Unanswerable Questions

Easter 4 Year C

21 April 2013

Sunday after immense tragedy

        I must admit that this morning I am exceptionally tired—and it’s not because I went to Thunder last night and didn’t get home until midnight.  And it’s not because I got up at an hour even early for me to write this sermon.  I had to get up; I didn’t have much of a sermon yet.  It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried for hours but because I didn’t know what to say—I seem to only have questions—and no answers. 0f the many, many questions the ones that are continually reverberating in my mind are “Why God?” and “When will all these tragedies and catastrophes end?”, and “how in the world do I as a Christian respond?”

        This week these questions have flown through my mind at lightening speed—as I’m sure they’ve flown through many people’s minds.  Try as I might, I couldn’t find a place to start.  If I try to begin to answer the question “why God” with there are evil broken people in this broken world and that is part of the reason the devastation in Boston and the reason the ricin letters were mailed, I am quickly pulled up short.  Perhaps that is part of the answer for those two horrific events, but what about the fires in West, Texas and the devastating earthquake in China?  Who do I blame for those?  How do I explain those away?  How do I give those explanations; and I need explanations.  Explanations help to control—as a people many of us believe that if we can explain how and why something happens we can control it.  I like control; I like stability, predictability, color coded charts and calendars, and the only surprises I like are jewelry, happy rainbows and unicorns—in that order.

        Today’s psalm, the much loved psalm 23, itself denies the reality of the world and the control I want.  It does not say “if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” but rather “even though” or in some translations “when I walk.”  It does not deny, it in fact affirms that there will be darkness and valleys in our lives.  Some of these valleys we will walk through alone as—the death of loved ones, medical diagnosis we don’t want to hear, financial troubles, broken relationship; and some we will feel as communities local, national, and international—events like those that happened this week.  It does not deny these realities but it unquestionably states I will not be afraid, I will fear no evil for you are with me. 

        This psalm tells us how we are to believe, how we are to respond.  We are to respond without fear and with trust that God is with us.  This week we are forced to stare deeply into our souls and ask the questions.    Do we really believe those things we profess week after week?  Do we trust in the goodness and mercy of God, in the faithfulness and presence of God?  Last week many of us were here and were witnesses to a baptism and we heard parents and godparents answer the question, “Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?”  Perhaps you’ve answered that question for yourself or for your children or god children.  Today and in the days ahead we have the opportunity to live, to speak, and to act into the answer “I do.”   

        In the last few days, we have witnessed many examples of people who have lived into this profession—we have witnessed examples of people who refused to allow fear to be their guiding force.  We saw that fear was not the only force at work in the world—we saw that love, courage, compassion, commitment, discipline, sacrifice, faith, and hope are also very much alive, present and active in the world.  The presence of God, the Spirit of God moved through and with people.  I pray that we the people gathered here today and people throughout the world can continue to allow these forces, forces given by God, to be powerfully seen and felt.  In the days and weeks ahead it will be tempting to allow fear to reign.  Some in the world will try to capitalize on our fears.  And there may be movements whose purpose is to increase our fear to levels that have no place to go except in the form of anger--anger which can lead to vengeance, more violence, more hatred, more victims, and more hurt. 

        The psalm today acknowledges darkness and evil, and it even acknowledges that we will have enemies. But the psalm also defeats these in its profession of the goodness and mercy of God, in the care and nurturing of God; the psalm offers us another worldview—a view of the world where fear and vengeance are not the only forces—they are minimal forces,

In our church we sometimes hear the phrase lex orandi lex credendi—the law of prayer is the law of belief.  In essence, if I pray it enough, say it enough, I will believe it.  As we pray psalm 23 today and in the days to come, I pray that the prayer leads to and solidifies our belief and that belief drives our behavior. 

Prayer does something else—I was reading Thomas Merton this week and he says this about prayer/contemplation, “Contemplation is also the response to a call:  a call from Him Who has no voice, and yet Who speaks in everything that is, and Who, most of all, speaks in the depths of our own being:  for we ourselves are words of His.” (New Seeds of Contemplation p.3)  I pray that we are refreshed and nourished today and in the days to come through our worship, through the Eucharist, through our community and through our prayer so that we can live and be the words of God and the presence of God in these dark days.  I pray that we can be the light that shines forth. 

