Wormwood's Doxy

The Purple Haze of Theodicy--A Response to John Marks

2009-06-21T14:26:00.002-04:00

If you don’t know who John Marks is, I hope you will check out his blog, The Purple State of John. John and his old college roommate, Craig Detwiler, made a wonderful film called A Purple State of Mind. In that film, John, who is an avowed atheist, and Craig, who is an evangelical Christian (although a fairly progressive one), have a series of open, honest--and occasionally painful--conversations about faith and its implications for public life and individual action. They call the film "an 80-minute effort to bridge the cultural gap, to push past politics, and wade into the middle ground where most people live."

The "purple," of course, refers to a blending of the so-called "red state"/"blue state" divide promulgated so heavily by television news. I highly recommend the film to you.

When Dear Friend and I went to the premiere of A Purple State of Mind at Davidson College (where Marks and Detwiler met), we both felt more affinity for John, with his doubts and questions, than we did with Craig. Since that time, I have read John’s blog regularly (he does some really interesting posts on film and other cultural issues) and I comment semi-regularly on his faith-related posts. The following is my response to his post entitled The Perfect Christian Daughter Murders Her Perfect Christian Family: A Case Study In The Problem Of Evil. I got started writing, and couldn’t stop, so rather than clog up his comment box, I decided to respond here.

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John--I ask in advance for your forgiveness if this sounds snarky. If we were discussing it over coffee or a beer, I assure you, I would sound more questioning than snide. (I also apologize for the length, but it’s hard to discuss this without laying out some important context.)

I have no easy answers for theodicy--and no thinking person of faith does. Stories like the one you highlight are quite effective for your purpose. You dare Christians to answer the unanswerable and show us to be ignorant fools when we try. It’s an easy “victory” for you---like shooting fish in a barrel.

But here is my question for you: What do YOU have to say about Erin Caffey and the evil she has done? Can you address the problem of evil without God and find any satisfactory answers?

I am a person of faith (in part) because, without "God," (however you define that), there can be no redemption for the evil or suffering in the world. All that pain just *is*. It will never be rectified. There will never be justice for the oppressed. There will never be any recompense for suffering. Life, to borrow from Thomas Hobbes, is "nasty, brutish, and short"--and we should probably all just kill ourselves and save ourselves the trouble. What's the point, anyway?

Maybe you can live in that nihilistic world, but I can't. Maybe you are made of stronger stuff than I--and most of the rest of humanity. I would venture to say that most people who claim a faith do so because we need to believe that the pain and suffering we DO experience (regardless of its cause) will ultimately be redeemed. That even if what we suffer is pointless, something good will come from it and our pain will not have been completely in vain.

If that makes me foolish or gullible in your eyes, I readily plead “Guilty as charged.”

I will not be glib about theodicy--but I will also state, as strongly as I am able, that I do not believe God causes or allows suffering for our "good." IMO, that God would be a monster and not worthy of worship.

I believe that God is with us *in* our suffering and works with us and others to bring good out of bad situations. I have experienced that presence myself in my own times of trouble. (Of course, it could just be some autonomic, evolution-inspired response in my brain—but that’s why we call it “faith.” ;-) I have also sensed the presence of the “holy” (for lack of a better term) in the faces and actions of those who have loved me.

I should probably note at this point that I am a process theologian. (I claim the title of "theologian" by virtue of my baptism, not because I went to seminary.) I don't believe that God is "omnipotent" (at least, in the sense most people mean it). I agree with Charles Hartshorne's view about that--he wrote a book titled Omnipotence and Other Theological Mistakes. My theology differs from most of those whom you profiled in your book Reasons to Believe--but I still count myself as a “Nicene Creed” Christian, and there are probably a lot more like me in Christian circles than you might think.

I am also a universalist, so I do not believe that God is going to send all but the chosen few to Hell. I don’t even believe in heaven or hell, in the sense that so many people mean them (as physical places where “good” or “bad” people go). But I do believe that, somehow, what is broken will be repaired and love will reign.

At the end of the day, my belief in God gives me "a very present help in times of trouble." That belief may be a delusion on my part, but it gives my life meaning and purpose.

My "brand" of Christianity is not the one against which you contend, of course. I will never try to impose my faith on you or anyone else--and I do my fair share of fighting my co-religionists in the political/legal sphere.

But I get tired of otherwise intelligent people acting as if the existence of evil is THE argument that disproves my belief in a loving God. (Bart Ehrman is another one who comes to mind...) I can make a case for agnosticism (though not for atheism) from a scientific point of view, but to use theodicy to dismiss the existence of God still leaves atheists with the problem of evil. Only in that case, as I see it, *you* have no answer at all--and no comfort to offer to those who suffer. I would love to know how you see it.

Pax,
Doxy

Let my epitaph read...

2009-06-11T07:57:00.003-04:00

"She ran to joy and embraced it."

A word about "Dear Friend"...

2009-05-31T13:22:00.003-04:00

A number of people have asked me why I haven't changed Dear Friend's name to "Dear Husband"?

Mainly, it's because he *is* my dear friend--the dearest of them all. I have learned that heart friends nearly always treat each other in ways that honor relationship--and that spouses can frequently treat each other in ways that they would never think of treating their best friends. I aim to treat him always like the dear friend that he is.

There is another reason too. When I first joined an Internet community 10 years ago, everyone there referred to their male spouses as "DH," which could stand for "Dear Husband" or "Damned Husband," depending on the circumstances. Since I used to refer to the Hydra in that forum as "DH," I just can't bring myself to change Dear Friend's name to that. In all the important ways, they are as different as chalk and cheese, for which I daily thank the good Lord.

I would have called him "Beloved," since that is what he is and it is actually what his name means in the original language from which it comes--but Cecilia already had that one covered by the time he became a fixture in my life.

So I think I'll just leave his moniker as-is. It suits him and it makes me happy.

