'bide a spell

Definition of abide

abode play \-ˈbōd\ or abided; abiding

transitive verb

1 a : to bear patiently : tolerate

• cannot abide such bigots

b : to endure without yielding : withstand

• abide the onrush of the enemy

2 : to wait for : await

• I will abide the coming of my lord.
• —Alfred Tennyson

3 : to accept without objection

• will abide your decision

intransitive verb

1 : to remain stable or fixed in a state

• a love that abode with him all his days

2 : to continue in a place : sojourn

• will abide in the house of the Lord
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• Tomorrow is 'Abide' Sunday. Both the reading from the letter of John and the reading from the Gospel of John mention the word 'abide' over and again.
•  I copied the definition above from MirriamWebster's Dictionary and for some reason can't figure out how to paragraph since I started writing this. Coping things to my blog sometimes screw up the way it usually works!
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• Paragraphed! Yea!
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• I love the word 'abide'. Where I grew up people sat on their front porches and if you walked by they might just invite you to 'come up and 'bide a spell'. "Bide-ing" didn't involve any effort. Conversation was optional. You just sat on their porch until you needed to go--most often in a rocking chair.
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• I think of abiding with God just like that, just being present with no expectations. Maybe that's why I love Centering Prayer: just 'being' with God.
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• One problem with working with three churches is that I don't remember where I said things. I remember I said them, just not where.
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• I know I went off on an 'abide' rant not that long ago. I just hope it wasn't at Emmanuel, Killingworth, where I am tomorrow.
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Bruce's ashes

Bruce was a construction worker who had a few falls that left him in comas.

When I first met him he came to the Soup Kitchen at St. John's. He was a wonderful and nice guy down on his luck.

He told me about his comas and the dreams he had in them and how it had left him confused and
eviscerated.

Yet he got himself together and started working again, just not high up. And was a regular in church.

Then he met Mary.

They were soul-mates, a match made in heaven. Both were wounded and they healed each other. I counseled them and did their marriage.

One of the Sundays they were there I interred the ashes of Elsie Flink, 103, outside the Angel window of St. John's. Mary told me she wanted her ashes there when she died.

She drowned on their honeymoon in three feet of water because he life-vest (so called) hooked on a rock and held her under.

After Bruce carried her ashes around in his car for several months, I interred them where she wanted though it wasn't where we put most of the ashes.

Now, Saturday, I'll put Bruce's ashes as next to  hers as I can remember where it was.

He was found dead in his apartment weeks ago. Since he was only 62 there was an autopsy and his family have finally got around to the service.

Bruce and Mary--star-crossed lovers if ever there were. Lovely, both of them, and Saturday they will be together again.

At last.

Sooner than I had imagined

This afternoon Bern said to me, "after vacation, I want to get a dog."

Much sooner than I imagined. We go to Oak Island, North Carolina every September. Mimi and Tim and Eleanor come as do Jack and Sherry and John, our dear friends from New Haven.

When Sadie died we went over a year without a dog. We had cats and birds, so we shared our lives with creatures. But we waited on a dog.

Now, Bern and I are alone and she wants a dog sooner than I thought. We both feel lonely and are still mourning Bela.

But in September we'll go to the dog rescue place and find a dog to be part of our family.

We'll get an older dog since we are both moving up in age.

And Bern said she wanted a smaller dog. We'll see what that means.

As sad as I still am about Bela, the possibility of a dog on the horizon makes me glad.

Good Shepherd Sunday

Last Sunday was 'Good Shepherd' Sunday. John's Jesus talked of being 'the good shepherd' and the Psalm was Psalm 23--you all probably know it by heart.

I dread that Sunday each year since I know so little about sheep!

But I happened across this sermon--preached a few years before I retired and left St. John's, Waterbury--about Psalm 23 and thought I'd share it with you.

11/18/07

                   The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

              He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,

              He leadeth me beside still waters,

              He restoreth my soul….