Our questions won’t stop; many of our questions are unanswerable.  A friend of mine said this about why we go to church, “we don’t come to church because we expect answers, but we come to ask the unanswerable questions and to ask them with other people.”  I add to that, and we come to church to be with others who believe in the power and goodness of God; we come to be reminded and to remind others.  Yes many of our questions will remain unanswered, but the question “Where was God, where is God in this world?” we can help answer.  Our words and actions can say, God is right here dwelling in you and in me; God is in Boston, in Texas, and in China dwelling in and with many others.  We are a community of faith, a communion of saints past, present, and future.

Thank you, thank you for being here for and with me today—today being here with you reminds me.

The Death and Resurrection of My Family

This is my story; there are other people in this story, but I must be clear, this is the story as I perceived it, as I experienced it, and as I remember it.  Other people involved have their own perceptions, their own experiences, their own memories, and their own stories.

My family of origin--Mother, Daddy, Meredith, Dritte, and I spent a lot of years dying.  Looking back I recognize that our family was probably given a terminal diagnosis the summer of 1983, but it was a long slow, often agonizing process.  To be fair, there were also moments of remission--of joys, but the disease killing the family never went away for long.  It manifested itself in a myriad of ways--it was relentless, rearing its ugly head with no notice, and it left scars, many many scars.

There was a permanent fracture in November 2008 when my parents separated.  It is difficult to express the sense of loss and grief I felt.  This was the right thing to do; I knew that.  That's part of what made it so complex; how could I feel so much loss and grief when this was something for which I believed I was ready? This was something I believed would at least bring some individual healing to all of us, would perhaps even heal some relationships.  At the time, Bishop Gulick said to me, "take time and grieve the loss of the family you knew; for better or worse, it was your family."  What he didn't tell me, perhaps he didn't even know, was that people grieve loss differently, and grief is not linear.  People's length of time needed to grieve is different, and grief is intensely personal.  But, because it is a system--everybody's grief, everybody's timing is intricately connected in a complex web of relationships between the five of us but that also extended its tentacles into many other relationships.

The divorce was final in September 2009; a signed piece of paper ended the legality of the marriage, but that piece of paper had no power to end grief, to extinguish the feelings of uncertainty--to erase the fear of the future.  In November my father told me he was seeing someone; I met her in January 2010, and they were married in April 2010.  My head was spinning.  The truth is, I suspected there was someone he was seeing, but I didn't ask, and he didn't tell me.  Looking back I recognize that while I thought I was grieving the death of my family, I wasn't.  For me, my family had not yet died. Terminal, yes, but although in my mind I said it was over, my heart and soul had not reached that point.  I didn't ask; I suppose deep down I didn't want to know.  I was ready to move on, but on my terms, in my timing, in a way that was comfortable for me.  I was the child of divorced parents; I needed to learn to live with that label, with that identity before moving forward, before adding the label of a child with a remarried parent.

When I first met Marguerite, I liked her fine.  We only spent a few hours together, but she seemed nice enough.  But I didn't know her; I didn't know her story; I didn't know how much she loved my father; frankly, I didn't trust her.  And I was terrified.  I didn't want to lose the Daddy I love and need so much to another family.  I was old enough and had enough experience to know there were families who were permanently ruptured; divorce and remarriage sometimes led to one side being excluded, being forgotten.  So I didn't want to go to the wedding.  I didn't want to be a part of it; I didn't feel I was a part of it.  But I went, and the whole family went.  I don't know if I would have gone if I didn't have children.  My children adore my daddy.  They have always been incredibly close to him, and I didn't believe that I had the right to let my feelings, my fear, my grief, hijack their relationship.  And I never wanted to regret not being there.  So off we went.

