GLOBAL FAMILY

We stood, gathered in a church courtyard. There were about 30 of us standing around a plot of ivy covered ground. A hole in the dirt is waiting for the ashes of my big sister, Kay. We were her family gathered from around North America to honor a woman who had blessed so many. Her husband, David, had asked me to say a few words on behalf of the family. How do you sum up the life of one who has lived a rich and full life?

As I stood and looked out on the gathered family, I realized that words could not do what the community who encircled her ashes did by its very presence. There before me were people with northern European heritage, African heritage, Native American heritage, Vietnamese heritage, Guatemalan heritage. They were all in Kay's family. We had come from Vancouver BC, Vermont, Rhode Island, New York City, Virginia, Indiana, Southern California, South Dakota, Kentucky, Alabama, Texas, Illinois, Ohio. 

And we who were gathered were from every walk of life: grocery clerk, chef, teachers, business women and men, unemployed, nurses, professionals of all kinds. Some of us had multiple degrees, others had wisdom learned on the streets. Some lived with physical challenges, others with emotional complexities. Some were gifted in speech, others in music, others in compassion, others in empathic presence. All of us were there together, in all our diversity, because we were loved by Kay and we loved her.

What more needs to be said. Kay and Dave lived a life of generous hospitality. They always made room for more. Their family expanded the longer they lived, opening to people who were seeking home. There was always more room in Kay's heart even if she didn't have any more room in her home. Kay and Dave grew a global family and discovered the challenges and gifts of creative diversity.

It seems to me that the world needs more people like my sister Kay and her husband Dave. If we are going to learn to live together in this shrinking planet, we have to become family where all are honored whether they are like us are very different. As I say good-bye to my big sister, I say "Thank you Kay, for allowing me to see in you and Dave a taste of the reign of God. May your spirit infect us that we too might honor all as you did."

SPRING STARTS SMALL

Spring starts so small—so tiny. The buds poke their tender green out of the tip of the branch. The bloom is just a hint of color. The air—chilly—cooling to marginally cold at night. Spring stutter-steps into it’s bloom. It gathers steam as the sap rises—gathering momentum in it’s upward flow toward the longer sun shining days. Drinking from within and embraced by the warming southern breeze from without, the tree colors its canopy with purple.

Is this the way spring returns to a frozen soul? Does the winter season of the heart creep away in the lingering sunlight? Is the warming presence of human touch necessary ingredient for the shoots of joy to bloom?

And the inner energy?  Where does it come from? Is its resting place in the roots of the cold dark winter vacated when the warm light of human friendship lingers over a glass of wine? Does the hard ground drink in the spring rain of forgiveness and opens the heart to it’s courage—freeing it to come out of it’s hiding place? 

I don’t know, but maybe patience is the warming spirit that frees the energy and opens the frightened heart to color, to pleasure, to the emerging shades of delight.  Maybe joy visits when we open our heart to the warm love of friends and family. Maybe joy comes as a gift, slowly, haltingly, and we lean into it, noticing it when it is present. 

FLESH BECOMES WORD

Many people will have heard this passage of scripture even if they are not Christian. "The word became flesh and dwelt among us." This is from the gospel of John and it is the evangelist's way of talking about Jesus and his relationship to God. For John, "word" is God's creative and redeeming power in the world. This passage is often read at Christmas time to talk about he birth of Jesus.

But, lately, I have been reflecting on what happens when people's lives end. And it seems to me that when death occurs this phrase is reversed: flesh becomes word. When the person we have known is no longer with us in flesh, we busy ourselves speaking words about them. We gather at funeral homes, churches and houses and talk. Words are woven together into stories, and each story is a way of creating a perspective on the deceased.

And we keep talking long after the funeral as we bump into things that remind us of the person who is no longer with us in flesh. When we do, we speak again. We tell stories as a way of insuring that the person does not disappear. Our words, our memories, become the dwelling place. "The flesh becomes word and dwells among us."

And it matters that we get a chance to share the stories with others. For the presence of the person dwells not only in us but among us. Their presence seems stronger when, through words, we re-form them in the stories we tell and the memories we share.

When life ends the way you have known it, when you no longer know someone or something the way they were known, write your words, speak your words, share your words. In that way the gift of that which has been lost can be recreated and continue to dwell among us.

HATE TURNS OUT THE LIGHT

Some of the best things I read keep calling me back to them so that I can discover more than I saw the first time. Such is the case with Barbara Brown Taylor’s article in the Christian Century (April 2, 2014) entitled “Light without sight.” She shares thoughts about light in darkness that she gleaned in reading And There Was Light by Jacques Lusseyran.

When Lusseyran, a French resistance fighter who was captured by the Nazis  was shipped to Buchenwald, "he learned how hate worked against him, not only darkening his world but making it smaller as well.  When he let himself become consumed with anger he started running into things, slamming into walls and tripping over furniture.”

Hate blinds us even when we can’t see. It disorients us and keeps us from knowing where we are in relationship to other things in our world. Hate crimes are crimes committed because people are blind to the fullness of life in another. They are crimes committed because they can only see what threatens them about the other, not the full humanity of the other. 

But, when Lusseyran “called himself back to attention, . . . the space both inside and outside of him opened up so that he found his way and moved with ease again.The most valuable thing he learned was that no one could turn out the light inside him without his consent.”

When we hate another, when we allow our anger to shrink our world and we lose sight of the fullness of the other, the light goes out within. So, we have to remember that we have control over that inner light.  It will not go out if we allow love of another to overcome our hate.  If we pay attention to the fullness of life that exists in the other, then light will guide us in our relationship with them.

INSIGHTS FROM THE UNSIGHTED

One who can't see with his eyes can certainly help those of us who have eyesight see more clearly.  In her artical "Light without sight" (Christian Century, April 2, 2014) Barbara Brown Taylor introduced us to a French resistance fighter who was imprisoned by the Nazis. Jacques Lusseyran, in his book, And there Was Light shared how he could see light when he went blind. According to Dr. Taylor, "one of his greatest discoveries was how the light he saw changed with his inner condition. When he was sad or afraid the light decreased at once. Sometimes it went out altogether, leaving him deeply and truly blind."

When it gets really dark in our lives, it is hard to see where we are going. Fear of loss narrows our world and swallows light. When we fill in the unknown future with anxiety that tomorrow will not work out well, we become afraid. It is hard to make decisions about moving forward because we have trouble figuring out what the consequences of decisions might be. If we are too anxious that they will be bad, we will narrow our world, moving forward tentatively and haltingly.

But Barbara Brown Taylor then said, "When he (Jacques) was joyful and attentive it [the light] returned as strong as ever. He learned very quickly that the best way to see the inner light and remain in its presence was to love." The Bible puts it this way, "Perfect love casts out fear." Love of life, love of others, paying attention to the joys and pains of others, reduces our fear. Paying attention to our own strength, our own courage, our own resiliency, can give us the energy to step forward into the unknown without as much fear to hold us back and drain our strength. 

Why does love help reduce fear. Because love is the connecting spirit that helps us know that we are not alone. Love is what binds us to each other so that when our hearts weaken, we know that others are there to share our journey with us. Love is that which overcomes our isolation and enables us to live in the strength of shared time and space.

So take it from one who can't see with his eyes. Love your way into the light. It is better than shrinking in fear.