Weeks 2 and 4 (Spiritual Exercises)

A lot of decisions to ponder in the upcoming week.

Easter Sinking In (or Rising Up)

In the week or so after Josh died, I read a lot about Christian views on suicide over the past two millenia.  (Why not?  It wasn't as if sleep were an option.)

In the course of the next couple of years, I realized that, even today, we are some of the "lucky" ones.  I would hear stories, current stories, of families refused church funerals, of funeral services botched.  We, on the other hand, have never been on the receiving end of anything other than sympathy and reassurance, eloquence and encouragement,  from ministers, rabbis, and priests and, on the part of Christian clergy, confidence in resurrection.

"While we are crushed," preached our pastor in his funeral sermon, "Josh has now risen up.  While we are now in the dark, Josh is now in the light.  While we are pressed down in horror, Josh is living the mystery."

The other night, in the college Intro to Religion course which I teach, we were talking about holding differing personal viewpoints in the context of the church.  One young man mentioned that one of his friends believes that anyone who commits suicide (his verb, not mine) goes straight to hell, but he doesn't share that belief.

I don't bring my personal life into the classroom, at least not in that regard, but his comment did register.  A year ago, I might have turned pale and ended the class without explanation.  

This year, I just thought: What a small, and sad, understanding of God his friend has.

It's been a battleground for me, but I'm grateful to be in possession of a genuine, albeit hard-won, Easter faith.

More Questions: What Does the Cross Mean to You?

This is one of those not-for-the-faint-of-heart posts.  But yesterday's generated such interesting answers (which will surely lead to another post eventually) that I thought I'd try something similar today.  

This one began with  a piece Michelle wrote on Wednesday, in which she says that "[i]t is difficult for us who make the sign of the cross when we pray, who let the crucifix lead us into and out of the church, who finger the rosary in our pockets when we are worried to see the cross as anything other than a familiar icon of protection and comfort."  I commented that protection and comfort are not the things I think about when I encounter the cross.  But, of course, she got me thinking . . .     .

As a Protestant, I am accustomed to seeing an empty cross, rather than a crucifix, in church, and I tend to see it as a symbol of victory.  In my home church, however, the center of the simple white wooden cross is encircled by nails, and so for me the cross has often become a focus for meditation on suffering.  I often thought, before Josh died, that I would like to do a sermon on that particular cross.  Now I'm not sure that I have it in me.

In the Catholic church which I began to visit after Josh's death (a complex story involving a need to be with people in prayer and the sense of trauma that bubbled up every time I tried to enter our own sanctuary),  an enormous crucifix hangs above the altar.  One day I happened to glance up as the priest raised the cup and plate and sang the words, "Through him, in him with him, in the unity of the holy spirit . . ".  That cup and plate looked so very small and that crucifix so very large; I was quite struck by the simplicity and fragility of the eucharistic act in the face of the overwhelming evil represented by the cross, and that one man's act of compassionate love had overcome all terror and evil.  It was a significant moment for me as I sought to contend with the horror of suicide and to find some sense of reassurance that my son had found welcome and safety in God's embrace.

Two years later, still contending, I spent a lot of time with the Stations of the Cross while I was on retreat at Wernersville.  I wasn't too clear on what the Stations of the Cross were ~ they represent stops in Jesus' final journey, from his appearance before Pilate to his entombment ~ but my retreat director provided some help and sent me off for what became several days of on-and-off focus on Jesus and his mother.  I'm not sure that I'd recommend that particular pilgrimage for a person in my shoes without the companionship of someone who is both a priest and a psychologist, but it was a powerfully healing journey for me. 

Did that experience transform the cross into an icon of protection and comfort for me?  I can't say that it did.  It remains a symbol of anguish and evil, albeit one that has convinced me that every moment of my son's pain was shared. 

I do wonder, though, whether a long-enough confrontation with the cross, of the nature into which I have been forced, might alter its impact.

And what about you?  What has your experience been?

Faith ~ From Our Parents?

A couple of weeks ago a friend remarked that she has always known God's loving, comforting presence.  She has never doubted that God is always right with her, through the good and the bad ~ and she has had some tough times in her life.

Since my experience has been quite different, I've started to wonder where such confidence comes from.  I asked her a few days later whether she thinks that it is a consequence of her upbringing and she concluded that yes, it is.  Her parents instilled a deep faith in her.  Not only did they set a consistent example by regular mass attendance and an obvious devotional life, but they talked frequently about matters of faith and clearly understood God, and especially Jesus, to be as engaged in their lives as they were themselves. 

