Walking for Peace

I love it when God shows off.

Today was world labyrinth day.  The Labyrinth Society invited people to "Walk as One at 1, joining others around the world to create a wave of peaceful energy across the time zones."  Since I was part of a funeral at that time today, and because it was 90 degrees when I made the plans for our walk two weeks ago, I had decided that our group would walk at 7pm, thinking it would be cool and that we would catch the sunset.  Instead of a 90 degree day, the temperature barely got into the 60's and was mostly overcast with some drizzle - until about 6:30pm when the sun came out and the clouds blew away.  Jan and I bundled up in turtle necks and sweatshirts and headed out after the Derby to Eastern State Hospital for our walk.

Between the weather and prior commitments, very few people made it out, but those who did were rewarded with a very special walk.  We were walking for peace.  As I walked, I breathed in peace and breathed out love, and the lyrics of "Prayer for Peace" came into my head:
     Peace before us, peace behind us,
     peace under our feet.
     Peace within us, peace over us,
     let all around us be peace.

I prayed for peace in the Middle East and Syria and North Korea and for the President of the U.S.  I prayed for peace for all those who are using drugs in an attempt to find peace.  I prayed for peace for the residents and caregivers at Eastern State Hospital.  I prayed for peace for our country and the world.  I prayed for the Navajo people and the water protectors.

As I walked I saw mockingbirds and robins, blue birds and crows.  The waning moon ducked in and out of clouds wisps.  About halfway through the walk, A mass of clouds passed quickly over our heads, and I thought I felt a drop of rain.  The light of the sinking sun turned them golden/orange.  I wondered if we were going to have a little rain shower.

On the way out, I was on one of the outer loops of the labyrinth when I looked up and saw a rainbow stretching from horizon to horizon.  I halted and broke into a smile.  I caught Jan's eye and pointed.  Another one of our group turned to see what we were looking at and stopped to gaze at the bow that had doubled in sections.  I kept grinning as I rapidly deleted photos on in my phone in order to add a few more.  The rainbow remained for most of the rest of my walk.  I looked over and saw the three who had finished before me sitting on the cinder block wall, their heads turned toward the bow, mesmerized.

The rainbow is such a symbol of hope.  Walking the labyrinth on this world labyrinth day and seeing the bow of many colors arching over us, I felt peace washing through me.  Thanks, God, for the reminder of who is in charge.  Thanks for turning the walk for peace into the walk of hope.

Christmas Eve Morning Reflections

I sit on the love seat in my living room with Spirit the cat purring behind me as she takes her morning nap.  Rain patters on the windowsill outside.  Christmas tree lights shine through the gloomy morning.  My Christmas Eve sermon is finished.  Five services tonight, and I get to preach the last two.  We will truly rejoice and celebrate the birth of the Christ child.

Lessons and Carols from Kings College streams from my computer.  So many memories as I listen.  Singing Advent Lessons and Carols at Sewanee was one of the highlights of my time in college.  I hear so many of the carols we sang, and I love listening to the lessons again.  Voices soaring.  How grateful I am for this time to sit and be.

A few weeks ago, on my first day driving after my surgery, I remembered the words of Mladen Kiselov, "Today we go slow - like baby."  We were starting technical rehearsals for Tales from the Vienna Woods, my first show as a stage management intern at Actors' Theatre of Louisville.  Mladen was the director, and he addressed the cast and crew in his Bulgarian accent as we started a long day of integrating actors, sets, lights, sound, and all the other elements of production.  "Today we go slow - like baby."

I had thought that's how Advent would be this year.  It had certainly started out that way - I couldn't even go to services on the 1st Sunday of Advent because I needed to rest.  But I found that I didn't go slow.  Too many things to take care of.  Too many activities.  And once my doctor had told me that I was released to do anything I felt up to doing, I just couldn't hold back.

On some days that was hard.  But I'm glad I was up to it, even if I was tired.  When we teched Vienna Woods, we didn't really go that slowly either.  We had 15 hours to put it together before 1st Dress.  We started out slowly, yes, trying to put everything together, but we had to speed up in order to be ready in time for the audience.

