In two days, we in the church will be marked with ashes and remember our deaths. We do this every year. It begins our Lenten time of fasting and prayer, penitence and study. It's about discipline, but it's also about perspective. I find over and over that the time of Lent becomes a re-setting of life, a re-establishment of this covenant we have with God. Thinking about your own death does that to you. It makes you really want to trust that you'll be okay, that your loved ones will be okay. I find that I really need God to be God in this time, and for me to be dust, because I'm in control over life and death about as much as you could expect from dust.
But now I am carrying life inside me- a life that is one with me but also differentiated. I am acutely aware of the dangers of eating food that makes me sick, coming down with the flu (which can become pneumonia), getting into a car accident, sliding off the road in all these ice storms, pre-term labor and other pregnancy complications- and that these dangers no longer just pose a threat to me and my health, but that of my child. The protective instinct has already kicked in. Whether I can accept it or not, the death of my child terrifies me. I don't want my child marked with ashes and told that he is dust. He is not dust- he is my child, my young one- with so much life left to be lived. The imposition of ashes this year marks me for death, but also marks my child for death.
But isn't this the point of the marking of ashes? I'm not God. I am dust. I am from the adamah. I cannot control life and death for myself or anyone else more than we might expect from dust. My child is dust too. My husband is dust. My whole family and friends and community- dust. "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." And yet as children of God, how much does God delight in telling us we are dust? Does God have the protective instinct of a mother?
We are mortal- we will die. My child one day, whether I like it or not, will die. We will rejoin the adamah. We will wait for our resurrecting God.
The words of the Heidelberg Catechism take on new meaning this year:
Q.1 What is your only comfort, in life and in death?
A. That I belong- body and soul, in life and in death- not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ...
Monday, February 11, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Battle of the Generations
Apparently, we're locked in a generational battle again in this country. I didn't know this, but I'm usually the last to find out about these things.
The question of who suffered greatest in the recession, and who's getting the most help from the government, communities, families, and others, is being debated with two major positions materializing: Baby-boomers vs. Millennials.
This is ironic to me because I am a Millennial in my late-20s, and my parents are Baby-boomers who are getting awfully close to retirement age. We've never really felt any sort of tension in our family, I think in part because we are unusually dedicated to taking care of each other and willing to make significant sacrifices to do so.
I went through 8 years of college and grad school, mostly on the assistance of merit-based scholarships and need-based loans (though my family was a constant support in many ways during that time), and I have a Master of Divinity degree that doesn't turn over a lot of income. I wait for a first call because I am in a perfect storm of "this isn't quite working out like we hoped it would," between living in a rural area- bound geographically by my husband's job and my commitment to my family, and seeking a call in a denomination that is not dominant in my area. Many congregations here cannot pay the minimum salary to have a pastor at all. I work a small job, and I am paid now. I am blessed that I work in a field where I can work an unpaid internship for a year and a half until the church has a chance to put a small salary together for me. How many companies would start paying you if you had worked that long for them for free, with no expectation of compensation in the future?
Regardless, that final step of ordination hangs in front of me, so easily falling into the laps of my colleagues but not for me. It took so much time, money, energy, emotion, spiritual development, education, patience, ambition, a counseling for me to get here. And yet it's also not yet here. Like the eschaton. It feels like the story of my life sometimes.
On the other hand, my parents have their own issues, among them serious health problems and a real estate market, local economy, etc. that threatens to take away financial stability, retirement, etc. I may not own a house, and I may never be able to own a house, but theirs might do serious damage to their quality and quantity of years ahead of them. They have far more assets than I do, but they could easily take a hard fall off their modest precipice.
We are each other's softer landing. It might take us all under financial duress, but we're pretty committed to each other's well being.
So it surprises me to see the conflicting stories arising over "who has it worst." The Boomers say it's them. The Millenials say it's them. If you've been following the controversy with the PCUSA's Board of Pensions, you'll hear similar statements, from young pastors with families saying that there will be fewer churches able to afford to call them (especially pastors who are just getting started in smaller, poorer, rural and inner city congregations) to older pastors who feel this is ageism and pressure to make them retire early.
