IF EVER A YEAR NEEDED CHRISTMAS THIS IS IT

Our pastor, our vicar and the church administrator have all been exposed to someone who came into our church building and then tested positive for Covid-19.  We're not a large church, so the outdoor service and drive-through communion for this week are cancelled.  The clergy are isolating, getting tested, and we all have our fingers crossed.  My husband was in the building this week too.  We're sorting through that.  No different than what each of you is going through I'm sure.  Everything on a scale.  Trying to be hyper-vigilant without succumbing to fear.  Balancing risks.  

So yes, if ever there was a year that needed Christmas this is it.  For a thousand reasons.  When life is as complex as ours is right now reading or writing a poem sometimes helps.  Here is my offer, small as it is.

Advent is a time to wait.

Silent thoughts.

Whispered prayers.

Hushed hopes.

It is meant for contemplation.

     As the night tucks in the day so should we.

O come O come Emmanuel.

Bring peace on earth to us as well.

While we wait let us be more, let us do less.

Now is not the time to do, but the time to undo.

Take a breath.

The air is fresh.

In and out as we wait . . .

Nina Naomi

HEALTHY ATTITUDES (ULTIMATE THINGS)

A friend thought that her cancer had progressed.  Beautiful woman whom I have known only a few years. I wish I knew her better.  She asked for prayers for peace and strength for herself and her family.  Oh the wisdom of this request!  When we are up against it, is there anything we need more than peace and strength?  Is there anything ever we need more than peace and strength?  

Pierre Bonnard, Garden, 1935

We know that disease is no respecter of persons.  A man whose wife was dying of cancer said to me, "I have enough money, enough friends, enough faith, but I can't save Carole."  They were a beautiful couple.  We'd known them a long time.  Then last year one of their grown sons lost his life to depression.  This kind of despair has been on my mind, and perhaps yours, because of two suicides--Kate Spade's (1962-2018) and Anthony Bourdain's (1956-2018).   No silver linings there, no "all for the best" or "everything has a reason." 

We each of us live with the specter of death, our own or that of someone we love.  And yet we live.  We love each other.  We care for each other.  We care for strangers.  We feel for others and put ourselves in their place. 

At book club the other day the friend who asked for prayers seemed to have found strength.  She is doing everything necessary to enjoy and prolong her life and lessen her pain.  She seems to be doing this with determination and a degree of peace.  Her wisdom has not failed her. Then a few days later she got unexpected news.  Another test showed that her disease has not progressed.  Our friend whose wife died, years ago now, is concentrating on his remaining family.  It grows every year.  Marriages, births. . .  I see peace and strength in him too.  I've read reader responses to the recent suicides--so many people describing their paths in and out of depression, such precious strangers living with this disease, sharing their pain, staying the course.  

I expect God to ready me when it is my time.  So far when I have asked for help and guidance it has been given.  My problems are as bad as anyone's--early deaths, family mental illness, shocks--but I do believe I have been given what in our church's liturgy is called "the peace that passes all understanding."  To me this means that there are facts that should destroy peace but haven't. My life has joy. I expect yours does too.  

My mother, Nina Naomi, was not particularly religious.  Although she loved God she did not attend any church.  When her time came, after one round of chemo she refused another.  She faced death with peace and strength.  Most of us are facing lesser trials than the end of life. But strength and peace are always worth asking for.  That's what I learned from her.  We can give up on many things but not the quest for peace.  

Edouard Vuillard, A Seamstress, 1892