Boston, here we come!!!

2009-05-30T19:15:00.002-04:00

Dear Friend did it! He finished his 19th marathon in 3 hours and 53 minutes. He has now qualified for the Boston Marathon in April 2010.

Not a bad week for my beloved. Turn 60 on Friday. Get married on Saturday. Realize a long-held personal dream on the following Saturday...

I think we are both liking this marriage thing.

Elegy

2009-05-26T19:41:00.005-04:00

She was beautiful. Big brown eyes and a veritable mane of dark brown, unruly hair. A crooked tooth gave her a interesting smile.

She was sarcastic and wry. I was always glad that I wasn’t the subject of her witheringly funny scrutiny. She could cut through bullshit in about two seconds flat. You never wondered what she thought about anything--she was always happy to tell you.

She grew up in a beach town and she was in love with the ocean. Her blog carried a quote from Isak Dinesen: “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.” She knew something about tears--and she knew how to laugh, too.

She was fiercely loyal to her friends, including me. And she was loving--to her son, to her family and friends, and even to a few people who didn’t deserve it.

She exemplified Jesus about as well as anyone I’ve ever known. She gave up on organized religion after her young son was diagnosed with a chronic illness and the faith community in which he was baptized at sunrise on an Easter morning never called to see how he was or visited him in the hospital. I can’t say I blame her for that--in fact, it grieves me in a special way, because those apathetic folks were “my people”--Episcopalians. But she walked the walk a hell of a lot better than most people who just like to tell you about their love for Jesus.

She never caught a break. She never went to college. Never really had much in the way of a career--certainly not something with benefits. Her one great love broke her heart when he left their marriage. Late in life, she had the son she loved above all with a man who didn’t deserve either of them.

She was a loving, good woman, friend, and mother, and she never caught a break.

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She died of cancer yesterday. She died at age 50, leaving that 10-year-old boy with the chronic illness without her fierce love and protection. God only knows what his life will be like now.

She died because she was poor, and because she didn’t have health insurance.

She died because, when she started having pain and other symptoms almost five years ago, she didn’t go to the doctor because she couldn’t afford it. What might have been easily curable had it been caught early was a death sentence by the time she was no longer able to bear the pain and dragged herself to the emergency room.

She died because the people in this country are so fucking selfish that they have fought healthcare reform tooth and nail.

She died because she didn’t have the good fortune to be born in a country that doesn’t CLAIM to be “Christian”--like any developed nation in Europe or the United Kingdom. (Where my mother, who suffers from chronic health problems, has received the best healthcare she’s ever gotten...so spare me your ignorant diatribes about the National Health Service in the U.K.)

My friend spent her last years suffering not only the pain of cancer but the indignity of having to worry about how she was going to pay her rent and feed her child. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer 2½ years ago, and was able to get Social Security disability payments only nine weeks ago.

It sickens me to type that.

If you are one of those people who believes that universal healthcare is a socialist plot and has fought reform that would enable every American to have decent healthcare, I hold you personally responsible for her death. You are complicit in murder, and you should fall to your knees and beg God’s forgiveness for your selfishness and your hardness of heart.

If it were in my power, I would force you to look that 10-year-old boy in the face and explain to him why it is okay that his mother is dead so that you could have a few more dollars in your pocket for your Starbucks lattes or your cable television service. Or why it it was okay for you to keep your “Cadillac healthcare plan” while his mother had none.

If you could do that, you are beyond help and may God have mercy on your soul--for you will get none from me.

If you could do that, I hope that you at least have the grace not to call yourself a Christian.

And if you couldn’t--if you couldn’t look that sweet boy in the face and say something so hardened and callous that it would make the angels weep--you need to be on the phone to your elected representatives, telling them to make sure that this doesn’t happen again. Demanding that they make changes--no matter what the cost--so that no person on this earth will die in agony, and no child will be left motherless, because we don’t have the will to do the most basic thing that Jesus asked of us: “Love one another.”

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This is what my friend, Terri-Lynn—funny, loyal, loving woman that she was—wrote about herself:

Where I'm From

I am from sand dollars and Sea and Ski
and the whole world contained in a tidal pool.
I am from overdue library books and Oreos
and tea parties after school.

I am from a tiny Riverside kitchen, abundant in love
and children
and molasses-filled biscuits.
I am from squeaky screen doors and sun-dried linens
and the golden promise of forsythia.

I am from the wild tangle of honeysuckle
the salt-cured planks of the pier
the cool green sanctuary under the willow tree.

I am from walks by the ocean and foolish pride,
from Lilla and Thelma
and Carolyn-now-Lynn.

I am from mule-headed stubborn and talking too much,
from singing along and dancing fools.
I am from Murphy was an optimist and bless your heart.
I am from the best part of the day.

I am from Jesus loves me
just as I am.
I am from dinner on the grounds and I'll fly away oh glory
and Jesus Christ Superstar.

I am from Edgecombe County and the muddy Tar,
from forbidden dunes and the endless Atlantic.
I am from ham biscuits,
butterbeans shelled this morning
and Pop's peach ice cream.

I am from the girl who sang with the band
and won the heart of the soldier,
from the milkman's daughter and the man with no voice
(he loved to fish).

I am from pirates and poets and painters
All of the gifts; none of the glory.
I am from Mason's shrine and Granny's cedar chest,
from Daddy's photographs and Tracy's poems.

I am from crocheted blankets, delicate as lace,
from cut-glass dishes and perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillets.
I am from familiar melodies and forgotten secrets
and a million grains of sand.

*********************************************************************

Rest in peace, Terri-Lynn Sykes. It was my great privilege to know you and to be your friend. And it is my great shame and sorrow that we failed you and your son.

Father of all, we pray to you for Terri-Lynn., and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest.Let light perpetual shine upon them. May her soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.