These are not small issues. They worry me. My family is growing, and if we need to be dependent on my salary and health insurance one day, I may not have the job I need to take care of my family (my generation, my children's generation, OR my parents' generation). I know so many people who are in vulnerable situations.
But despite the hostility and fear and finger-pointing, I wonder if the best way to uphold the communitarian nature of our systems will involve mutual self-sacrifice and mutual giving, beginning with mutual forbearance in our dialogues and decisions in these matters.
Like many recent national discussions (47% of this country being "takers"?), I think the same thing is being said over and over: "I cannot sustain my current financial situation the way it is, and a combination of responsible planning and mutual accountability/assistance is needed." Just what is that balance though? We will have to figure that out as we go.
The question of who suffered greatest in the recession, and who's getting the most help from the government, communities, families, and others, is being debated with two major positions materializing: Baby-boomers vs. Millennials.
This is ironic to me because I am a Millennial in my late-20s, and my parents are Baby-boomers who are getting awfully close to retirement age. We've never really felt any sort of tension in our family, I think in part because we are unusually dedicated to taking care of each other and willing to make significant sacrifices to do so.
I went through 8 years of college and grad school, mostly on the assistance of merit-based scholarships and need-based loans (though my family was a constant support in many ways during that time), and I have a Master of Divinity degree that doesn't turn over a lot of income. I wait for a first call because I am in a perfect storm of "this isn't quite working out like we hoped it would," between living in a rural area- bound geographically by my husband's job and my commitment to my family, and seeking a call in a denomination that is not dominant in my area. Many congregations here cannot pay the minimum salary to have a pastor at all. I work a small job, and I am paid now. I am blessed that I work in a field where I can work an unpaid internship for a year and a half until the church has a chance to put a small salary together for me. How many companies would start paying you if you had worked that long for them for free, with no expectation of compensation in the future?
Regardless, that final step of ordination hangs in front of me, so easily falling into the laps of my colleagues but not for me. It took so much time, money, energy, emotion, spiritual development, education, patience, ambition, a counseling for me to get here. And yet it's also not yet here. Like the eschaton. It feels like the story of my life sometimes.
On the other hand, my parents have their own issues, among them serious health problems and a real estate market, local economy, etc. that threatens to take away financial stability, retirement, etc. I may not own a house, and I may never be able to own a house, but theirs might do serious damage to their quality and quantity of years ahead of them. They have far more assets than I do, but they could easily take a hard fall off their modest precipice.
We are each other's softer landing. It might take us all under financial duress, but we're pretty committed to each other's well being.
So it surprises me to see the conflicting stories arising over "who has it worst." The Boomers say it's them. The Millenials say it's them. If you've been following the controversy with the PCUSA's Board of Pensions, you'll hear similar statements, from young pastors with families saying that there will be fewer churches able to afford to call them (especially pastors who are just getting started in smaller, poorer, rural and inner city congregations) to older pastors who feel this is ageism and pressure to make them retire early.
These are not small issues. They worry me. My family is growing, and if we need to be dependent on my salary and health insurance one day, I may not have the job I need to take care of my family (my generation, my children's generation, OR my parents' generation). I know so many people who are in vulnerable situations.
But despite the hostility and fear and finger-pointing, I wonder if the best way to uphold the communitarian nature of our systems will involve mutual self-sacrifice and mutual giving, beginning with mutual forbearance in our dialogues and decisions in these matters.
Like many recent national discussions (47% of this country being "takers"?), I think the same thing is being said over and over: "I cannot sustain my current financial situation the way it is, and a combination of responsible planning and mutual accountability/assistance is needed." Just what is that balance though? We will have to figure that out as we go.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Love Regardless
I'm starting to realize that my love for other people cannot be contingent on my hope that they will one day "convert" to my way of thinking, my lifestyle, or my religion. That doesn't mean that I can't encourage people to become the healthiest they can possibly be. In truth, I want people to thrive. I just wish my friends would stop hating on each other. I wish the church would always be a place where my LGBT friends are welcome. I wish the college would always be a place where my conservative friends aren't made to feel inferior.
