Turning Point (posted by Andee)

Over last weekend, Kirstin and I had many difficult, and wonderful, conversations.  About her eagerness to spend several hours with each of her friends before the end, vs. the reality that she probably only had a week or two of "good time" left.  About not wanting to die at all, and yet being ready to let go.  About the fact that as her breathing got worse, she would eventually have to choose between taking enough drugs to be comfortable, and being able to be awake and alert.  About her love for each of us, and for God, and her trust in the next life, even as she felt all the terror of letting go of this one.

By Tuesday morning, she was struggling with every breath.  And when the Hospice nurse came, she made the choice to start taking morphine to ease her breathing, even though the combination of morphine and drugs to control its side effects would knock her out almost all the time, and leave her loopy and drugged during the moments when she was awake.  It was not a choice she made lightly; she had so hoped to have more time with us, and did not expect this to happen just hours after we had talked about the possibility.

Yesterday, a group gathered here to celebrate the Eucharist with her, and to anoint her with the wonderful words written by her friend Margaret Watson:

"Thank God for your eyes which saw the world in Love; for your ears which heard the Word in Love; for your mouth which spoke truth in Love; for your shoulders which bore the burdens of the unloved for Love's sake; for your hands which worked unhesitatingly in Love; for your feet which walked under bridges and among the poor and suffering in Love; for your heart undone and remade without fear, for Love's sake; in the Name of the One whose Name is unutterable except in Love incarnate... the Name we all share through the imagination and work of the Spirit, in concert with the One who spoke Love in the very beginning..."

She woke to greet each person, to smile, to hold her hand over her heart in thanksgiving as I relayed message after message of love to her.

Since then, the changes have continued to accelerate, and the Hospice staff say that she may die sometime today, definitely not more than a day or two.

Another friend, Carol Bower Foote, wrote a fairytale for her, a story in which Kirstin had always secretly wanted to be a butterfly.  Holding up the longing to God, God replied, "Your choice." And, in the end, when her soul got weary, and her shoes almost too heavy to kick off into the grass, she chose...

"She surrendered into the rich, silken luxury of this pool of color and let herself sink.  From deep within the sea of shifting hues, she felt herself begin to rise, floating and becoming lighter as she rose.  She broke the surface with barely a ripple, nearly blinded by the bright summer light.  Then, to her amazement, lighter than air, she continued to rise, above the grasses, the wildflowers, the trees.  She became aware of herself at the center of an almost sacred rhythm, surrounded by the brilliant, translucent color of butterfly wings.  She was whole!  She was herself!  She was totally free!


She felt as if her wings filled the sky…but gossamer light…the breeze teasing and tickling her bare toes.  Suddenly, the sky was filled with other colorful creatures inviting her to dance.  From within the joy which overwhelmed her, she felt rising from deep within her being, the unmistakeable light bell-like peel of laughter."

The time of turning is at hand.  Join with me in praying her into Joy.
--Andee Zetterbaum

Major milestone--and summer update.

I’m actually, truly, honest-to-God graduating from seminary tomorrow. Holy cow. By the grace of God, the love of some incredible people, and my own steel will, I've done it.

It hasn’t sunk in yet. It mostly feels weird, to be done. After everything that’s happened in this time... I don’t have a reason to be here anymore. I’m just, like that, done. And ready (truly) for the world.

My field ed professor, with whom I’d also done a reading course, e-mailed me Tuesday night. I’d been trying both to be responsible about my work, and give her space: her mother had been ill, and died on Sunday. We all knew it was coming. My oral work could wait. (She said I'd done enough, and that we could have these conversations over the rest of our lives anyway.)

My teacher and I are also good friends. We’re both driven by ministry to the marginalized. We get what makes each other tick. For her own reasons, she understands the post-cancer, post-nuclear life. She has walked solidly with me.

Bishop Mary Gray-Reeves of El Camino Real (CA central coast) visited our last field ed class, last Wednesday. I asked her about what's going on outside church buildings in ECR. She talked about a “church in the fields” idea that she wants to get going in Salinas. It’s similar to what I’ve been involved with in the Tenderloin, but with the migrant workers. My follow-up question: “Do you take interns?” (Her answer: “Yes, but you’d be working for free.”)

