A Sermon for Maddie

I think I can safely say and be 100% accurate that not one of us planned on being here this Monday

morning. I think it's probably also very accurate no one wants to be here. I don't think Maddie wanted us to have to be here. And yet here we are surrounding her family with our love and prayers as they begin the journey of the unimaginable. We don't want to be here, they don't want to be here. The journey has begun; the journey that we all can only travel because the power of God working within us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.

Our liturgy today is an Easter liturgy. It is the liturgy of the resurrection remembering and celebrating that God came, lived and died for us so that we would have eternal life. God has conquered death and we know Maddie now rests in the loving arms of God. Maddie is finally at peace. But we also hurt. Our hearts are troubled even though as the Gospel tells us there is a place for us all, a place where Maddie now is, a place with many rooms, which let's be honest is a good thing because Maddie would rather move to another room than clean up the one she's in.

Our hearts are troubled because while we know Maddie is at peace and in God's loving arms we want her here with us. Our arms ache to hold her. God knows that. God understands that. God weeps and grieves with us while at the same time he lovingly holds Maddie.

God loves us completely, fully, unconditionally. God loves ALL of us no exceptions. That's how Maddie loved. Look around today and you can see that unconditional love. People are gathered here --people who may otherwise never cross paths--Maddie brought people together. And we loved Maddie. God loves Maddie and God loves each of us. Sometimes you may not feel that, you may feel so distant from God, and that's okay. Feel our love--let us wrap our arms around you and be the hands and feet of Christ here in the flesh. Let us be the love of God for you.

God loves us so very much that God came to live among us and to journey to the cross and beyond for us. Jesus lived a short 33 years, but during that time he too felt deep pain. He felt the pain of the betrayal of his friends, those he thought knew and loved him most. He felt unbearable grief at the grave of his friend. Jesus felt loneliness, betrayal, and fear. He cried out to God in his anguish expressing how he felt forsaken even by God. God understands the darkness that can overtake us.

There is nothing God desires more for us than complete and total wholeness. God desires that we all live into the people God created us to be--complete and whole. God journeys with us on our journey towards that wholeness beginning at our baptism and continuing until we are united with God for all of eternity. For some the journey is a long one and for others it is much shorter. Maddie's journey began here at her baptism and, for us, her journey was far too short. She is now complete and whole, pain free and resting in God's arms.

I need to say this very clearly. God does NOT cause, allow whatever verb you want to use, tragedies to happen to teach us or someone else a lesson. God does NOT want us to experience the pain we are feeling so something good will come out of it. God is loving and forgiving and merciful and full of grace.

Thursday morning I walked out to my front yard to look at what I call my resurrection garden. Every year I plant the lilies we have placed on the altar at Easter for my grandparents and my husbands grandparents and every year they bloom just when I need to be reminded of God's eternal love and of the resurrection. Thursday I looked down and noticed they were different sizes and heights. Some were very tall reminding me some people have long lives, others were very short. But they were all blooming--there is always resurrection. I looked down again and saw all the weeds crowding them (I'm not so good at keeping up with that). I thought that's the world we live in--a world that is broken and messy--a world of weeds but out of that, despite that resurrection does always comes. Always.

Alleluia the Lord is risen.

Nine is Enough

Last night on our way to dinner having just reunited the entire

O'Doyle family, Caroline, SK and I were sitting in the back seat.  Caroline leans over me (yes they put their Mama in the middle...) and says, "SK, I can never really be a surfer dude."  Now anyone who knows Caroline knows most comments are not as innocent or as obvious as they seem.  So if you're thinking, "Of course you can't because a) you're a girl and b) you live in the midwest nowhere near the ocean." (which is a shame itself...), then you don't know Caroline.  I do, so I held my breath as I asked, "Why not?" She puts both hands up starts shaking them and says, "Because making the hang loose sign looks weird with only 9 fingers."

Without missing a beat she says, "Oh that reminds me of biology."  (Seriously I can't keep up with her conversations or how they connect either--and she's not even our ADHD child.)  "I love biology," she continued, "Or rather I love when we finish biology early and play the name the top 10 things game."  We didn't even have time to be worried about why she loves that game, although it did fleetingly cross my mind that it might not be G rated--earlier she told us about looking up words from rap songs on urban dictionary...she just kept right on and said, "Then me and Mr. Karrer look at each other sand say, 'or the top 9 so Caroline can play.'"

The rest of us burst out laughing as we typically do when Caroline is talking, but then my heart leapt. I was bursting with happiness and love for Mr. Karrer.  I put a post on facebook about it (Hello, my name is Katherine and I'm a chronic facebook overposter...) Some people--actually lots of people totally understood the post--but I realize what has become so normal, so obvious to our family, such a non event, for others may be cryptic (or more cryptic than I usually am).  It's true; Caroline has nine fingers--Caroline lost her left pinky at 25 months. (The whole story is here: Caroline Lost Her Pinky).  And yes Aunt Christy she should write a children's book called Nine is Enough.