Regardless, I love them all. Even the ones that exclude me. I'll just love them from over here.
Regardless, I love them all. Even the ones that exclude me. I'll just love them from over here.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Eugene Patterson
As we remember the life of Eugene Patterson today, I feel obliged to recall his column from 1963, after the bombing of a Birmingham church and the death of four little children:
"A Flower for the Graves"
"A Flower for the Graves"
A Negro mother wept in the street Sunday morning in front of a Baptist Church in Birmingham. In her hand she held a shoe, one shoe, from the foot of her dead child. We hold that shoe with her.
Every one of us in the white South holds that small shoe in his hand.
It is too late to blame the sick criminals who handled the dynamite. The FBI and the police can deal with that kind. The charge against them is simple. They killed four children.
Only we can trace the truth, Southerner — you and I. We broke those children’s bodies.
We watched the stage set without staying it. We listened to the prologue unbestirred. We saw the curtain opening with disinterest. We have heard the play.
We — who go on electing politicians who heat the kettles of hate.
We — who raise no hand to silence the mean and little men who have their nigger jokes.
We — who stand aside in imagined rectitude and let the mad dogs that run in every society slide their leashes from our hand, and spring.
We — the heirs of a proud South, who protest its worth and demand it recognition — we are the ones who have ducked the difficult, skirted the uncomfortable, caviled at the challenge, resented the necessary, rationalized the unacceptable, and created the day surely when these children would die.
This is no time to load our anguish onto the murderous scapegoat who set the cap in dynamite of our own manufacture.
He didn’t know any better.
Somewhere in the dim and fevered recess of an evil mind he feels right now that he has been a hero. He is only guilty of murder. He thinks he has pleased us.
We of the white South who know better are the ones who must take a harsher judgment.
We, who know better, created a climate for child-killing by those who don’t.
We hold that shoe in our hand, Southerner. Let us see it straight, and look at the blood on it. Let us compare it with the unworthy speeches of Southern public men who have traduced the Negro; match it with the spectacle of shrilling children whose parents and teachers turned them free to spit epithets at small huddles of Negro school children for a week before this Sunday in Birmingham; hold up the shoe and look beyond it to the state house in Montgomery where the official attitudes of Alabama have been spoken in heat and anger.
Let us not lay the blame on some brutal fool who didn’t know any better.
We know better. We created the day. We bear the judgment. May God have mercy on the poor South that has so been led. May what has happened hasten the day when the good South, which does live and has great being, will rise to this challenge of racial understanding and common humanity, and in the full power of its unasserted courage, assert itself.
The Sunday school play at Birmingham is ended. With a weeping Negro mother, we stand in the bitter smoke and hold a shoe. If our South is ever to be what we wish it to be, we will plant a flower of nobler resolve for the South now upon these four small graves that we dug.
Eugene Patterson’s most famous column was written on Sept. 15, 1963, the day he learned that four young girls had been murdered in Birmingham, Ala., in a church bombing. When he told the story, Patterson would describe how he wrote from his home with tears streaming down his face and his own young daughter nearby. The column bore the title: “A Flower for the Graves.”
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
More guns?
This captures nicely the "gun debate" going on in many churches right now:
This is one of the many reasons I do not own or carry a gun, even though I have done so before and have experience with guns. When someone starts shooting into the crowd, and you pull out your gun to take down the shooter, I will have a gun in my hand too, but I will have no idea if you are the shooter, or a collaborative shooter who means to keep firing on the crowd. I will shoot you, because I won't have time to think, and I could very well kill you. Then, I will have to explain to the police and your mother why I murdered you, the person who was trying to protect the crowd from the real shooter.
I don't want to have that conversation with your mother. Or any mother. Period. It would kill me.
(CNN) – One of the most intense battlefields in today's gun control debate is happening inside Christianity.
Christians of every stripe; conservative, moderate and liberal tend to agree with the Gospel's message of love and peace. However, they don’t agree on what that Gospel message means.