My teacher picked up on that interest. She wrote to me, you seemed really excited about +Mary's idea. What would you say to staying at my mom's house in Monterey this summer, taking care of the cats, and taking Spanish classes?

Um. Dear God. Yes. I knew I’d say yes before I even thoroughly read it. I made myself wait until the next morning to answer.

She's going through hell right now—and she’s thinking about me.

I've had times when I worked for something—I really wanted to go back and do my field ed in NOLA this year, for instance—and couldn't make it happen (even with the bishop of Louisiana’s invitation, God bless him). I did nothing to deserve this, would never have thought to ask for it, and didn't see it coming. It makes sense for both of us, when I think of it—but I would not have thought of it. This is grace.

People have been throwing grace at me by the handfuls for a year, because I’ve needed it. This is not accommodation. This is gift.

Ironically, my parish in SF says, now that I've been where cancer took me, and came back resurrected, I'm emotionally ready to do discernment work with them. They want to work with me, after I get past the transitions of health, job, housing. I'll have my diocese’s three-year residency requirement in August. And I’ll be two hours south, all summer. This feels very much like an open door, and I don’t know what it means. I’m trusting the Spirit for whatever's next.

The practical part of me says, stay in contact with the community you already love and are rooted in, and that knows and loves you. Wisdom says, go with God.

I’m going to do both, until the way becomes clear enough to blind me.

This morning I was innocently in chapel

…and it made sense to me.

The readings always go straight through my brain; I forget them immediately after they’re done. It wasn’t the sermon—I was playing with the preacher’s toddler son, and missed much of her weaving of Bonhoeffer with the whole idea of being pregnant with the reign of God. But neither was it the hymnody alone. The presider sings well, and I respect and love her as a teacher—but she didn’t do anything in particular that arrested me. Still, somewhere in the Eucharistic prayer, I looked up and I realized that I was in a deeper place with Jesus than I’d been, really ever.

I didn’t label the presence as “God”—it was specifically a Christ-thing. Not even so much about resurrection, but a patience, an empathy with all of our humanness. I’m pasting too many words to the experience, now—it was just a deep, quiet sweetness, a soft rejoicing, a gift that didn’t need explanation.

Yet here I am, trying. Jesus came to church, in my seminary chapel in the middle of the week. Who knew?

Bless the Lord, my soul,
And bless God's holy name
Bless the Lord, my soul,
Who leads me into life.

Alleluia, Christ is risen.

Christos aneste!

Alethos aneste! Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Just in from Easter Vigil. Exhausted, and getting up early tomorrow to serve--so this'll be quick.

I got it on a whole deeper level, renewing my baptismal vows. That in itself was celebration. I trampled death for all I was worth. My legs are still buzzing.

We don't read the stories; we tell or act or show them. This year, as always, they were wonderful. St. A's is usually a pretty happy church; the Spirit was present in all of us, tonight. Absolute unmediated joy.

And I got to make the Great Noise. :-)

Early alleluias

I’ve been in a God-quake for about a week. Last Tuesday, I had an appointment with one of my faculty. I’d asked her to help me with one specific thing. She ended up doing vocational discernment with me, for an hour. She brought up a reflection paper I’d written, and said essentially, let’s talk about where you really are.

I’ve gotten clear enough, and brave enough, to say that my ministry and my passion is in the world. What I want more than anything, is to physically and sacramentally feed people.

So we talked about community organizing. She gave me tons of ideas. The next day, I bumped into another faculty in the refectory, and asked him to do a reading course with me. (Yes, I’ve been here 2 ½ years, and am finally taking charge of my education.) We talked for a few minutes, and he said yes.

He also gave me a wonderful image to think about: St. Francis building church, with the rocks he had at hand.

I came home from Maundy Thursday last night, to an e-mail I’m still breathless about. It may have just made my path a whole lot clearer.