          Somehow, the 23^rd Psalm has become an icon of comfort for Christians over the centuries. Of all the Psalms—and there are, after all, 150 of them—this one has brought healing and hope to people as none of the others have.

          Psalm 23 is not one of the lectionary readings for today, and yet, as I’ve read them over and again, it is the sustaining words of that song of David that has come to me over and again.

          The 23^rd Psalm flies in the face and gives the lie to the realities of our lives. “I SHALL NOT WANT,” stands in bold contradiction to the longings and needs and wants of our lives. “Green Pastures” and “Still Waters” are not what we mostly experience. And our souls, God knows, are in profound need of ‘restoring’.

          Today’s passage from Malachi begins with ultimate “bad news”—but news we are familiar with. Listen:

                   It is vain to serve God. What do we profit by keeping

              God’s command or going about as mourners before the Lord

              of Hosts? Now we count the arrogant happy; evildoers not

              only prosper, but when they put God to the test they escape!”

          I don’t know about how you feel, but that rings true for me. The world I live in is driven by evildoers and the arrogant. I must admit that it seems ‘vain’ to me, most of the time, to serve God.

          I need green pastures and still waters. I need my soul restored.

                   Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

              I will fear no evil. For Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff

              Comfort me.

          The last few months of our life as a community, as a Tribe, have included an astonishing number of significant deaths. The shadow of that valley has been all around us. In spite of all the wondrous things that have happened in this parish church recently, what I am left with is the “shadow of death” and the chill fear of Jesus’ words from Luke’s Gospel.

                   As for these things which you see, the days will come when

              not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown

              down.

          The days grow shorter—each day more darkness envelops us. Though we seek the Light, darkness is what we find. This time of year is full of thinness, chill and night. “All will be thrown down”. The shadows in the Valley of Death grow longer, day by day. We lean toward Christmas in a time of chill and shadow and gathering darkness. God’s rod and staff are difficult to find. How can we see them in the pitch blackness? How can we embrace them when the Shadow of Death surrounds us and we are sore afraid?

         

          I’ve been talking on the phone to Barbara Clark—a vital and important member of this community who lives in Florida now. Barbara is surely, as we all are, but shortly, as many of us are not, entering into that Good Night we call Death. Science and Medicine, as amazing as they are, have now failed her. She has but weeks to live, according to the doctors. There are no more treatments to try, no miracles to expect. Sooner, rather than later, Barbara is going to die.

          And she is unafraid.

          “I’ve been an Episcopalian all my life,” she told me, “but you need to know, I learned how to be a Christian at St. John’s….”

          And she is not afraid.

          Thou hast prepared a table for me in the presence of mine enemies,

       Thou hast anointed my head with oil; my cup runneth over….

          Fear is all around us. Yet the prophet Malachi assures us: “For you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings….”

       Fear is all around us. The darkness, like a cancer grows. We are all afraid—afraid of Death, afraid of Life, afraid of being too much with Life. Everything in our culture drives us toward fear. Our food is tainted. Toys are painted with poisoned paint. Our enemies mean us ultimate harm. The city is not safe and the world less safe still. Everything can hurt us—even the ones we love.

          “You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends,” Jesus tells us in today’s gospel. “And they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name….”

          Fear is all around us. The darkness gathers. The Light seems dim, about to go out, lean toward it as we might.

          Fear is all around us—only Hope abides…Hope and Trust.

          Fear is all around us, yet Jesus says today: “Not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

       Fear is all around us, yet the invitation remains: THIS IS MY BODY GIVEN FOR YOU…THIS IS MY BLOOD SHED FOR YOU….

       Fear is all around us, yet the Light shines in the Darkness and brings warmth to the chill. Let this be your Hope and Trust, let this be how you live your life:

              Surely Goodness and Mercy shall follow me,

              And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

 

One last walk

We put it off for over a month, but today seemed the day to do it. Sunny, in the 60's, a nice breeze.

So, we took one last walk with Bela.

I divided his ashes into two bags and Bern and I went down the hill to the Farmington Canal where we walked him once a day for most of the days of his life. If it wasn't icy or raining--and sometimes even when it was--I would put him in my car or Bern would put him her truck and we'd 'go walk the Canal'.