Terri-Lynn and Doxy with boys
at the North Carolina State Fair
Fall 2004

Going to Ground

2009-04-26T23:08:00.002-04:00

The wedding is less than a month away. I have been given the largest project of my career--one that I have wanted for 3 years--and it has to be completed by the end of June. I have another huge project in the works. As the school year winds to a close, my children need some additional parental attention to their homework (spring fever has bitten the Doxy household in a bad way...). Jasper needs more exercise.

All of that to say...I'm going to focus on what needs attention the most at the moment. I won't be blogging--but that's not the hard part. (It's not as if I blog all that often anyway...) The big challenge for me now is to try to stay off the Net so that I can get the humongous project in good shape and not have to take my computer on my honeymoon. Well, that...and get married and be a good mom to all three of my children and a good partner for Dear Friend.

It won't be easy to quit for a spell---I count on many of you to keep me informed about the things that matter most to me. Faith, politics (ecclesial and otherwise), and your own madcap adventures. I pray daily for many of you, as I know that some of you do for me. I'll keep praying--and I'll be bold enough to ask for yours. It's going to be a bumpy, wonderful ride!

Guest Blogging by Jasper

2009-04-19T16:00:00.009-04:00

Hi! My name is Jasper. I live with my Mom, Doxy, and the Emperor and Empress. I love them with all the big, wet, sloppy dog love I can muster. Especially my Mom. I try to be with her every minute of the day, so that I can protect her from squirrels and guys on motorcycles. (There ought to be a law against those things!)

I also spend half my time at Dear Friend's house. He's pretty cool too. He lets me watch "Animal Planet" on his big TV, and he plays tug-of-war with me when Mom isn't looking. (Don't tell her, or we'll both be in trouble!)

Some people think I'm a poodle, but that's only because they don't look very closely. I'm a Portuguese Water Dog. A lot of people call us "Porties" for short. I think that sounds stupid.

(Mom says "stupid" is not a nice word, but they aren't shortening her name to something that sounds like "potty!")

Being a Portuguese Water Dog means I'm kind of famous, because Mom says that there is a new Portuguese Water Dog living with President Obama at the Big White House...the one with the even bigger Green Lawn. I would looooove to play on that big green thing!

I've seen that new dog, Bo, on the news, because Mom made me watch the video. He's cute, but I feel a little bit sorry for him. He can't even do his business without people taking pictures of him. Yuck.

(I love having my picture made, as you can see, but I have my limits.)

My friend Jane at Acts of Hope wanted to know what I thought about having one of My Kind in the Big White House. I think it's pretty cool, but Mom thinks I should point you to this article about dogs like me:

Water Dogs Should Come With Warnings

Hey, I can't help it if I have LOTS of energy! And I confess I have a "thing" for sofa cushions:

See what a good job I am doing of checking this one for squirrels hiding inside it? Mom isn't very happy about this. She keeps saying "I haven't even finished paying for those yet!" I don't know what she's so upset about. It's my job to protect her from those evil hordes of satanic squirrels!

Know what I love to do for fun? Eat kleenex and paper towels. Boy, howdy! That is some kind of entertaining! And it provides lots of roughage...not to mention the exercise I get from Mom and the Royals chasing me around the house to try and stop me. (They can't usually do it. We Portuguese Water Dogs are FAST!)

My most favorite thing in the whole, wide world is going for walks. And now it's time for Mom to take me on one. Hope you have a great Sunday!

Prenuptial Agreements

2009-04-08T07:35:00.003-04:00

Dear Friend and I have been working on finalizing our prenuptial agreements.*

I think a spouse should have to promise to put the toilet seat AND the lid down. I think a male spouse should wipe the floor when he misses the target. And I think said spouse should towel off in the bathtub, rather than dripping all over the bath mat and the floor.

(I have bathroom issues. Sue me.)

Dear Friend is having his best friend, Harold, help him devise his own prenuptial agreement list. Knowing Harold, I'm sure it will contain acrobatic sexual performances on demand, keeping the fridge stocked with designer beer, and no complaining about time spent on the golf course.

Knowing what you know now, what would you require of a spouse before tying the knot?

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*For the humor-impaired among you, this is all in good fun. Work with me here....

It's the end of the world as we know it....

2009-04-06T00:29:00.001-04:00

Recently, I was reading MattyBoy's grim blog post on the economy (specifically, the impending tidal wave of credit default swaps), and I was feeling all worried and afraid. I've noted before that I'm a worrier by nature, and stuff like this can just send me right over the edge. It's huge and scary and totally out of my control--an issue tailor-made to keep me awake in the middle of the night.

But let's be realistic--nothing lasts forever. Certainly not governments or economic systems. The human belief that we can go on and on eternally, "just the way we are now," is silly.

This may not sound like a very optimistic approach to you, but it helps me to consider this.....

Every two or three hundred million years, there appears to be a mass extinction of life on this planet. We are probably about due for another one. At some point, there will be another asteroid hit, or a massive nuclear accident/attack, or a virus we can't stop. At some point, we will run out of resources, luck, or both.

It comforts me to know this because it actually gives added urgency to the need to live NOW. We have no control over the markets or the possibility of cataclysmic events--but we do have control over what we focus on in the moment.

The thought that there might be no more tomorrows reminds me that, just for today, there is love and beauty and music and dark chocolate/red wine. There is poetry and Jasper's unearned adoration and the way Dear Friend's eyes sparkle when he laughs. There are lilies and sunsets and whatever else makes you happy.

No matter how much we like to pretend otherwise, the only moment we know we have is the very one in which we are breathing.

This is much on my mind right now because of the situation with Dear Friend's brother-in-law, who was rushed to surgery last night to try and stop bleeding in his brain. As of this afternoon, he was relatively alert and communicative. For now, every word, every glance, every squeeze of the hand is a blessing to him and to his family.

And they should be to the rest of us, if only we could pay attention...