(http://cnnradio.cnn.com/2013/01/08/christians-dont-agree-on-gun-control/?hpt=us_t3)[:43] “Christian Ethics begins with love of neighbor; love and care of neighbor...We live in a country in which we have 10 or 20 times more gun murders than other comparable countries. It seems guns are a huge factor.” – David Heim, executive editor of Christian Century Magazine.[1:28] “When the next monster walks into a theater, mall, restaurant, college campus or grade school and begins to shoot and kill innocent men, women and children…who’s going to shoot back?” – Mark Rogers, founder of Christiangunowner.com.
This is one of the many reasons I do not own or carry a gun, even though I have done so before and have experience with guns. When someone starts shooting into the crowd, and you pull out your gun to take down the shooter, I will have a gun in my hand too, but I will have no idea if you are the shooter, or a collaborative shooter who means to keep firing on the crowd. I will shoot you, because I won't have time to think, and I could very well kill you. Then, I will have to explain to the police and your mother why I murdered you, the person who was trying to protect the crowd from the real shooter.
I don't want to have that conversation with your mother. Or any mother. Period. It would kill me.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Stoking the Passion
Here, read this.
There is so much good here: gathering young people to take part in exciting worship (the liturgy-loving part of me is fascinated), raising awareness of a serious issue, donating items to local homeless shelters, and raising money. Whether you like the evangelical overtones of the Passion Conference or not, it gets young people excited to be actively part of the kingdom of God in a way that is tangible and life re-orienting. As someone who was raised evangelical before going mainline, I see the same kind of passion and fire out of people who go to these events as I see in Presbyterian youth and college students who spend time on the "mountaintop" at camp.
What I wonder, though, is if these super-large gatherings are not examples of fresh ideas thrown into old models. What I see in this sort of event is an updated version of a revival for young people. I can just hear the old Southern Baptists I grew up with, saying they know exactly what this country needs, and that's a "good ol' hellfire revival." (I cannot attest to the presence or absence of hellfire at Passion, though I might guess there's not too much of that going on with people who are discussing human trafficking).
The thing I specifically wonder about is how best to empower and implement such a huge crowd of young people and how to inspire a passion for the kingdom of God here in this place. It's an honest question: what all could be done with so many passionate young people?
Is the main drive of this conference to raise money, and should young people really be targeted and fed the very powerful worship experience of a modern-day revival in order to convince them to give money? Fundraising and young people put together concerns me. They're not exactly sitting on huge inheritances, and I wonder how many of those young people are about to finish college and not have work for many years. I understand the importance of cultivating financial stewardship among young people, and I know very well where that money is going (having spent 3 years involved in homeless/hunger ministry in Atlanta with exposure to the system that upholds human trafficking in that city). But if raising money is the goal, or one of several specific goasl, for such a conference, is there a line of exploitation and is that line being crossed? Again, it's an honest question and not rhetorical. I really want to know.
Secondly, I wonder if these young people are being prepared and equipped with what they need for successful ministry after they learn about/become aware of the issues. Education is a great first step. Empowerment is equally important though. The first without the second leads to cynicism and hopelessness, a sense of knowing what's wrong with the world and not really knowing what on earth we can do about it.
I have a great (glowing, ecstatic) appreciation for the culture shift this conference represents. I cannot imagine any of my childhood preachers talking about human trafficking in those terms. They would talk about the evils of prostitution, but they would never dare to ask why she/he is being prostituted in the first place. The cultural shift is monumental, and it might be the very thing that will change entrenched laws for the better. As a pastor, I can't help but imagine the theological shift this also represents. It's enough to make me cry with joy.
But if you had that many young people educated and fired up about such an important issue, what would you call them to do? I feel like we in the church must have more structured ways to get young people into hands-on work. Mission years have long filled that need for structure, but the mission field is changing drastically right now. It's becoming more local with less overhead and more long-term commitment. Many young missionaries I've spoken with tell me they loved every minute of their mission experience, but they often come away with a feeling of having done a disservice- they came, had a life-changing experience, and then left. The children they were teaching to speak English fell in love with the missionary, worked out all the kinks in the relationship, and then a new missionary came in. That one will leave soon too. Many missionaries have inadequate training for what they are doing. There is little stability for those who were receiving services. Many missionaries say they wouldn't do a year-long mission trip again. If they go again, they go for life. No more transient relationships, no more half-commitments, more investment in long-term goals.