So, too, this Advent.  At first I had to rest so often.  But then I started speeding up.  How could I have missed hearing The Messiah with the VA Symphony?  Or the transcendent Christmas concert by the Bruton Parish choirs with John Rutter's Gloria?  I wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else than with those I was able to visit.  The Christmas gathering at SpiritWorks and the sending of Christmas letters and the choosing of special gifts and the conversations and the connections.  I couldn't keep going slow.

But the reminder is always a good one for me.  Going slow like a baby means allowing time to learn, to progress at the pace we need.  Sometimes we can push ahead, but sometimes we can only move so fast.  This morning I'm going slow, but soon I will need to pick up the pace to be ready for tonight.

Whatever speed your going this year, peace and joy to each and every one.  Christmas blessings!  May Christ be born in you.

Small Moves, Small Moves

As I've been recovering from my surgery, my world has narrowed.  My bed, my room, my house.  Just stepping outside the front door feels like an adventure.  For someone who is usually very active and busy, I have had to adjust my expectations.  I'm amazed at the joy I find in achieving the smallest things each day.  I've also been amazed at how hard it is to keep my daily goals small and doable.  I'm reminded of the movie, Contact, with Jodie Foster, in which the child, Ellie Arroway, (Jenna Malone) is adjusting the dial of a ham radio receiver in an attempt to make contact with someone out there.  As her father watches her frustration, he advises, "Small moves, Ellie, small moves."

Small moves, Lauren.  Small moves.  The past two weeks have been about setting small goals and then achieving them.  Or not. Sometimes I pick something that is too hard, and then it's like Ellie turning the receiver dial too much - she winds up with static, and I wind up disappointed by my limitations.  Having the goals gives me something to look forward to, something to work toward, something I can discuss when people check on how I am. Here are a few of them:

Tuesday:  get through surgery, manage pain.  ✓
Wednesday:  walk downstairs and sit on couch.✓
Thursday:  have a BM, shower, change clothes, take a 5 minute walk.  (Way too many goals.  Only achieved the first one.  It's surprising how much you talk about bodily functions after surgery!)
Friday:  have a shower, wear clothes that aren't pajamas, take a short walk.  ✓✓✓ (Did it!  Jan helped me to the mailbox and back.)
Saturday:  take a short walk. ✓ (Jan helped me walk 1/4 way around neighborhood.)
Sunday:  go out to lunch with Jan.  (Too ambitious.  Had to rest from walking the day before.)
Monday:  go to the grocery store. ✓ (Jan took me to lunch and Nicole took me to the grocery store.)
Tuesday:  write some ty notes, make 1 lap around the neighborhood. (about 1/2 mile.)✓✓
Wednesday:  make pumpkin and pecan pies.  ✓
Thursday:  go to Thanksgiving potluck dinner at SpiritWorks.✓
Friday:  walk labyrinth. ✓
Saturday:  go hear bell ringers in CW.✓
Sunday:  go to Celtic service in Richmond for Advent 1 (too ambitious, couldn't do the hours in the car.)

See how small my world has become?  I was so thrilled the day we walked the labyrinth because I was outside in the sun, and walking around my neighborhood has never been so exciting.  Usually that's the walk I take when I'm being lazy and just trying to get in a few steps.  But the two times I've done it, I've gone so slowly, noticing the sun backlighting the golden leaves, feeling the crunch of the leaves under my feet, (HA!  Durn leaf blowers couldn't get them all!) breathing in the chilly, invigorating air, that it has felt like a long journey.  Each time I've been proud to get all the way around.

Having my world narrowed has broadened my gratitude.  So many things to be grateful for.  Gradual healing, time to rest, visit from my brother, excellent care from Jan, beautiful flowers from friends and family, gifts of soup and chicken salad and pumpkin bread and milkshakes, the warmth and purrs of Spirit as she warms my neck, the sweet ball of fur I call Shadow sleeping on my legs, phone calls from family and friends, a delicious Thanksgiving feast, cards and cards and cards.  I feel so loved and supported in this time.

I'm disappointed that I wasn't able to go to the Celtic service tonight.  It feels strange not to be in church for Advent 1.  It seems like every time I take two steps forward, the next day I take one back.  If I want to go back to work on Tuesday, I need to honor my body's needs today.  And today my body needed rest.  Being sick or having surgery teaches me compassion for those who live with sickness or injury all the time.  How hard it is to accept our limitations.  Grateful for the lesson.