I am not good at paying attention, and I know I'm not alone in that. Some part of us knows that we should revel in the time we have, but we rarely do. It usually takes tragedy to remind us of the importance of this moment--and we quickly forget again when the tragedy recedes into the distance. We are a remarkably stupid species, in that regard.

None of us is going to live forever. I believe we have a responsibility to be good stewards of what we have, so I strongly support efforts to change the way we live in the world. But we were ALWAYS going to die. Individually and as a species. The only really important question is: "How are we going to live...today?"

That is my question for myself during Holy Week. The world is coming to an end: What am I going to do before it happens?

Call for Prayers

2009-04-02T16:42:00.002-04:00

It appears that Dear Friend's brother-in-law, Jim, has a brain tumor. We are still awaiting word on how serious the doctors believe it is, and what the next steps should be--but Jim commented that he felt better knowing that people were praying for him.

In light of that, I will ask your prayers for Jim, his wife Ruthie, and their teen-aged sons, Taylor and Daniel. They are a lovely family and I suspect they can use all the help they can get right now. I know how much your prayers can accomplish, having felt them on more than one occasion myself. Thanks so much...

Words of Wisdom?

2009-03-24T09:17:00.003-04:00

This weekend, the Emperor will participate in our parish's Rite-13 Ceremony of Manhood/Womanhood. This is the Episcopalian version of a bar mitzvah.

Part of what we do as a parish is offer the "celebrities" (I hate that term, but that is what the coordinators call them) bits of wisdom to help them on their journey to adulthood. So I thought I would pick your brains and ask:

If you could go back in time and give advice to your 13-year-old self, what would you say?

Doxy Admits Defeat

2009-03-08T22:35:00.003-04:00

There were 324 entries in my Google Reader when I logged in tonight.

I cannot possibly read them all, so I have acquiesced to the inevitable and hit "Mark All As Read." I apologize to my regular commenters. Sigh. (Please e-mail me if there is anything you really need/want me to read, or pray about.)

Life is good---just very, VERY full at the moment. So many of you are in my prayers. I'll be back soon with book reviews from my Lenten studies.

Love,
Doxy

This is for Josh....

2009-02-27T19:47:00.004-05:00

This is the Lenten Kitty. He gave up perfectionism--but decided he could keep the Cokes and desserts. ;-)

Intentions

2009-02-23T08:52:00.008-05:00

Today is my favorite day of the liturgical year. Yes, I know I'm strange.

Once upon a time, I celebrated Lent all by myself. I wasn't part of any faith community--I just liked the idea of giving up something and using that voluntary fast as a way of focusing on my relationship with God. (I somehow kept that relationship, even when I jettisoned church.)

Every year, I gave up Cokes and dessert. In some ways, I guess that seems kind of silly--but since I ingested both on a daily basis, giving them up made me think about God a LOT. And I fasted for the entire season of Lent, because no one told me that Sundays were feast days. Since I only went to church once a year on Ash Wednesday, and I didn't grow up in a catholic tradition, I didn't know.

I regret to report that my Lenten fasts were much more effective when I did them outside the church than they have been in the 13 years I've been an Episcopalian. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe because I was fasting in isolation. I didn't have a community of people with whom I could joke and moan about my minor deprivations. Fasting was not expected of me, either. In the tradition in which I grew up, I never even heard of Lent or fasting (except what I read in the Bible)--they would have been considered Catholic (picture that being said in a whisper with lips pursed and eyebrows raised), which, of course, meant "very, very bad" and not at all Christian.

In recent years, I have had difficulty deciding what to do as a Lenten discipline--and often I have failed at my intentions. Some years I took on additional spiritual practices. Others, I gave up something that felt more "weighty" than Cokes or dessert. Rarely did I succeed in practicing my discipline all the way through Lent (even with feast days!) without throwing my hands up in defeat.

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Now before I start getting lectures about the purpose of Lent, let me say this--I KNOW the purpose of Lent. I totally agree with our friend Margaret--Lent is about living a Resurrection Life. And I am still working on finding ways to support myself in doing that.

That is why I love Lent--even the penitential aspects of it. Lent supports me on my walk with God because it makes me mindful--not just of my sins, which are many...but of my longing for God. As far as I have fallen short of my intentions in the past, they mean something. Even my failures mark me as someone who loves God so much that I can't quite seem to give Her up.

So I have been thinking about what things might strengthen my love for God--and how people in my life might actually know that I love God.

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My first intention was born last weekend, when I made a shocking discovery.

I hardly ever read anymore.

By that, I mean I hardly ever read BOOKS anymore. I spend a good portion of my days reading things on the intertubes, but I--who used to be a voracious reader of books--have only read a few in the last couple of months. And those have been re-reads of some of my old childhood favorites.

I made this discovery while I was rearranging my bookshelves. When I moved into this house last January, I had a rollicking case of pneumonia, and I remember very little about the move itself. The books were among the very few things I unpacked, and in my feverish state, I simply threw them up on the shelves, without rhyme or reason. And so, for the past year, I have been heard cursing loudly every time I tried to find some reference I needed for my Education for Ministry class.

Last weekend, I decided to fix that. I started categorizing books, which meant I had to pull most of them off the shelf. And I was dismayed to realize that I have a fine collection of books--especially theology books--that I've never read.

Some of my most intense moments of spiritual connection or insight have come from reading. I get a lot of really wonderful insights and inspiration from the things I read on the Web--but tearing through all the blog entries in my Google Reader doesn't really count as thoughtful spiritual practice for me.

So today is the day I take a deep breath, slow down, and start reading books again--books that I've been wanting to read because I think they will add something to my relationship with God. Today is the day that I start once again to exercise the mental muscles I need to wrestle intelligently with my faith, and to inform that faith as I pass it along to others.

