  And so, each year, my Mother’s Day tradition has been to reread this wonderful ode to “The Wide Spectrum of Mothering,” by Amy Young.  May you bless and be blessed this Mother’s Day, affirming all the women in your life.

On the in-between…

Tags

God, holy, pregnancy, ready, suffering, transform, waiting

As I approach my delivery date, many people have asked me whether I am ready.  I think they usually are asking one of two things (or both):  1) Have I accomplished everything I need to do to welcome the baby?, and/or 2) Am I ready to no longer be bearing the physical burden of pregnancy?  It is the second question that has me in a quandary lately.  In many ways, I am so ready to be done with the physical discomfort of these last weeks.  My body is constantly hurting, I cannot seem to get a good night’s sleep, I cannot find a good balance between not enough exercise and too much exercise, and the kicking in the womb lately takes my breath away.  So in that way, I feel so ready to be done with this part of the pregnancy.

But there is another part of me that is quite sad at the prospect of this pregnancy being over.  This is the last time my husband and I expect to be pregnant, and so this is the last time I will ever experience the miracle of having a baby kick me from the inside.  This is the last time I will see my body expand in ways I never imagined possible.  This is the last time that I will be able to enjoy the sacred moment of rubbing my belly and knowing the two of us are sharing in life.  So in that way, I am not at all ready for this to all be over.

Where I struggle is in finding the balance between the two.  More often I find myself wishing days away and complaining than I do soaking in every last moment of pregnancy.  Once I realized the pattern, I began to wonder how often I do that with God.  I pray for some trial to end, I pray to just get through something, or I pray for more knowledge and experience so that I can do better the next time.  The truth is, perhaps I could consider being more grateful for the trying, challenging, painful times, knowing they will transform me into something different and better.  Perhaps I could consider looking for those beacons of hope in the midst of darkness in life – the way suffering can bring me closer to others who suffer; the people God puts in my path who offer comfort – even if I am not good at receiving that comfort; the intimacy I experience with God in the tortured prayers of the experience.

Perhaps what I am talking about sounds trite – consider the silver lining, or when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.  But what I am slowly realizing is that God can sanctify those difficult times, transforming them and us into something entirely different.  But God requires of us many things – to be vulnerable, to be more critically observant, to expect God to be pointing to something small, but something really great.  I do not know if I will ever master this way of being, particularly in difficult times, but I appreciate the reminder this week.  And now, I’m off to go rub my belly and smile some more.

On touch…

Tags

church, God, intimacy, pregnancy, sacred, touch

Courtesy of http://tips.pregnancycalculator-duedate.com/all-hands-on-baby-especially-during-the-pregnancy/

Being pregnant is a pretty incredible experience.  I have been so grateful to experience the phenomenon one more time with our second child, and continue to be amazed by the miracle of pregnancy.  Of course, being pregnant comes with a certain set of consequences too.  The funniest for me has been the way that the mother’s body becomes fodder for public consumption.  Not only does there seem to be a constant conversation about my changing body (usually accompanied by comments that would never be acceptable at any other time – like how “enormous” my body is getting); there also seems to be a strange longing to touch the growing belly, even by total strangers.

In general I have mixed feelings about being touched.  Understanding the miracle of pregnancy and the life and hope that it generates, I understand the longing to be connected to that gift.  I am especially patient about this longing when it comes from much older women – women who are long past childbearing age, and who in their advanced age seem to appreciate the gift of life more than those of us who are much younger.  But there is also a strange and somewhat uncomfortable intimacy that comes from having someone touch your belly – something you would never be permitted to at any other stage of life.

So imagine my surprise this past weekend while on retreat when, without permission or warning, a 90-year old Franciscan brother immediately placed his hands on my belly when he discovered I was pregnant.  He broke into a beautiful and meaningful blessing on my pregnancy, my unborn child, and my pending delivery, making the sign of the cross on my stomach.  Though my instinct was to pull away when he first touched me, somehow, his steady hands and his heartfelt blessing held me still.

As the brother pulled away with an encouraging smile, I realized two things.  One, I think we as a people have become incredibly guarded about touch.  We separate ourselves so much through technology and creating appropriate boundaries that, in the end, we sometimes limit touch altogether.  Life can become incredibly lonely and lack intimacy when the basic gift of touch – whether a held hand, a hug, or a reassuring pat – is denied to us as a society.  Two, as a priest, I think our profession has become so guarded about safe church practices that we forget the power of touch in our ministries.  It has never occurred to me to touch another pregnant woman’s belly to bless her – even when she is a longtime parishioner.  Even if the thought had occurred to me, I am sure I would have asked permission, felt self-conscious about the act, and stumbled over my words in my fumbling.  But this Franciscan brother reminded me that part of our job as clergy is to honor and celebrate the intimacy that Christian community creates, and to invite people into that sacred space.  Though I realize there is always a time and place to respect the danger of touch and the harm that it can do, I wonder if out of our caution we have not lost out on opportunities to open up the spaces where God can bless and sanctify all stages of life through the power of touch.  I know there are no simple answers, but having experienced the blessedness of sacred touch, I am grateful for a church that is willing to try to find the balance.