I can’t be fully forthcoming yet. But you know, when you’re standing under the right waterfall.

Rejoice with me. As a friend said in an IM last night, “Easter’s come early to Berkeley.”

Grinning ear to ear

Go here to see why.

God bless the people of the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin.

Alleluia!

Thank you 815 and Remain Episcopal leadership--and thank you Episcopal News Service, who came back from vacation with a vengeance, and this headline:

In San Joaquin, Episcopal Church 'alive and well'
Clergy, laity report new hope, signs of growth, plan for January 26 meeting

ENS has the full article. We're discussing it at Jake's.

Rejoice in the power of the Spirit!

And God bless them, every one!

Fr. Fred Risard and the kids of St. Nicholas

I would like to take a moment on the eve of our first worship in exile to thank all those who have sent in their messages of support. We have lost track of the count, but I have read each and every message. Additionally, the overwhelming support out there in Blogosphere is amazing. I want you all to know that it is truly a humbling experience. And we owe you all so much...
--Fr. Fred

The EPISCOPAL Church of St. Nicholas

continues its mission to the people

of Atwater, CA, in love, faith, courage, and joy.

Worship with them, if you can. And do check out their website!

And, as Paul says, please keep ALL the people of San Joaquin in your prayers. I count Fred as a friend, and am triumphant with and for him--but this is one of many struggles, and there are human beings on all sides. Many have been hurt. All seek God, and healing.

To God be the glory.

Becoming real

These thoughts were sparked by a conversation both elsewhere and offline; in the comments at Paul's place, he and Padre Mickey were discussing how they practice what is essentially holy mischief. One described it as, “loving people into wholeness.”

I seized on that. I’m still thinking about it, not necessarily in the Velveteen Rabbit sense of being loved into reality until your fur falls off, but truly being loved into deep and fearless authenticity—into the human being and child of God you were created to be.

Pause here for a minute. Hold yourself in your mind’s eye. What do you love about yourself, without even trying? What are you proud of? What are you happy about? What makes you smile, when you think about it?

Can you see it? Hold that joy, for awhile.

Now, look deeper. What wounds you? What keeps you from living up to your idea of perfect, or even good enough? What do you regret? Where have you disappointed yourself? What do you struggle with? What do you wonder if you’re ever going to get?

Our wounds make us human. They make us whole; they make us strong. They give us the ability to truly connect with other human beings, with creation, with our beloved, injured planet. They give us empathy, and compassion. They make us truly able to love.

Paul somewhere recently told a story about an airport experience he had. (I think it's in one of his Advent thoughts; not sure which, and don't have time to find it.) I don’t remember what inspired him to do it, but watching passengers pour into the gate, he looked at each and said quietly, “The Body of Christ.”

What if, when we looked into the eyes of human beings we’ve never spoken to, we saw, truly, who they are? What if we gave them the reverence we would show God?

In college and for about two years after, I volunteered at a domestic-violence shelter in Olympia. On the last night of training, we played the web game with a ball of yarn. Standing with us all in a circle, the leader asked,

“How do you want to love the world?”

I’ve never forgotten that question. We tossed the ball around, and each of us answered, catching a strand in our fingers until all were connected. I’ve no idea what I said; I was 21, as wet-behind-the-ears as they come, and interested in working with traumatized kids. But it’s not the kind of question, that you ever stop living.

What moves me now? The love of God, and the souls of humans. I was the shyest, most introverted, most terrified child on the planet; now I love being with people. I thrived on retreat ministry, last summer when I did it; I’m also passionate about mission. I don’t know what my ministry will end up looking like. But I know that I’m already doing it, now. Everyone gives who they are to the world. Skilled or not; intentional or not. We are all giving our lives, right now, to everyone around us—including those we’re unaware of.

What stirs your soul? What work do you most love? How do you play? What gift is your deepest challenge, deepest joy? What do you absolutely have to do, or you’ll go completely mad in the absence of it?

How do you want to love the world?

I just got the coolest search hit ever

From someone in Korea:

"christ laughing"

Yay!