I cut a small hole in my bag and simply walked, letting Bela's ashes scatter along the side of the concrete walk way. Bern did it differently. She used her right hand and scatted ashes in certain places that meant something to her. And she brought some of her ashes home to scatter in the backyard.

We said not a word on the way down or back or during the walk on the Canal. It was solemn and moving--beyond words. Holy.

One last walk like thousands before, but none quite like today's.

(When I got home I noticed I had spilled a few ashes when I divided them. They were on my Bible.
I didn't notice spilling them or where--but that was as good a place to find them as any.)

Arizona--Carefree

Carefree, Arizona is a town that has a sense of humor.

One intersection was EASY STREET and COPACETIC DRIVE. There were also streets named HO and HUM and ELBOW BEND.

The retreat center, Spirit of the Desert is more like a resort than a retreat center. There is a huge pool and hot tube and every room has a balcony that looks out over the desert.

It is vaguely Lutheran in identity and does lots of retreats on the Healing of Memories for American troops, a very good thing.

People in Arizona, it seems to me, are more friendly and welcoming that most in New England. But that's not surprising. And most of the people I met aren't FROM Arizona but ended up there for one reason or another.

Here's how dry it is, if you haven't been there.

The humidity in CT right now is 35 %. It's 13% is Phoenix tonight. Might not seem like much of a difference but 35 is low for us and 13 is high for Arizona.

I use a C-Path machine when I sleep. In CT I fill it to the limit with water and it lasts if I sleep 8 or 9 hours. In Carefree, I woke up one night at 3:30 to go to the bathroom, checked the C-Path and it was already empty.

I was early to the airport for my flight home and went to get something to eat in the main concourse before going through security. I was sitting next to a couple about my age and struck up a conversation. They were waiting for another couple to land so they could go on a two week tour of the south-west together. They'd done it before and were doing it again.

I asked them where they were from and they said, "West Virginia".

They asked me what I did and I said, "Episcopal priest".

They were Episcopalians (St. John's, Huntington) from West Virginia and I'm an Episcopal priest who grew up in West Virginia.

We had a great 45 minute conversation until their friends landed and texted them to meet them downstairs.

What a weird meeting thousand of miles from where either of us lived to have so much in common.

Mountaineers and Anglicans--not two things that naturally connect. Yet there we were in Phoenix in an airport, going in different directions and found each other.

Amazing.

Ponder 'coincidence' if you can, without going crazy....

Home again

It was already dark when I landed in Phoenix. Dorothy drove me to the retreat center in Carefree (really!) and all I noticed on the drive was there was sand rather than grass on the edge of the highways.

The next morning I got up and went out on my balcony and said to myself, "I'm not in New England any more!" The Arizona landscape is nothing I was ready for though I've seen it in movies--sparse yet bursting with life, vacant but full of beauty, empty yet breath-taking. Huge brown mountains. Cacti as tall as trees and in varieties beyond number. Shrubs I'd never seen or imagined. Birds that were for the most part foreign to me (even saw a couple of road-runners!). Small wild pigs and lots of crawling things. Amazing.

I went already planning to come home with wild tales of the unbearable heat, I wasn't hot once in the four days. It was seldom below 70 and mostly between 80 and 85, but the breeze was constant and I finally understand the concept of 'dry heat'. One day I asked one of the employees what the humidity was. He check his phone and said, "Oh, my, it's 13 per cent--that's really high!"

You do have to drink copious amounts of water, but not because you're sweating--just because you're giving your moisture to the air.

It was a great trip.

Right beside 'Spirit of the Desert', which was the name of the place, was a large mountain that was so rocky it looked like it was simply a pile of stones. Al, one of the workers, pointed out a house at the very top. "There's a heli-port up there too," he told me. The house and helicopter landing spot belong to Bruce Springsteen!

Of course The Boss would live on mountain tops....

More later.

So good to be home and writing for you.