So, how do we help empower these young people to meaningful mission when they are in a transient period of life? Are we preparing them for later, when they have steady jobs and can take on long-term relationships with non-profits, agencies, churches, missions, work programs, etc? Does the Passion Conference necessarily need to be a mountaintop experience that fuels these young people before they return to their everyday studies? Does the passion outsize the capability of commitment in the immediacy?
Overall, I feel the tangible good outweighs my concerns, no matter how my questions are answered. I'm still wondering how this fits into a larger view of economics and law, and the work of the church. I watched the college students across the street return to campus today, with moms and dads helping carry loads of (clean) laundry in baskets and new gadgets from Christmas. It brought me back a little, to a time when I could fit everything I owned in the back of my Ford Taurus Station Wagon, back when life was centered around this one goal of "getting a good education." What a bewildering time of life! I've since gained huge respect for the students who tell me they have no idea what they will do in life, that they are still figuring everything out. Maybe these are the folks who need some Passion and empowerment.
I'd love to hear about the Passion Conference from someone who attended. What were your impressions? Do you think it was big on hype and low on commitment? Do you think it really inspired those present to the work of the kingdom of God?
There is so much good here: gathering young people to take part in exciting worship (the liturgy-loving part of me is fascinated), raising awareness of a serious issue, donating items to local homeless shelters, and raising money. Whether you like the evangelical overtones of the Passion Conference or not, it gets young people excited to be actively part of the kingdom of God in a way that is tangible and life re-orienting. As someone who was raised evangelical before going mainline, I see the same kind of passion and fire out of people who go to these events as I see in Presbyterian youth and college students who spend time on the "mountaintop" at camp.
What I wonder, though, is if these super-large gatherings are not examples of fresh ideas thrown into old models. What I see in this sort of event is an updated version of a revival for young people. I can just hear the old Southern Baptists I grew up with, saying they know exactly what this country needs, and that's a "good ol' hellfire revival." (I cannot attest to the presence or absence of hellfire at Passion, though I might guess there's not too much of that going on with people who are discussing human trafficking).
The thing I specifically wonder about is how best to empower and implement such a huge crowd of young people and how to inspire a passion for the kingdom of God here in this place. It's an honest question: what all could be done with so many passionate young people?
Is the main drive of this conference to raise money, and should young people really be targeted and fed the very powerful worship experience of a modern-day revival in order to convince them to give money? Fundraising and young people put together concerns me. They're not exactly sitting on huge inheritances, and I wonder how many of those young people are about to finish college and not have work for many years. I understand the importance of cultivating financial stewardship among young people, and I know very well where that money is going (having spent 3 years involved in homeless/hunger ministry in Atlanta with exposure to the system that upholds human trafficking in that city). But if raising money is the goal, or one of several specific goasl, for such a conference, is there a line of exploitation and is that line being crossed? Again, it's an honest question and not rhetorical. I really want to know.
Secondly, I wonder if these young people are being prepared and equipped with what they need for successful ministry after they learn about/become aware of the issues. Education is a great first step. Empowerment is equally important though. The first without the second leads to cynicism and hopelessness, a sense of knowing what's wrong with the world and not really knowing what on earth we can do about it.
I have a great (glowing, ecstatic) appreciation for the culture shift this conference represents. I cannot imagine any of my childhood preachers talking about human trafficking in those terms. They would talk about the evils of prostitution, but they would never dare to ask why she/he is being prostituted in the first place. The cultural shift is monumental, and it might be the very thing that will change entrenched laws for the better. As a pastor, I can't help but imagine the theological shift this also represents. It's enough to make me cry with joy.