It was awful--I felt left out/ I felt abandoned, denied.  I felt like an outsider.  Marguerite's daughter was in the wedding; my family and I were in the back.  We weren't asked to participate.  I didn't get to hold even a single rose, the children didn't have corsages and boutonnieres identifying them as family.  It hurt.   I know now that  Daddy didn't ask because he didn't want to put me in an awkward position with my mother, but I wasn't given that choice.  And that felt wrong.  I still believe it was wrong.  I still think my boys and not my father's friend should have been standing next to him.  I still believe my girls and my husband and I should have been up front.  But we weren't, and I almost walked out.  My aunts and my husband held me; physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  They put their arms around me and loved me through that service.  They kept my breaking heart from splintering into a million pieces and piercing my soul.  As they held my heart together, they acted as the glue, as the stitches needed to keep my relationship with Daddy from disintegrating beyond all hopes of repair.

For others, it was a day of celebration.  Carson, Marguerite's daughter, seemed happy.  Part of the pain for me was that she knew my father.  In the hotel lobby she referred to a tie he had previously worn to a dinner they all went to--a simple innocent comment but one that felt like a punch to my gut. Clearly she had been with my father on numerous occasions, and I had met her mother once.  Other people were happy; there were toasts given that alluded to football weekends the previous fall--weekends when I didn't even know Marguerite existed.  I wish I could say that despite all my pain I acted with grace.  But I didn't.

Marguerite approached me and said, "Thank you for being here; I know it's hard."  And venom flew from my lips, "Yes it is," I snapped "especially when you weren't even included.  When you might as well have been anybody else, not part of the family."  She walked off; I walked off, and I'm certain we both hurt.

I didn't sleep well that night.  I could think of nothing other then getting the hell out of there and fleeing back to Louisville.  I got up in the wee hours of the morning and went into the bathroom to shower.  As the water soothed my tired body,I collapsed into a heap and I sobbed the most gut wrenching sobs I have ever experienced.  I cried so deeply and for so long that my ribs hurt for days afterwards--a continuous reminder, a temporary souvenir of the grief I felt.  In that moment the death of my family became a reality for me--it was finished.  The family, but not the grief.  I was terrified--who was I now?  Did I have a home anymore?  How did I move forward, and what if Daddy didn't stay connected?

Over the past three years, three years we refer to as the new normal, life has changed for all of us. Has it been easy?  Did I suddenly embrace, accept, and jump into the new family?  No--divorce is always complicated.  Divorce with adult children has its own set of complications.  Not one of the children lives in the same place.  Holidays have to be negotiated--and they're negotiated with tension--they're negotiated almost as a test--who will they choose?  (read, "who do they love most?")

While the speed of the marriage didn't reflect patience, the merging of the families has been. Honestly, I have never even met Marguerite's son, but my children have.  And he, her Christopher, was kind, and loving and supportive of my children.  He taught them to shoot a bow and arrow; he gifted them one; he loves them and they love him, --that's enough for me.  For them he is part big brother, part uncle--for me he is family.

I remember the first time visiting Daddy and Marguerite's home and not feeling like a visitor.  Feeling welcome in a way I'm not sure  I ever even felt welcome coming back to my childhood home.  One night I made an unexpected visit--I called them, told them I needed to come to Augusta , one of the children was sick and needed to be at the children's hospital.   And they said come on.  I arrived very late at night, they met me at the hospital, stayed with me, held my hand--they were just there.  When we got back to their house, even though they would have to be at work within four hours, they stayed up and drank wine with me.  They stayed up until I could go to bed and not lie awake in fear. Until I could go to bed and sleep would enfold me quickly. When I went to bed,  next to my bed was a rose and a glass of water--I know very well it was from Marguerite not Daddy.  She showed me unconditional love in a moment I needed it--this simple act comforted my soul, and I believe kept the nightmares away.  I don't know what she thought when she did it, but what it said to me was, "you are not alone; I love you.  I love you not because you are your father's child or your child's mother, but because you are a hurting human being and you need to be loved."

I don't know when I started referring to Marguerite as my step mother; it happened so slowly and so seamlessly.  There was no pressure; there was no attempt to take over or replace my mother.  Frankly there was no expectation.  There was patience and love extended over and over even when it wasn't reciprocated.  I am now proud to call Marguerite my step mother; I am blessed she is in my life and the lives of my family.  She is a mother to me; I mother I need.