To be honest, I really started on Sunday. I finished a book of essays by Alan Lightman, A Sense of the Mysterious: Science and the Human Spirit. (If you haven't read his book, Einstein's Dreams, I highly recommend it. This one was good too.) I am a science geek, and I actually find much that is spiritual in the science reading that I do. Astronomy and physics both speak strongly of God to me--a notion I'm sure would appall some of the scientists I read!

Now I'm starting on Kathleen Norris' new book, Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life. Norris' work has always resonated for me, and this book promises to do so as well. I have had my own experiences with acedia and I'll probably be blogging on that in the future.

Other books in the pile for Lent include our own Jane's When in Doubt, Sing: Prayer in Daily Life (that one I've already made a dent in, but I got sidetracked for some reason), Verna Dozier's The Dream of God, and John Spong's Jesus for the Non-Religious. If you have any other suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

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This entry is already too long as it is, so I'll talk about my other intentions later. For now, I am headed out to church, where Dear Friend will mark my forehead with ashes and we will enter this holy season together. "Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return."

It is hard to feel penitential when I feel so much joy in my life these days--but I am reminded that the dust of which we are made is stardust. Each of us, in our best moments, reflects the dazzling brilliance of the stars from which we come--and the love of the One who made us all.

This Lent, may you discover that stardust within yourself. May you shine like the star you are. Radiant. Joyful. Beloved.

The Color of Relief

2009-02-17T15:09:00.002-05:00

Relief is blue...a shimmery, silvery blue that captures the light and makes you catch your breath in pleasure.

You'll see me wearing it on my wedding day.

Running on the Knife-Edge of Fear

2009-02-15T13:52:00.008-05:00

I got a phone call last week. It was the kind of phone call you really hope you never get...

"The radiologist has reviewed your mammogram, and there are some dense spots in your breasts that we would like to investigate further. Can you come in for further tests next Tuesday?"

I am 45 years old. I have two young children. I'm supposed to get married in 95 days.

I have held the fear at bay since the phone call--mostly because the day it came, I was up to my eyeballs in work and didn't have time to process. Since then, I have been away on a Valentine's Day holiday with Dear Friend, and being with him tends to send my serotonin levels into the stratosphere. He is with me, no matter what, he says...and I believe that.

But today, I am back at my other home without him...and the wait to have further tests and get the results seems like a marathon for which I have not trained. Today, I am running full-tilt on the knife-edge of fear.

As I run, however, I am mindful of Mark Twain's comment about worry:

I have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.

I am trying to keep this all in perspective, but it is difficult not to "borrow trouble." I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of what a diagnosis of cancer would do to the carefully constructed house of cards that is my life. Can I take care of my children if I am ill? Can I be with Dear Friend, when our relationship depends on my being able to travel? However will I manage? Should I continue to make wedding plans?

So many questions. So few answers, here on the knife-edge.

I suspect that is the way it always is. No one is really prepared for the possibility of disaster. We spend our lives pretending that nothing bad will ever happen to us or those we love--and then we all just react to bad news as best we can.

Today, I am praying for peace of mind, because I really believe that's all God has the ability to give in situations like this. Because I tend to rush headlong into an imagined future of pain and loss, I am praying for the gift of presence in this moment--in which I am loved and supported by many.

Just this morning, dear Fran wrote me this, in answer to my worries about whether I should continue with wedding plans:

Your beautiful future is really in the present and awaits you with such enormous grace and love, it needs you to participate without reserve.

I am fortunate to have such friends...such love...such faith in my life. May I have the ability to listen and to live a life that reflects so many blessings. May I have the grace to continue to "participate without reserve."

You cannot make this stuff up...

2009-02-09T10:15:00.002-05:00

For some inexplicable (and probably twisted) reason, I decided to see if the bully who made my life a living hell in 5th and 6th grades was on Facebook. Sure enough, she was...so I googled her married name to see if she showed up on the intertubes.

Not only did she show up--she has a flashy website. And get this: She makes her living as a "motivational speaker," speaking at schools and talking with kids about how to deal with...bullies.

Wonder if she ever tells them that she knows whereof she speaks?

Same as it ever was....

2009-02-08T11:48:00.005-05:00

I keep reading all these wonderful sermons drawn from today's Gospel reading:

Mark 1:29-31
As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

But I confess that my reaction to this story is largely negative. I mean...honestly! Couldn't Jesus have given the woman a day off?! She's just had a near-death experience, been healed by the Lord of Creation, and the first thing she does is...do what women always do. Cook. Clean. Wait on people.

I guess we are supposed to believe that she was thrilled beyond belief to be made well, and was happy to return to her life of servitude. Feh, I say. Sometimes REAL service is giving a break to those who do it daily.

Apparently Jesus got that message by the time he told Martha that listening to the word of God was more important than cooking. (Luke 10:38-42) But (if my lectionary calculations are correct), we won't get that story until Sunday, July 20, 2010. In this case, the Good News is a long way off...

UPDATE: And, of course, Elizabeth Kaeton moves beyond the obvious (after I hit "Publish Post"). But I still feel grumpy about the whole thing...

Canine Capers

2009-01-28T11:18:00.007-05:00

Jane R. from Acts of Hope frequently checks in to see how my beloved Jasper the Wonder Dog is faring. So I finally got around to taking some new photos of him. These were taken last week, during our 4-inch snow:

Just call me "Snowface!"

Doesn't he have a lovely tail? He's very proud of it.

I took these this morning:

Mr. Curly-Whirly

This is Jasper in his favorite spot, looking out the window. The sofa cushion is permanently imprinted with the shape of his body.

Keeping the world safe from Evil Hordes of Satanic Squirrels

How far will you go?

2009-01-23T18:03:00.003-05:00

Some painful conversations with friends and neighbors this week have me asking myself some hard questions. Because you are such a smart and thoughtful group of readers, I thought I'd ask them of you and see what you have to say:

How far are you willing to go to support what you say you believe in?
How many of your advantages are you willing to give up to ensure justice for all people?
What would you sacrifice so that others might have a shot at a decent life? Convenience? Money? Possessions? Your life?
Would you be willing to enforce sacrifices on some to achieve what you thought was a greater good?