Tomorrow's goal is to drive for the first time in two weeks.  And Tuesday I preside at the 7:30am service at Bruton.  There are so many things to be praying for right now.  Will you add me to your list?  Please pray that I can accept the things I am not able to do this week, that I have the energy and strength to do the things I can, and that I have the wisdom to know the difference.  And that I keep resting when I need to.  Small moves, Lauren.  Small moves.

Thank you for your prayers and support.  I am so grateful!!

Surgery, Self-Care, and the Election

On Wednesday morning I woke up with dread in my heart and went downstairs to turn on the news. When I saw the headline, I instantly turned it back off.  I didn't watch anymore, and I didn't look at FaceBook for a few days.  I started to sink into a depression as I imagined all the terrible things that could happen, the most frightening of which had to do with nuclear weapons.  By the time I got to Morning Prayer with my fellow Bruton Parish clergy, I was barely able to lead the service as I choked back tears.  The words of the liturgy were comforting, and I was grateful I could just read them.

Later I asked to assist at our healing Eucharist.  When someone asked why there were two clergy there when we usually have one, I answered, "Sometimes you just need to be at church."  I needed the Eucharist.  And I wanted healing prayer.

I'm having surgery on Tuesday.  I have a dermoid cyst in my right ovary causing it to more than double in size, and the whole thing has to come out.  Turns out dermoid cysts are weird things that contain genetic material like hair, bones, teeth, and skin.  As a child I thought I came from another planet.  Seems as an adult I have a little alien inside.  Alien removal will happen on Tuesday.

The surgery will be outpatient, laparoscopic, and should take less than an hour.  No big deal.  But I will need time to rest and recuperate from the procedure and the anesthesia. And I know I can't go into it in a state of depression.  I have to keep my spirits up so that I will be able to heal.

So I have been working to take care of myself.  That means I have to be careful about how much news I can take in.  I have to eat right and sleep and walk.  I've had my house cleaned and took my car to get the oil changed.  I'm walking the labyrinth. And I even purchased a new bed, since the one I've been sleeping on is at least 25 years old.  On the airplane they say that you have to put on your own oxygen mask first before you help someone else with theirs.  If I don't take care of myself, then I won't be able to help anyone else and I will have a slower recovery from surgery.

Today I took a walk to the labyrinth after finishing my sermon.  The sugar maples blazed in their glorious fall foliage.  How I love them.  I soaked up the beauty, listened to the chirps of small birds, felt the crunch of acorns under my feet, and walked the sacred path, sinking into God's peace.

Most of all, I have been staying close to God.  How grateful I am to know that God is in charge.  Maybe I'm in denial - certainly I am appalled by the things that the president-elect has said and done, and I'm horrified at the potential for damage to our country and harm to those most vulnerable.

AND, I believe that God works through everything.  Even when I don't know how.  So, my friends who are grieving, raging, despairing, and afraid, I hear you.  Take your time to feel your feelings.  Be gentle with yourselves and your loved ones.  Take walks.  Plant bulbs.  Dig in the dirt.  Feel the sun on your face.  Give your bodies good food and move around.  Turn off the electronics for a bit and hold your loved ones close.  Be gentle.  Be gentle.  Be gentle.

There will be much work to be done to stand with the oppressed, to reach out to those in need, to hold the leaders accountable.  I am hoping and praying that things will not be as bad as they appear, but if they do go that way, we will need our strength.  We will get through this.  We must take care of ourselves so that we can be there for those who need us.  Love will win.  If you can't believe that now, I will believe it for you.  Love heals.  Love wins.

Practice

I grew up in a family that loves sports and watches them fairly obsessively.  Especially college football and March Madness.  And the Braves.  And Wimbledon.  And the US Open.  And golf.  You get the picture.  As an adult, I have enjoyed a largely sports-free life. 

Except for the Olympics.

I love the Olympics.  Gymnastics has always been my favorite since I watched Nadia Comaneci in 1976 when I was a small, seven-year old girl.  Now I also enjoy watching the swimming and diving, track and field, beach volleyball, and many of the other competitions.

Like many young girls who watched Nadia, I wanted to be an Olympic gymnast.  Let me be clear that this was not a realistic dream.  But I wanted it even so.  When I was about 10 I preferred turning cartwheels to walking.  In class softball games, I always took an outfield position because I could do cartwheels instead of having to pay much attention to the game.  I took gymnastics lessons.  My dad made me a balance beam and even hung a bar between two pine trees in our backyard so that I could practice at home.