But if you had that many young people educated and fired up about such an important issue, what would you call them to do? I feel like we in the church must have more structured ways to get young people into hands-on work. Mission years have long filled that need for structure, but the mission field is changing drastically right now. It's becoming more local with less overhead and more long-term commitment. Many young missionaries I've spoken with tell me they loved every minute of their mission experience, but they often come away with a feeling of having done a disservice- they came, had a life-changing experience, and then left. The children they were teaching to speak English fell in love with the missionary, worked out all the kinks in the relationship, and then a new missionary came in. That one will leave soon too. Many missionaries have inadequate training for what they are doing. There is little stability for those who were receiving services. Many missionaries say they wouldn't do a year-long mission trip again. If they go again, they go for life. No more transient relationships, no more half-commitments, more investment in long-term goals.
So, how do we help empower these young people to meaningful mission when they are in a transient period of life? Are we preparing them for later, when they have steady jobs and can take on long-term relationships with non-profits, agencies, churches, missions, work programs, etc? Does the Passion Conference necessarily need to be a mountaintop experience that fuels these young people before they return to their everyday studies? Does the passion outsize the capability of commitment in the immediacy?
Overall, I feel the tangible good outweighs my concerns, no matter how my questions are answered. I'm still wondering how this fits into a larger view of economics and law, and the work of the church. I watched the college students across the street return to campus today, with moms and dads helping carry loads of (clean) laundry in baskets and new gadgets from Christmas. It brought me back a little, to a time when I could fit everything I owned in the back of my Ford Taurus Station Wagon, back when life was centered around this one goal of "getting a good education." What a bewildering time of life! I've since gained huge respect for the students who tell me they have no idea what they will do in life, that they are still figuring everything out. Maybe these are the folks who need some Passion and empowerment.
I'd love to hear about the Passion Conference from someone who attended. What were your impressions? Do you think it was big on hype and low on commitment? Do you think it really inspired those present to the work of the kingdom of God?
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Shifting Perspectives
I haven't written much here lately, and it's because my life has become very secretive. I've never liked secrets- they create pockets of control and manipulation. Transparency and honesty are two of my favorite things. I feel that my role as pastor-preacher is "to tell the truth." My favorite genre of reading is non-fiction. I spend a lot of my day reading the news. You get the picture.
Willfully hiding information from people is not part of my persona, but it has become that way. I don't know how I could be honest and tell the truth, even though I wanted to tell the truth with all my being.
The truth is: I am pregnant. At this moment, I'm 20 weeks pregnant. There is nothing controversial or terribly unexpected about my pregnancy. My husband and I were trying. We are both overwhelmed with excitement. This baby is already very loved- by us, by his family, by my family, by our friends, by perfect strangers.
Why the secret then? Why was I so unwilling to share the news before?
1) I was terrified I would miscarry and it'd be everyone's business (or worse, some 30 weeks after a miscarriage getting asked by a distant friend how the pregnancy is going); over and over, telling everyone that I miscarried, like beating my head against a wall. Supplementing my own sense of guilt over something I did or didn't do with the whispering of others that I push myself too hard, implying that I'm unfit to be a mother.
2) Every friend who has miscarried silently and out of public view would get to watch my beautiful, healthy pregnancy go perfectly well, with daily facebook updates about how great I feel and how perfect my child will be. And then I'd post all these darling photos of a healthy little baby, a contrast to their keepsake footprints made shortly after their baby was stillborn.
The secret is over. If something happens now, it'll be everyone's business. No, it's not fair that I have a healthy little baby swimming around and other women never got to have their own. I grieve with you, even when I don't know your name. I do not mean to rub your tragedy in your face. I may still know your grief in the months or years to come. I am acutely aware of that. I know it feels like everyone in the world is pregnant right now.