And, if you ARE willing to make some serious sacrifices (or impose them on others), what are the guidelines you use to make those hard decisions?

I don't want to give too many specifics about my personal Issue of the Week--it will only cloud my thinking about what are really important, life-defining questions. But I'd love to know what you think about those questions...

Hope is the thing with feathers...

2009-01-20T14:35:00.002-05:00

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

---Emily Dickinson

I am jealous of only one woman in Dear Friend's life--and she's been dead for 123 years.

His love affair with Emily Dickinson predates our acquaintance by over three decades. When I first met him, it was the joke in the parish that she was the only woman in the universe for whom he would break his vow never to marry again--and that he was planning to waltz her down the aisle in heaven the moment he got the chance. He has an icon of her in his bedroom. Dead or not, I consider her a formidable rival for his affections.

But I have loved her too. And today, her words have been ringing in my ears. "Hope is the thing with feathers" is a poem that I probably learned from Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time, more than 30 years ago. I was reminded of that poem as I watched the faces of so many Americans who had gathered on the Mall in Washington to witness and celebrate Barack Obama's inauguration as the 44th president of the United States.

Old and young. Rich and poor. Gay and straight. All the colors of the rainbow. I confess that it was a glorious melange that I had never even...hoped...to see in my lifetime.

As I listened to President Obama (how I love typing that!), I also remembered another of Emily's poems:

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

Today we heard important words about hope--but also about accountability and sacrifice. We heard our new President say that we will all be called upon to do our part in facing the difficult challenges that lie ahead.

The words have been said. It is time for us to make them live. Get busy, people.

My So-Called Life

2009-01-19T12:24:00.003-05:00

I haven't been posting much. The well is been dry lately--though I've been mulling posts on the awful situation in Gaza and some more on homelessness and community. But if you don't write it when it's bugging you, then chances are, it will already have been covered by better bloggers than yourself, and then you think "Why bother?" That's me lately....

And life has been full since Christmas. Here's a partial run-down:

Bad Things:

Work is crazy, thanks to Transition Mania.
One kid missed an entire week of school for a virus last week. The other missed Wednesday through Friday.
I have a cold.
They are predicting 2-6 inches of snow tomorrow. Ugh.
There are well over 200 entries in my Google Reader and my head is too stuffed up to comprehend them all. I will probably hit "Mark All As Read" and hope you will forgive me.
I have gotten myself involved in a local controversy over school assignments. Some neighbors are mad at me, and I am a bit angry myself. Race, class, and privilege all come into play---not easy conversations to have.
One of my grandmother's oldest friends was found dead in her yard the other day. My grandmother is feeling this loss deeply. At 83, every death is one closer to your own. Sigh.
A friend at church was recently diagnosed with an extremely serious illness and ended up having to have surgery last week. The long-term prognosis is grim.

Good Things:

Dear Friend and I had a lovely weekend together, after a long space between visits. Our engagement seems to have deepened our relationship in some lovely ways I could not have predicted.
Ruth gave me a nice award, which I will post when my head is not spinning. Thank you, my friend!
The Empress and I are having lunch together today and going to paint pottery together. In my altered state of consciousness, I have no idea what I will produce---but she is over-the-moon happy about our "Mommy and Me date," as she calls it.
Tomorrow marks a Whole New Day. Thanks be to God.

That's my life. How's yours?

I just feel the need to post this...

2009-01-03T15:20:00.005-05:00

Three years ago yesterday, my best friend took me to see a movie called The Family Stone. She had already seen it, and thought I might enjoy it.

If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a family at Christmastime--with all the misadventures you would expect. Oldest son returns to introduce his incredibly uptight fiancee to his very liberal family. Hijinks and hilarity ensue.

But there is a scene in that movie that broke my heart into a million pieces. One character, who has unexpectedly fallen in love with someone he's not supposed to, chases after her as she runs away in confusion. It is dark and he races madly through the snow, screaming her name and trying to catch her before he loses his chance at real love.

I sobbed bitterly in the dark of that theater because I knew that I would never have anyone in my life who would love me enough to race through the snow and the dark for me.

Miracles do happen.

Doxy Eats Crow for Christmas

2008-12-25T20:15:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas, my dear Invisible Friends! What a year this has been...elections, recessions, hospitalizations, oh my!

But always...ALWAYS...there has been hope, love, and friendship. I can't thank you enough for all the support and the prayers I have gotten from those of you who come here and read my scribblings. I count a number of you as real-life friends as a result, and that is a wonderful Christmas blessing.

I am a lucky woman.

****************************************

Luck does not always come in the forms you expect, however.

Not all that long ago, I wrote a long post on my distrust of the institution of marriage (The Triumph of Hope Over Experience). I know I said I would never, ever, EVER get married again.

I meant it, too.

But on December 6th--the Feast of St. Nicholas--Dear Friend got down on both knees and asked me to marry him.

If you had seen the look on his face, you couldn't have turned him down either...

We had to ask the Bishop for permission, which is one reason I didn't announce the news sooner. Bishop Curry has not only given his permission--he has offered to perform the ceremony. That was a true stroke of grace for me--a sign that my past relationship mistakes are not beyond redemption.

It still bothers me immensely that I have tried and failed in the past--I wanted to celebrate my 65th anniversary, as Dear Friend's parents were able to do before his father died last year. "Third time's a charm!" is funny, but painful. It is not what I wanted.

But Dear Friend is who I want. He is who I wanted all along...I just kept thinking that no one gets the total package in one person, so I settled for what I thought was enough. Passion the first time. Stability the second.

Imagine my surprise when I realized you could have passion, commitment, friendship--and God--all in the same relationship...