Yesterday Carson texted me.  She wanted me to know before it went public that she was pregnant.  I burst into tears of happiness.  I texted all the children to let them know--there was much joy and celebration.  Yesterday afternoon I asked her if it was public yet so that I could post on facebook, "I"m going to be an aunt again!"  And I am--my step-sister is going to be a mother and I'm going to be an aunt, a true aunt because we are family--in that moment, I recognized the mystery of death and resurrection.  In that moment I knew that there had been resurrection in my life, the resurrection of my family.  Thanks be to God.

The Ridiculously Priced Prom Dress

Last week I took Sarah Katherine prom dress shopping at the beach, and I spent a ridiculous amount on the dress.  I know that.  I also know that it wasn't because she threw a tantrum (she didn't), begged and pleaded (she didn't), or offered to pay half (she didn't).  No it was all about me, me and my past and if I'm really honest also about me and the present.

When I was 13, I had an eating disorder--that is actually a lie in verb use.  Eating disorders are like any other addiction, they never truly go away; they're managed, controlled, but not cured.  But mine started when I was 13--I was hospitalized; I weighed 49 pounds and for once in my life, my mother thought I looked good. It was the first time (and possibly the only time) she ever offered to take me to buy clothes and didn't tell me I couldn't wear the latest styles because I was too "big". 

I'm built differently than my petite mother and sister.  I was always told, "You take after your father (a college football player).  You have big bones. You have a big butt--we have to try to disguise it."  And I wasn't allowed to wear jeans--I wasn't allowed to wear many things that my "teensy tinsy look just like my mother" sister was allowed to wear.  (and that created it's own set of problems for my sister/best friend--but that's her story)

As I said, while eating disorders can be controlled (not starving myself or binging and purging), they never really go away.  I still can't look in the mirror without finding many flaws in my body.  I still have my "baggy" clothes for when I'm feeling particularly vulnerable, and I still worry that I look ridiculous in stylish clothes.

Sarah Katherine is not built like me.  She doesn't have my bottom or my top--and I know right now she isn't particularly thrilled with how she looks.  (But that's her story to tell, and I for one think she's beautiful!)  It's hard to help a teen dress who has a different body style.  I know what looks okay on my flat chested, big thighed self, but long muscular dancer legs?  This body only likes to pretend it can dance; it never has (deep sigh of relief from my children).  And so knowing all this, I set out with SK and her two close friends to shop for a prom dress.

She tried on so many things.  And just like me (God help me for passing this onto my children), she looked at size labels.  It mattered to her.  I could see it mattered.  There was one dress she loved--on one the zipper was broken and on the other it was a too big.  There were dresses that were okay, there were dresses that weren't flattering, but they were stylish.  There were tears; there was frustration, and while on the outside I remained calm and even toned, on the inside I was screaming and feeling every feeling I had ever felt while shopping with my mother.   Images of those trips played through my mind like a movie.  As the sales clerk brought dresses to SK, I heard in my head my mother saying, "No that will never look good on her; even if that looks good it's too expensive. She's just going to have to settle on something"  I refused to say anything.  She could try on any dress she wanted; I would sit there all day if that's what it took.  Finally she put, THE DRESS on and it was perfect.  It fit perfectly and she beamed.  Truly it looked like it was made for her.  People in the store stopped and said how good it looked; her friends told her how good it looked, and then she looked at the price tag and her face fell.  She told me; I texted Chris and then even though I shouldn't have, (at least as a general rule in marriage),  I disregarded his response.  At that very moment I remembered putting on my junior prom dress that my mother had made; I loved it until she said, "It's a good style for you, covers your big butt."  And I knew even if I had to never buy another purse or pair of shoes, (that is a HUGE sacrifice),  SK was going to wear that dress.  SK was going to get dressed on prom night and feel like a princess; she was going to go to prom and feel good in her dress, feel beautiful in her dress, and perhaps one day she will shop for prom dresses with her daughter and instead of aching and shuddering on the inside she will remember the joy of prom dress shopping.  She will remember the fun of being together and the excitement of finding the perfect dress. 

So I bought that ridiculously priced dress, for SK and for me.  As we walked out of that store, for a moment, that critical voice in my head was silenced and in it's place I heard, "thank you Mama."