***
Apparently our baby is a boy. He'll be born the 4th living generation of men- to his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather (who is now 97). His great-grandfather was an engineer, a Soviet officer who served in WWII, a rugged outdoorsman and gentle reciter of poetry. His grandfather is an acclaimed cellist who tours and performs in great halls around the world, who was friends with Mstislav Rostropovich, and who will cross all manner of cultural boundaries to have a conversation with another human being. His father is a professor and a fantastic violinist and conductor, a gentle caretaker whose first language is empowerment and love. What stories our son will create and share with his grandchildren! How beautiful and blessed and broken are the stories of all his foremothers and forefathers. How beautiful and blessed and broken will be my son's life.
Here is this child of my womb, a stranger to whom I am closer than anyone. Tied together as one, we are not yet separated into our distinct beings yet. He cannot be passed off to his father yet (though I sometimes wish D. could take a turn being pregnant for a while); he cannot sit in his grandmother's arms for hours yet, staring into her eyes and learning who she is and how much she loves him, this baby a part of her too.
He may not know what it means to be distinct and autonomous yet. He will one day learn. But I know what it is to be distinct and autonomous, and now here is this baby that is part of me, connected, dependent, in need of nurture and care. I have known interdependence before- it is one of my favorite parts of life. But this is distinctly new. I don't know if I've ever known birth or rebirth as much as I know it now, here in this new perspective. In a way, I always have. I have always loved people in a sense that was deeply connected; I've always been a mother in that way.
But to suddenly find myself carrying a beautiful mystery in my womb with a future and a past, who is shockingly present right here and now in that face on the ultrasound and that dancing movement I feel at night...I suddenly understand this transcendent love that I knew only in part before. And I do know only in part still.
How do you describe this great mystery of love? Such a thing is so great, we save it for poets and musicians and preachers to describe. I am a couple of those things, yet I am struck silent in approaching so great a mystery. Like the priest Zechariah, I am mute in the face of a miracle.
This son of mine is a life out of the midst of death. Truth be told, had my husband's plane not returned on the day it did, had my mother-in-law not died the day she did, had one of a number of things changed, my son would not be kicking around in my womb now. Even while I have grieved my mother-in-law's death, I have been the bearer of new life.
One day recently, while walking an outdoor labyrinth in prayer, longing to be with my mother-in-law again, praying for resurrection, aching for the kingdom of God to come, I reached the center of the circular path. I looked at the winding journey that brought me there. I realized I was in the womb of the labyrinth, carrying the seed of new life in my own womb. The resurrection of the dead is somehow inside me, growing, sleeping, moving, preparing, waiting to burst forth into this world. What better way to think of the coming kingdom of God?
This is my secret. I am the bearer of new life. But the more I sit in my mute silence, the more I realize you are all the bearers of new life. My husband and I may have implemented the standard functioning of human reproduction, as has been done billions of times over the history of the world, but it seems we have been bearing life all along. You all- you have been bearing life all along. May the life that God bears in you show you the way of the kingdom of God. I leave you with this quote from Jurgen Moltmann, from his book, Spirit of Life:
"So the essential thing is to affirm life- the life of other creatures- the life of other people- our own lives. If we do not, there will be no rebirth and no restoration of the life that is threatened. But anyone who really says 'yes' to life says 'no' to war. Anyone who really loves life says 'no' to poverty. So the people who truly affirm and love life take up the struggle against violence and injustice. They refuse to get used to it. They do not conform. They resist."
Willfully hiding information from people is not part of my persona, but it has become that way. I don't know how I could be honest and tell the truth, even though I wanted to tell the truth with all my being.
The truth is: I am pregnant. At this moment, I'm 20 weeks pregnant. There is nothing controversial or terribly unexpected about my pregnancy. My husband and I were trying. We are both overwhelmed with excitement. This baby is already very loved- by us, by his family, by my family, by our friends, by perfect strangers.
Why the secret then? Why was I so unwilling to share the news before?
1) I was terrified I would miscarry and it'd be everyone's business (or worse, some 30 weeks after a miscarriage getting asked by a distant friend how the pregnancy is going); over and over, telling everyone that I miscarried, like beating my head against a wall. Supplementing my own sense of guilt over something I did or didn't do with the whispering of others that I push myself too hard, implying that I'm unfit to be a mother.