Over the years our family has worked really hard to normalize what happened--to not make a big deal about what happened, but as any mama knows there have been times of heart wrenching pain as I've worried that people will be unkind and sometimes people have been unkind (read cruel)--I have never wanted to hurt a child until the day in England when Caroline came home from school and said, "The girls don't want to sit with me because I only have 9 fingers. ________ said it's grouse to hold my hand." It hasn't always been children--there was a time a teacher made her hold her hands up in class to show everyone.  Can I just say, this tries to stay out of things Mama was in the principal's office within minutes after hearing that! (It's not just a Mama's pain and worry--Chris has his own, but that's his story which I try to respect.)

Caroline, on the other hand, has embraced her hands just as she's embraced life--fully and with pure joy.  (She asks for a 10% discount when she gets a manicure...)  What made my heart leap last night was knowing there were others who did too--knowing there was someone who didn't shush conversation about it, didn't try to change the subject or allow awkward silence, but instead not only let Caroline embrace her hands but embraced them too.  

There are many reasons I love the Collegiate community, the students, faculty, staff and other parents, many reasons I am grateful we are able to be a part of this community.  There are many more reasons to love Mr. Karrer who has become a favorite in our home, but last night, hearing how he engages with Caroline about her hands--well let's just say, he's now part of my heart family forever (and that may really scare him!!)!

May everyone accept and live  life with the joy of Caroline and the grace and compassion of Peter Karrer. I promise the world would not only be a funnier place but a better place. 

The Dress and Resurrection

My parents and the dress

I was packing to head to North Carolina and then the beach.  For the first time in years I hadn't bought an Easter dress.  What to wear?  I went through my closets pushing dresses back and forth and my hand kept settling on one and something in my heart kept saying, "wear that one."  I argued with myself, "It's really too dressy for the beach--even for Easter."  "Wear that one." I kept hearing.

I've worn that dress one time--April 2010 to my Daddy's and Marguerite's wedding.  It was not a happy event for me at the time; it was not a night I'm proud of or a night I want to remember.  I've written about it--that too was painful.  (The Death and Resurrection of My Family) Oh we've come so far beyond that night, but that dress just reminded me of the grief and pain.  I don't know why I have never gotten rid of it.  I

The Wedding

really didn't want to wear it again.  It took me back, and I didn't want to go back. We had all moved forward--I didn't want to remember that night.  That was my Good Friday--I just want Easter.  "Wear that one."  I heard again.

Oops--as I drove into Charlotte I realized I had forgotten The Dress.  Oh well..."Wear that one."  I was beginning to think I was losing it.  Why wouldn't this voice shut up!?!?!?!  Fine, I'll call Chris and ask him to bring it.  If he forgets, well oh well..... guess what?  He remembered.

Last night I realized why I had to wear that dress--it needed, I needed, something tangible that reminded me of resurrection.  I hadn't gotten rid of the dress--it was a symbol of some sorts.  For me it was a reminder of pain--but it was just a dress, actually a nice dress, but I just looked at it and saw grief, and pain and figurative death.  I mentioned I was wearing it today for the first time since their wedding.  And I told my dear friend Jamie that Marguerite and I had fought that night.  She was shocked.  "Really?  You two?  I can't imagine that." "Yeah," I said, "It wasn't a good night.  We had words."--Marguerite looked at me and quietly said, "It was my wedding."

It stung; it stung because I knew that I had hurt her and she hadn't forgotten.  It hurt because I knew I had hurt her that night and despite that she has been nothing but good and kind to me ever since.  She had been hurt and she had never said, she had just loved me at my pace--on my terms. Now I was panicked--do I wear the dress?  Will it hurt her?  I do have something else I can wear.  "Wear the dress."  (Seriously voice--SHUT UP!!!)

I got up and put on the dress.  We took pictures--my parents and I--my daddy and my bonus mama. (I also realized this was the first weekend I introduced them to people as my parents--it doesn't change I still have two living parents, but some of us need more than two....) During church we passed the peace; I hugged and kissed Daddy and Marguerite.  After I kissed Marguerite a woman shook my hand and said, "I love your dress." and she concluded with, "I'm glad you and your parents are here today."  "Me too," I thought, "Me too."

This afternoon I've been thinking about Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter.  I've been thinking about the cross and all the beautiful crosses I have and I wear.  I thought about how in the first century the cross was just a symbol of cruelty, punishment, violence and death, and how we now adorn our churches, our homes, and our bodies with them.  That Easter morning over 2000 years ago, Jesus transformed the cross and the world.  Because of God's unconditional love, acceptance, inclusion, and grace the cross is no longer a reminder of pure violence--of grief and pain--but is also a reminder of God's redeeming unconditional love.  We don't have to live in Good Friday, but we do go back and we do intentionally remember--every year.  We remember so that we never forget how our lives, how the world, have been transformed because of the first Good Friday and Easter morning. Remembering doesn't mean we are living in the past, but it reminds us to give thanks for the reconciling love of God and it gives us the hope that the whole world will someday live into Easter morning.

It's a pretty dress; it's fine, but it's just a dress.  We--Marguerite and I-- have a beautiful relationship, a relationship transformed because of love and forgiveness and grace.