What makes the Olympic athletes so good is their practice.  As much as I loved gymnastics, I would never have been Olympic material because I would never have been willing to devote myself entirely to the practice.  Maybe to turning cartwheels everywhere I went, but not to the real gritty practice where you get rips in your hands from the uneven parallel bars and your feet are blistered and your muscles hurt most of the time.  If you want to get to the Olympics, and even more if you want to win a medal, you have to give years of your life to practice.

Even if you don't want to be a medalist in a sport, to enjoy it, you still need to practice so that you have the skills you need and so that you're ready both mentally and physically, whether it's for a fun game among friends or for some kind of competition.

Spiritual practice is not unlike the practice needed for sports.  We don't have Spiritual Olympics.  (If we did, I'm betting Desmond Tutu would get the gold!)  There's no competition in prayer.  Now way to win, and thankfully you don't have to "beat" someone else.  And yet the practice is equally important.  Because there are spiritual challenges, and they often come when you least expect them.

Regularly engaging in whatever spiritual practice we have chosen is what allows us to be ready when the challenges come.  If meditation or labyrinth walking or praying in color or lectio divina or centering prayer or the daily office or some other spiritual discipline becomes a habit for us when things are going well, then we will turn to it much more easily when the bottom drops out and we're faced with something difficult.  Whether it's a diagnosis or a loved one's death or listening to one more story of violence on the news, we will have our default practice in place so that we can stay grounded in the midst of whatever happens.

In his book, The Naked Now, Richard Rohr says, "We must move from a belief-based religion to a practice-based religion, or little will change."  Belief is certainly important, but if it doesn't influence how we act, then I'm not sure how it's helping.  If I go to church and say that Jesus is my Lord and Savior, but I don't go out and treat my neighbor with dignity and respect, then I'm not sure what good my belief is.  I'm not talking about getting into heaven.  I'm talking about being a follower of Christ.

As I think about Richard Rohr's assertion, practice seems to have two meanings to me.  First, we need the practices of our religion, those spiritual disciplines that enable us, not to earn a place in the afterlife or to win a spiritual competition, but to grow more deeply in faith and to respond to whatever comes from a place of centered maturity.  Second, a practice-based religion would be about how we live our faith rather than just what we believe. 

If we were practicing our faith more, then I believe there would be less hostility in the world.  And I don't think that's just a naive idealism. 

Ever since I have adopted walking the labyrinth regularly as one of my spiritual practices, I have noticed a change in my life.  Less anxiety.  More authenticity.  More creativity.  More love in my heart.  More ability to forgive.  It's not something that happens instantly - oh, walked the labyrinth today and all my troubles melted away.  It's the day in and day out walking, even when I don't seem to get anything out of it, that has deepened me in ways I'm not even sure I fully understand.  I walk it now when someone dies.  I walk it when I'm feeling anxious.  I walk it when big events happen whether good or bad.  I walk on behalf of others.  I walk on behalf of myself.  Over the years I have tried a variety of spiritual practices, and some I continue to use, but walking the labyrinth allows me to engage my whole body, mind, and spirit in my practice. 

The labyrinth isn't for everyone.  But whatever your practice is, (if you don't have one, I encourage you to find one,) consider this encouragement to keep going.  Keep going deeper.  Keep practicing.  Keep growing.  We have to find away to work together in our world, if we don't want it to be destroyed.  I believe that spiritual practices help. 

We may not win a gold medal, but we may help save our planet and the people who call it home.

Love is love is love

I confess.  Despite the urging and enthusiasm of some of my best-loved friends, I have not gotten on the Hamilton bandwagon.  Partly because I don't like rap.  Or hip hop.  It's hard to convince myself that a rap musical is something I would enjoy, no matter how clever and brilliant it may be.  My brain is just too slow to follow the rapid patter of words.  Part of it is stubbornness.  Sometimes I resist simply because everyone is telling me that I have to.  I have come late to many good things because I didn't want to join the lemmings, even though sometimes the lemmings are jumping into something amazing, and it would benefit me to be running with the pack!  So until now, though I have smiled at my dear friends' addiction to Hamilton, I have refused to engage with it.