2) Every friend who has miscarried silently and out of public view would get to watch my beautiful, healthy pregnancy go perfectly well, with daily facebook updates about how great I feel and how perfect my child will be. And then I'd post all these darling photos of a healthy little baby, a contrast to their keepsake footprints made shortly after their baby was stillborn.
The secret is over. If something happens now, it'll be everyone's business. No, it's not fair that I have a healthy little baby swimming around and other women never got to have their own. I grieve with you, even when I don't know your name. I do not mean to rub your tragedy in your face. I may still know your grief in the months or years to come. I am acutely aware of that. I know it feels like everyone in the world is pregnant right now.
***
Apparently our baby is a boy. He'll be born the 4th living generation of men- to his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather (who is now 97). His great-grandfather was an engineer, a Soviet officer who served in WWII, a rugged outdoorsman and gentle reciter of poetry. His grandfather is an acclaimed cellist who tours and performs in great halls around the world, who was friends with Mstislav Rostropovich, and who will cross all manner of cultural boundaries to have a conversation with another human being. His father is a professor and a fantastic violinist and conductor, a gentle caretaker whose first language is empowerment and love. What stories our son will create and share with his grandchildren! How beautiful and blessed and broken are the stories of all his foremothers and forefathers. How beautiful and blessed and broken will be my son's life.
Here is this child of my womb, a stranger to whom I am closer than anyone. Tied together as one, we are not yet separated into our distinct beings yet. He cannot be passed off to his father yet (though I sometimes wish D. could take a turn being pregnant for a while); he cannot sit in his grandmother's arms for hours yet, staring into her eyes and learning who she is and how much she loves him, this baby a part of her too.
He may not know what it means to be distinct and autonomous yet. He will one day learn. But I know what it is to be distinct and autonomous, and now here is this baby that is part of me, connected, dependent, in need of nurture and care. I have known interdependence before- it is one of my favorite parts of life. But this is distinctly new. I don't know if I've ever known birth or rebirth as much as I know it now, here in this new perspective. In a way, I always have. I have always loved people in a sense that was deeply connected; I've always been a mother in that way.
But to suddenly find myself carrying a beautiful mystery in my womb with a future and a past, who is shockingly present right here and now in that face on the ultrasound and that dancing movement I feel at night...I suddenly understand this transcendent love that I knew only in part before. And I do know only in part still.
How do you describe this great mystery of love? Such a thing is so great, we save it for poets and musicians and preachers to describe. I am a couple of those things, yet I am struck silent in approaching so great a mystery. Like the priest Zechariah, I am mute in the face of a miracle.
This son of mine is a life out of the midst of death. Truth be told, had my husband's plane not returned on the day it did, had my mother-in-law not died the day she did, had one of a number of things changed, my son would not be kicking around in my womb now. Even while I have grieved my mother-in-law's death, I have been the bearer of new life.
One day recently, while walking an outdoor labyrinth in prayer, longing to be with my mother-in-law again, praying for resurrection, aching for the kingdom of God to come, I reached the center of the circular path. I looked at the winding journey that brought me there. I realized I was in the womb of the labyrinth, carrying the seed of new life in my own womb. The resurrection of the dead is somehow inside me, growing, sleeping, moving, preparing, waiting to burst forth into this world. What better way to think of the coming kingdom of God?
This is my secret. I am the bearer of new life. But the more I sit in my mute silence, the more I realize you are all the bearers of new life. My husband and I may have implemented the standard functioning of human reproduction, as has been done billions of times over the history of the world, but it seems we have been bearing life all along. You all- you have been bearing life all along. May the life that God bears in you show you the way of the kingdom of God. I leave you with this quote from Jurgen Moltmann, from his book, Spirit of Life:
"So the essential thing is to affirm life- the life of other creatures- the life of other people- our own lives. If we do not, there will be no rebirth and no restoration of the life that is threatened. But anyone who really says 'yes' to life says 'no' to war. Anyone who really loves life says 'no' to poverty. So the people who truly affirm and love life take up the struggle against violence and injustice. They refuse to get used to it. They do not conform. They resist."
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