In truth, I've wondered about this question many times over the past several years.  After the deaths of my mother and brother, God was no longer acknowledged in my family.  Not that God was given much of a place before, but those tragic deaths marked a watershed in our lives.  

And so I've speculated:  What if those who cared for us, for my brother and me, in the aftermath, had mentioned God, even occasionally? What if they had referred once on awhile to a God who continued to love us, who continued to offer us a beautiful world, albeit one marred by tragedy and sadness?  What if they had practiced, and articulated to us, a continued reliance on God as they navigated those very difficult years and made the decisions that would affect all of us for the rest of our lives?

What about you?  How did your childhood experiences affect the faith with which you do or don't live these days?

Relay for Life

The Lovely Daughter is participating in the Relay for Life this week-end as a member of her social work school's team.

I have this fantasy that my Friday morning doctor's appointment will be followed by a meeting with an optometrist who can produce a pair of prism lens by the end of the day, thereby making it possible for me to join her at some weird hour as planned.  If that doesn't happen, I guess I'll go early in the morning when it's light enough for me to walk down there.

In any event, my stepmother Jewel Craig and Karen's daughter Katie Gerstenberger and Mary's daughter Erin Potts and my freind Bean who is a Survivor! will be on my mind.  And my friend L's husband who's gone and my friend G's sister who's here.  And  . . .  

I'm sure that we all have people we remember and people we're rooting for and I urge us all to make a contribution ~ if not to the Lovely Daughter's effort, which it just happens that we can do here, then to someone else walking somewhere else.

Micellaneous Monday: The Good Stuff

Thank you all for listening to and commenting on my venting earlier today. I got some of it out of my system and then went on to some good, good things:

I got to do spiritual direction with two people today, one by phone and one in my home. (The driving problem.)  Both of them are making the Ignatian Exercises and really, it is one of the most wonderful things in the world to accompany someone on that particular journey.  One is near the end, which means that she is walking with Jesus through the last days of his earthly life in her daily prayer at exactly the most perfect time in the calendar and church year.  I am hopeful that she will experience Easter with more joy and amazement than ever before.

I got to meet with a friend and discuss some retreat work we are planning to do together.

A pastor friend and mentor called, so I got to bemoan my current state of affairs, long and loud.  That helped, too.  (Thanks, J!)

I got to prepare this week's college classes, which are mostly on inter-religious dialogue, one of my most favorite topics.  My students run much of the gamut of Judeo-Christian religious experience and faith, but they are all gentle and curious and open-hearted and lovely human beings.  Most of them seem to enjoy a class in which all questions are welcome and all viewpoints are addressed seriously.  I am really looking forward to this week.

Even though I can't actually "look" at much. I also had time for a long nap and I can go to bed soon ~ much needed, because the strain on my eyes is intense.

Our next topic in the class I'm teaching is Hinduism, in which much of the focus is on the visual as opposed to the linguistic apprehension of the Divine.  How ironic can life get ?!

Image: Sandy Frazier, Third Eye

Miscellaneous Monday: Eyes and Church

I hate it when people talk about their physical ailments all the time.  So, permit to to discuss mine:  Yeah, still total double vision.  I've been reading up on its likely cause.  Not good.

My preoccupation with this matter has given me a respite from my obsessive thinking about Josh.  Paradoxically, the reality of his death makes this not such a big deal.  I'm guessing that, had this happened three years ago, I would have been in a complete panic.  Today:  OK, one more bad thing, and not so bad at that, relatively speaking.

OTH, the Lovely Daughter tells me:  Mom, this is your general approach.  Something minor that is unlikely to end badly?  Your anxiety level skyrockets. Something hugely disastrous?  You are completely calm.

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Yesterday, I learned that a good friend is leaving the PC(USA) and seeking ordination elsewhere.  The lack of support shown by her local governing body has finally caused her to shake the dust from her feet.

I have often thought of doing the same, for somewhat different reasons.  Mostly:  No call prospects.  I won't belabor the point but, objectively speaking, if you looked at what I've accomplished over the past few years, you might think the church would be interested in my service.  It's not.

I have a invitation to interview for something outside the church this week.  The only financially responsible thing to do, and a job I could love.  But I sure didn't have to turn my life upside down to go to seminary in order to do it.

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From a holistic standpoint:

Is the vision thing connected to Josh?  Are my eyes (or their accompanying nerves) which can no longer function in concert responding to the exhaustion of 2.5 years of trying to keep it all together?

Or is it connected to the church?  What am I not seeing, about myself, my call, and the church?

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Off to a meeting (my son is driving) for some other work I've been invited to do that has nothing to do with the PC(USA).