On the Sunday of the Orlando shootings, I heard something about a shooting before heading into church, but somehow it didn't penetrate.  It's like my brain said, "Does not compute."  Maybe it was because the news story was so brief and there seemed to be so little information.  Maybe it's because I've become acclimatized to stories about shootings. 

It wasn't until I got home from church and checked in online that I discovered what had truly happened, and it started to sink in.  But I still couldn't feel anything.  I knew that this was a terrible, terrible thing, but I couldn't connect to my feelings.  Numb.  Depressed.  Discouraged.

After an afternoon of aimlessness, I turned on the Tony Awards.  I used to work in the theatre, and I used to watch the awards show, though I haven't always remembered in recent years.  These days I rarely know any of the plays.  I tuned in a few minutes late but in time to see the brilliant opening number that reminded me so much of a number we did in our high school one-act production of Magic! written by my high school drama and music teachers, Robin Bennett and Janice Folsom.  It was a collage of songs from musicals suggesting that "That could be me" in each one of them. Watching it transported me back to my childhood room where I listened to the cast albums of all those musicals and played all the parts.  

The rest of the night made me so proud of the arts community, for their passion and compassion, for their collaboration and inclusion, for their humor and joy, for their talent and brilliance and dedication.  Their witness shone out against the darkness, and I am grateful.  Watching all the performances made me nostalgic for the theatre.  Or at least for theatre people and opening nights.  Nothing can make me nostalgic for production meetings at midnight!

As expected Hamilton won many awards.  But what blew me away was Lin-Manuel Miranda's acceptance speech.  He wrote a sonnet.  If you didn't get to catch it, click here. A couple of the lines really hit me in light of what had happened in Orlando.  "When senseless acts of tragedy remind us that nothing here is promised, not one day."  Oh yes.  My heart is breaking for the families and the loved ones of those who died.  Not one day is promised, but they didn't think it was today.  It was so unexpected - and it could happen anywhere at anytime.  This addiction our country has to guns and violence is something I cannot understand.  How do we stop the fear that seems at the heart of it all?

Not one day is promised but the enormous numbers of young people overdosing on drugs didn't think it was today.  We are losing them to heroin and other opioids.  Our country uses 99% of the worlds supply of hydrocodone (found in Vicodin).  Why are we in so much pain?  This may seem a non sequiter, but pain and fear are at the core of all this violence and death. 

Not one day is promised.  All we have is today is today is today.  Dear God, please help us use it for good.

Lin-Manuel's sonnet went on,
  "We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger
  We rise and fall and light from dying embers
  Remembrances that hope and love lasts long
  And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love
  Cannot be killed or swept aside"

Hate and fear seem stronger, but they are not, despite how it may seem right now.  Love and hope last longer.

Love is love is love is love is love is love is love. 

I believe in God who is love.  God who loves every single person whom God has created, including all of the people seeking safety and celebration at Pulse and even the man who gunned them down.
Love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside. 
Sisters and brothers reading this, we must work together to let go of our fear and to heal our individual and collective pain.  We must. 

I still have not listened to Hamilton, but I'm getting closer to being willing.  Its creator has inspired me.  Thank you Lin-Manuel and the Broadway community, for the evening of hope.  Thank you God, for the love.

Remembering Marlene

Sometimes I walk the labyrinth to honor a person who has died.  On Tuesday night I walked for Marlene Linz, who died from cancer last Saturday.

The first time I met Marlene (I believe) was on the weekend that Peter proposed to her.  We were at Camp Mikell, where Peter and I had met as campers and served together as counselors and summer staff.  The first week I knew Peter, I was a rising sophomore in high school, and he was a senior.  I fell head over heels in love.  Sadly for me at the time, Peter fell head over heels for another girl in my cabin.  He was kind and gentle, but he had eyes for someone else.  At the end of the summer I wrote him a letter proclaiming my love for him, and he wrote back telling me he hoped we could be friends.  We have been ever since.