Dear Friend is the whole ball of wax. He is loving, kind, thoughtful, brilliant, funny, and beautiful--inside and out. He loves God and he loves me--and he is open and candid about both of those things to everyone who will listen. From the moment I met him, he made me feel special. I will spend whatever time God blesses us with trying to return the favor.

We will be married Memorial Day Weekend, when we will also celebrate his 60th birthday.

************************************************

You may now commence your chorus of "I told you so's!"

I deserve that.

But in the midst of happily eating all that crow, I will beg your prayers--for Dear Friend and myself, our combined five children, and our exes. Love and hope we have in abundance. Pray for grace, patience, and mercy if you will. We will need them all.

Finally, I ask you to pray for those who may not yet take this step--or who are grieving attempts to undo the marriages they have already made. Dear Friend and I are ever mindful of the fact that there are many who want to celebrate their own triumph of hope and love and cannot. In our joy, we do not forget their pain--and we will not rest until all who want to make loving, faithful commitments can do so both legally and in the Episcopal Church.

And now, I'm off to start eating. I hope your Christmas dinner is as pleasant as mine!

Waiting

2008-12-20T20:15:00.005-05:00

He is waiting—this small man with the Jamaican accent and the slight cough. He is waiting for what will happen next in his life.

He is tired and ill from sleeping out in the weather, and when he speaks there is a sense of numbness in his voice. He is waiting, but only God knows for what.

I am rendered silent in the face of this waiting. What can I say to a man who has no home?

His name is William, and he left his native Jamaica after a string of 10 devastating hurricanes--only to lose most of his family and all of his possessions in Hurricane Katrina. In the years since Katrina, his life has gone from bad to worse.

He talks quietly of his losses. The job that no longer exists. The woman he loved who was murdered, and the woman he tried to love, but couldn’t--too much pain and anger coursing through both of their veins. The move from “home” to the streets.

I touch his arm lightly, and look him in the eyes as he speaks. It is all I have to offer.

He is matter-of-fact about these things. He does not whine or complain. He just explains…and he waits. For someone to give him the work he longs to do. For a place to call his own. For someone who will be able to love away the pain and the memories.

And I am shamed into silence...knowing that I will go home with Dear Friend when this evening is finished. Knowing that my work--the work I feel blessed to do--will begin again in the morning, and that, tonight, I will be warm and sheltered and loved. Knowing that my waiting is over.

***************************

I doubt I will ever see William again, but our brief time together at a Room in the Inn dinner has given him lodging in my mind and heart. He has been my living, breathing Advent lesson, and I have been unable to forget our conversation.

Part of me wishes that I could...

That’s because I ran full tilt into the Wall of Doubt again as my conversation with William went on. This happens frequently when I must put a face to issues of poverty and social inequality.

It is one thing to talk about “homelessness” or “the homeless”--it is quite another to look into the weary eyes of a human being who tells you that he slept in a bus shelter last night because he had nowhere else to go.

The Wall of Doubt is what I encounter every time I am faced with the failure of common decency--and let’s be honest and acknowledge that this is what is at the root of homelessness and abject poverty. These things are based in the failure of human beings to love and care for one another in the most basic ways.

That Wall is the rock on which my faith is tested--the stone that threatens to shatter what little confidence I have that there is a good and benevolent God in this universe.

Much better minds than mine have wrestled with the theodicy problem through the ages. I am under no illusion that I will be the one to solve the puzzle. But the problem takes on new urgency as I consider the fact that there is nothing I can do to help William.

Or is there?

********************

My feeling of helplessness drove me to write to my friend Under There (UT), who blogs at Under the Overpasses. UT runs a shelter for homeless people—and he writes beautifully about those he serves.

I wrote to him about my experience with William and confessed my angst over the encounter:

There are no religious platitudes that will apply here--I've never felt so inadequate in my life. I had absolutely nothing to offer him, except my prayers. But I have to say--that felt REALLY hollow. What good are prayers when you don’t have a job or a roof over your head? When everyone you love is gone?

How do you handle that? At least you have resources to offer--I had nothing but a willingness to listen and some totally inadequate words...

Do we do more harm than good by going to hang out with these folks for a few hours? Do we just remind them that we can go home after dinner...and they can't? I think if I were them, I would be so bitter about that---but I also know that many homeless people feel invisible, and just being treated like a person, rather than a social problem, makes a difference...

I don't want to sound like a guilty liberal (though I guess I feel like one). I just want to know--what can I do that will REALLY make a difference? I told William that I would pray for him every day--and I will keep that promise. But what else can I do?

Thanks, and bless you for reading this far...

Doxy

*************************************

UT was kind enough to write me back, and we have engaged in a conversation about helpful responses to homelessness. He has graciously give his permission for me to share his words with you (I have edited some things out for brevity and I have interwoven our conversations to try and give a coherent overview of what he had to say):

You have just discovered why a ministry of presence is so difficult. It's natural for the problem-solver mode to kick in and to say "here, let me help you." The gift of simply listening, as powerless and painfully inadequate to help as it made you feel, was a true gift to that man.

Most of the people trained to help him locate the disappearing resources he seeks are overwhelmed, overworked, and considering another career because of how impossible the task is. When he walks into any social service agency he will be another number to get the facts from and then "next..."

Simply being present and actually giving a damn about what he was saying is incredibly important. Some people on the streets go for weeks without actually being listened to. Everyone is too busy doing good to listen--or the ones who do listen, do it out of guilt and are always sneaking peeks at their watches.

The survival skills of people on the street are incredible. They can tell when someone is feigning interest and when it is real. One of our local social workers at the hospital told me about a lady who, when she asked her what she wanted, replied, "I just want someone to listen to me bitch about what is going on." Pretty profound and honest. Heck, sometimes I want that.