Over our years together at camp we grew close.  I so admired Peter for his enormous talents.  He could sing, dance, act, lifeguard, tell stories, and play guitar.  He loved puppets and hoped to become a puppeteer.  Best of all, he loved the kids at camp like I did.  Over the years I redeveloped crushes on him, but we were always best as friends.  We commiserated with each other through broken relationships and celebrated together when things were going well.  I often caught rides with Peter to and from camp sessions.  Once Peter drove 3 hours up from Atlanta to Sewanee, where I was in college, to sit and comfort me for a couple of hours during a particularly difficult time, before driving back 3 hours so he could be at his internship at the Center for Puppetry Arts the next day.  One of my favorite things in life was sitting around a campfire while Peter played the guitar, and we all sang along.

Peter and Marlene at Guest Camp

When I met Marlene at Guest Weekend at Camp Mikell one Labor Day weekend, I knew that Peter had found the perfect woman for him.  She loved him, but she did not get pulled into the "Peter fan club" behavior that some of us had a tendency to do.  She was beautiful and down to earth.  She was creative and practical.  I heartily approved and was thrilled when I learned he was proposing to her that weekend at camp.  I was blessed to attend their wedding and have visited them on and off over the years.

Peter's dreams came true as he began working on Sesame Street and then Bear in the Big Blue House and Between the Lions.  He and Marlene moved to New York where I visited them many times.  I was always impressed with how grounded Marlene was and how devoted she was to her children.  She also had a passion for pottery.  I prayed hard for her when she had to stay on bed rest for months during her first pregnancy with twins.  I don't remember exactly what it was she did during that time, but it was something creative that she could do from her room, and I remember appreciating her determined spirit. 

I later prayed hard for her when I learned she had breast cancer and again when I learned that it had moved to her brain.  Peter says that she did not fight cancer, she lived with it, and that is true.  Oh how she lived.

Jan and I spent New Year's with Peter and Marlene and their children in 2012.  Marlene was undergoing chemo and had her head wrapped in beautiful scarves.  I wasn't sure whether she would be up to company.  Jan and I were taking someone to a treatment center about an hour from their house, and they told us to come and stay.  Marlene sat in the dining room as the whole house centered on her.  She was very practical, resting when she needed to but still directing things from her spot.  It was clear that her strength fed the whole Linz household.  She told Jan that she drank 2 glasses of water every morning.  Jan has done the same ever since, and she thinks of Marlene each morning while she drinks her water.  Marlene was talking about dreams of helping women and children in Africa, even while she was in the midst of cancer treatment.

I didn't know the cancer had gotten worse until I received a message via Facebook that Marlene had died on Saturday.  I cannot imagine how Peter and their kids must be feeling.  I am glad that Marlene is no longer in pain, but I am deeply sad for her loss.

On Tuesday night I went to the labyrinth in her honor, even though it looked like it might storm.  Dark grey clouds loomed overhead.  Raindrops plopped down on my head as I wound through the first turns of the path, and I wondered how bad it would get.  Not bad at all.  Just a few sprinkles before the wind blew the darkest clouds to the east.  A mockingbird perched in the top of a crape myrtle nearby and sang through his repetoire of tunes.  As I traversed the outer circuit of the labyrinth, I heard an inner voice say, You have to let me go, Lauren.  I didn't feel Marlene's presence in quite the same way as I have for some others, but I realized I was, indeed, hanging on to her.  I didn't want to let her go.

As I walked I kept looking to the east, hoping for a rainbow.  It would be so perfect, I thought.  A rainbow for Marlene.  It didn't come.

When I reached the center, I looked west, where the sun was descending behind some clouds.  A few rays of light streamed out from behind the clouds - it was like paintings you see that make you think of heaven.  Sunlight and clouds and blue sky in the background.  Stunning.  No rainbow, but a glimpse of heaven instead.

Still, on my way out, I kept straining to see a rainbow.  Surely it's going to come.  And then I realized that it wouldn't.  That's for you and Peter, I seemed to hear her say.  I don't need anything so dramatic.  Ever practical, even in my imagination.  She died in her own room in the house she loved, surrounded by her family.  She is at peace.

As I left the labyrinth, I took a picture of a tall sycamore, illuminated with golden light, leaves quivering in the breeze.  It reminded me of Marlene, deeply rooted, its presence offering strength and comfort.  When I see it I will remember her. 

Although I didn't know her as well as I would have liked, I am so glad I was blessed to know her at all.

Farewell, Marlene.  May you rest in peace and rise in glory, and may God bring comfort to all who grieve.  Your spirit will linger in our hearts.