You should feel inadequate. That is normal. Liberal guilt is not always a such a bad thing. Remember that many of our conservative friends feel none at all. I seriously doubt that William felt bitter about anything. If there was someone there who felt that way, he or she probably stayed away from conversation. You may have thought that person was just shy or quiet. But your Jamaican friend knew why you were there and he opened up to you and shared his story. Instead of saying, "Lady, will you find me a job?", he asked you to listen, and it sounds like you did that...You did not show up and run roughshod all over his person, by glibly saying, "bless you, I am praying for you," and then disappear. You gave him your presence.

Yes, on one level, it is not enough—-but on the other hand, neither is the dehumanizing social work that most people experience. He deserves help and you gave one form---now someone or some group needs to give him the other kind...

The day labor thing is a curse...Most of it was based on a very fragile bubble. Most day labor is landscaping or construction-related around new homes and existing wealth. When the luxury houses stopped selling here, the day labor was one of the first things to go. The faltering economy has impacted those who have no commitment from their employers except “Maybe tomorrow” in a very hard way.

There is a sort of word-of-mouth aspect to day labor. People hear from a “friend who knows someone related to someone who heard it from a reliable source” that there is work in this town or in this region. They chase the labor, and often it has dried up before they get there.

Day labor is a great thing temporarily, but unless we train people with GED/literacy and job skills programs, they are most vulnerable. Unfortunately, too many of my guests--immigrants, laborers with low educational backgrounds, people with felonies, etc.--are caught in the cycle of never-ending day labor employment. They deserve better because they want to work.

You learned something very valuable--and, dear Doxy, with the soap box you have built, you should do something about it. Your experience should be voiced in a parish newsletter, blogs, and whatever other official forums you have…people need to know that the homeless are not lazy. They are desperate for work. Most of the ones I know are. Your Jamaican friend would love to have the opportunity to work his way out of crisis with dignity. The number of lazy homeless people is no greater than the number of lazy people in society at large.

**************************************************

I asked UT what he thought that Christians should do to address the issue of homelessness. Here is what he said [emphases are mine]:

I think what I’m trying to get at is the one sermon I can never seem to shut up about--getting the church to lavish its treasures onto the world for the kingdom of God.

Of course, by that, I do not really mean just money. In my humble opinion, the real jewels of the church are the actual people and the gifts they have. We are pretty good at releasing funds for charity, but we never really get to address the root causes of the symptoms that charity relieves.

Justice really demands that we do more than provide overnight shelters and soup kitchens. That does not mean we do away with crisis assistance, but from my perspective (admittedly a basement-level perspective), it seems that we must recognize their limitations and never let them become substitutes for structural changes to remedy the root causes.

I think we need to revamp our existing technologies of compassion to include the brains and the talents of people in our pews who would never volunteer to go down and serve a meal at a shelter. That does not necessarily mean that they have hearts of stone. Their God-given passions may lie somewhere else. They may have gifts that, unfortunately, have only been valued in the secular business world. I have seen what can happen in places like Atlanta when you give bankers, lawyers, architects, real estate professionals and business people a “kingdom vision.” It's like the Holy Spirit kicks them in the ass and says, "Those are your spiritual gifts, doofus--stop feeling second best to the clergy and social workers and get out and make a difference with what you have."

The thrill of discovering "This is what I was meant to do, and I enjoy doing it" makes all the difference in the world. I think the fashionable term for what I have in mind is "social entrepreneurship," but on a much more simplistic scale. Justice demands that we find a way to provide your friend at the RITI with opportunity. He deserves the opportunity to have the dignity of working his way out of the famine he is in. It just seems that is right and fair, or in other words, justice...

Whenever I imagine things like nonprofit day labor projects that employ the homeless, while providing community improvement for poverty stricken areas that are crying out for hope, I know that it means time and effort and it is simply easier to write a check to the local soup kitchen to feed the homeless.

I also know that I--like most clergy types--really do not know how to operate a business and make it thrive--but our parishes are usually packed full of people who do. We need to tap them and give them a vision and then turn their imagination and know-how loose on creating real opportunities. If we do not, charity--without tangible hope for escaping the need for charity--can sap the human spirit by demeaning people who come to resent it as a way of life.

I guess what I am getting at is creating hope based not simply on warm fuzzy feelings, but real jobs that lead to better opportunities out of homelessness.

People want to work. My guests will do back breaking work and come in feeling proud of themselves about it. You may not be able to help your Jamaican friend directly, but that does not mean that you cannot do something. I hope his story continues to percolate through your consciousness and I hope it finds its way to your writer's voice. You are known for stirring things up every now and then, right?

I am sorry, I hate to give you a sermon about it. I am proud that you felt like crap over the helplessness of the situation. It means you are fully human and you have a conscience. I am also more pleased than you can know that you listened to his story. Not many people are willing to do that. In short, Doxy, glad to know you.

Peace, UT

***************************************************

UT was way too kind to me. I recognize his desire to encourage people in their generous impulses. It’s all about baby steps.

But I am coming to realize that baby steps are not enough anymore. Jesus didn’t say take baby steps. Jesus said “Sell all that you have and give it to the poor.” Jesus said “When they sue you for your coat, give them your cloak as well.” Jesus said “Turn the other cheek,” and “Love your enemies.”

The way I read it, Jesus did not believe in baby steps. Jesus was all about real sacrifice. And I wonder what I am willing to sacrifice for William? What will I give up so that he can have a roof over his head and work that will grant him dignity?

Do I really believe anything I say I believe?

As I type this, I am sitting in a warm house, and Dear Friend is bustling about doing whatever he is doing at the moment. There is plenty of food in the fridge, and there is a pile of Christmas presents on the dining room table. I am safe, and loved, and sheltered.

I will write and I will pray. I will do my best to “stir things up.” But it is not enough.

Because somewhere, out in the cold and wet North Carolina night, William is waiting...

*********************
Update--UT has posted some additional thoughts on this issue: My Slow and Steady Conversion.