Peace of Another Thunder Moon Sabbath

It’s crazy how excited I get about things that aren’t really that big. But it’s fun.

Today I get to preach at the Joseph Priestley Chapel. It’s fun to preach in because it’s got great acoustics. It’s fun to preach in because, there, I really feel the connection to our lineage. Our little congregation is heir to Gunpowder Joe. It’s quite a reputation to live up to! It’s a once a year deal, and I enjoy it.

And then, we’re off to the building to do the final bit of organization at the behest of the Yard Sale Major General. This is a huge event and it’s been very carefully orchestrated. It’s something that makes me with my great extroversion crazy, because I have to see everything at once. And then you add people. Ay Caramba! However, I’m also fascinated. What was once just piles of stuff is now carefully and attractively displayed. And tomorrow great gobs of it will disappear! wow! And so it will go for an entire week. At the end of the week, anything that doesn’t go, gets sent off somewhere, somehow to do good. Everything gets used.

Today it’s not going to rain, although it’s going to be cloudy. So we’ll get stuff done. And then, there’s a Sunday afternoon in my future. Lazin’ around, getting things done, reading something… reflecting back on the last two nights of the reunion, spending time with a friend. All in all it’s going to be a lovely day.

But first gathering with my community, and then watching the hive of worker bees follow directions!

And oh, right. The yard sale is another opportunity to shed stuff. To realize how much we have and how little we need. Count those blessings, and then share them. Enjoy your abundance, and then set it free. And then at the sale, you’re sometimes gifted to see people get things for a quarter that they need. a pan, an interview outfit, a set of plates. Some people just drop in for lunch. Every day. For six days.

It’s a gift of camaraderie. It’s a gift of community building. It’s a gift to the wider community. We’re so lucky that some of our brave souls are willing to do this, and in doing it, invite us to participate.

Somewhere there’s Peace in this, if only in the organization. Sadly the Thunder Moon looks like living up to her reputation so there will be the challenge of keeping the rain off the goods. But before it all, there’s the wonder that chaos can turn into a gift of love.

Making Peace with Your Past

I was not fond of High School and managed to leave after 11th grade by being an exchange student my senior year. (only course I had to take was English; I was told in Sweden I’d be given an A if I didn’t come to class and taint the proper English being taught!)

I was glad to be done with High School. I was tall, skinny, awkward, and mouthy. (I’m still many of those things! Praise be!) I had no idea who I was or what I wanted to do — besides of course fit in. And in that I was not alone. An entire class of kids, just wanting to fit in. Oh, how fragile we were.

I come from a small town. A lot of people left. A lot of people didn’t. There’s a lot we don’t have in common — including our memories. All that was filtered through our own particular set of demons.

But last night was our (how did this happen?) 45th reunion. There weren’t a lot of us, but there were some. And there was laughter and kindness. Tonight there will be more.

And all those times I felt insecure? These days I pretty much like who I am… and love what I do… and mostly I like the people I went to school with as mixed a bunch as we are. And the guy I might be thought to have the least in common with is someone I went to school with from K-12… and we just flat out like and enjoy one another.

There has to be a way to make growing up easier! Ways to help kids just be present to what is and to be kind to one another starting early. In the meantime, Peace on the high school years. And hurrah for people having lives, and lovingly, laughingly shaking our heads over yesteryear. Peace, now. And thanks for a nice evening.

Peace with Mistakes that Rattle Your Days

Sometimes you fail at things and that’s one thing to cope with. Other times you make mistakes. You don’t check a fact, find a typo, or, for some other reason, simply overlook something.

But there it is, in living color, a mistake. Big and bold and unable to be stuffed back into the box.

The horror that can generate is often completely disproportionate to the gravity of the mistake. But there’s that same old shameful feeling that rises up from yesterday, from your hidden depths, from who knows where, but there it is. You were wrong. Publicly. Flat on your face.

As a friend of mine joked, as only friends can, knowing that i am clumsy, wow, your falls are usually only literal, not figurative! true that, and i have the sprained ankles to prove it.

But there you are. Wrong and rattled in the Thunder Moon. No one else thinks it’s a sin, but you’re having a hard time convincing yourself. OK, I’m having a hard time convincing myself. I’m pretty taken aback by my over-reaction. Did I really think I wouldn’t ever do something wrong? And what was that seductive temptation to stop the process so that I could never make another mistake, never be seen as human. There’s a shadow!

If I can’t make a mistake about this, how am I going to be about dealing with the big things that are part of my make up? Or as in the case of racism part of my privilege?

Thunder Moon rattles, I shake… Peace is looking it all in the eye and coping/changing/living through! Ah well, I’m sure none of you struggle with any of this! Peace in the struggle… and in those stark little moments of self-reflection.

Dental Health and Peace

Dental Health. It’s a costly proposition and many people go without access. 126 Million of us are without insurance. Dental health is part of the National Health Plan. 92% of us have cavities, compared to 28% of Brits and even fewer Japanese. Fewer cavities means you keep your teeth longer. The Japanese have (of course they do) an art called hamigaki, the art of teaching children how to brush.

Why are we so disinterested in dental health? It’s one of our primary indicators of overall health and it’s wildly reflective of our body’s health. Yet go to any nursing home and you’ll not find a great emphasis on dental hygiene.

And in this country, it’s expensive. I had a tooth removed yesterday. By happy coincidence I will eventually be able to pay for it. But it took a while to help the surgeon understand that I couldn’t pay more for my tooth than the gnp of a small country. The next time, I may just have to lose the tooth. The cost of one implant is many times the cost of dentures. I get it, it’s hard work… but what’s good for our health?

In the meantime, although the surgeon was excellent and I had great care. OWWWWWWW. and nobody told me I wouldn’t be able to eat strawberries or go swimming.

I suspect that part of Peace is people’s access to health care. There’s work to do here. And guess which groups have the most access and which the least? That’s right racism and healthcare are like the cat and the dog — “no good friends”…

Peace, Because You’re My Neighbor

Charleston seems so far away from central PA. We’re so isolated here in our beautiful little town, we get to feel devastated but disconnected. We get to feel safe and if we’re careful, not the least bit uncomfortable, just sad.

But then in a tiny little church, during Sunday morning’s Joys and Concerns, a couple tells us that Cynthia Hurd, librarian, was their local librarian when they lived there.

And there she is no longer just a Martyr but now, a Neighbor.

I need to know her name. I need to learn about her. (I’ve already messed this up because I had her name as Cheryl, I’m not sure where I picked that up. It grieves me that I didn’t recheck this. Her name is such an important part of her legacy. We want to learn it, hold it in our mouths, caress it. She was our neighbor. So were they all.)

She was 54, a life long member of the AME church where she was killed. Her brother said, “she was looking toward retirement after 31 years of library work.” The library issued a statement remembering Hurd as “a tireless servant of the community who spent her life helping residents, making sure they had every opportunity for an education and personal growth.” Her husband is a merchant marine and was serving somewhere in the Saudi Arabian sea and had to make that long journey home alone. Poor, poor man. That alone was horrible, but in these circumstances, even worse.

She was a woman. She was our neighbor. This happened to someone we now know because she was Black. The question is will we make sure this is the end?

Will we begin to dismantle racism? Will we do something about gun control?

Peace is up to us. I’m not sure what makes justice happens, but we have the opportunity and the obligation to make a difference. Peace is in our hands. Will we honor that? Will we honor Cynthia Hurd with Peace?

Solstice Sweetness in the Thunder Moon

The clouds hung around all day. And just as I threw up my hands and said that’s all the preparation I’m going to do for the vigil tonight and I’m going to at least slip into the pool, it started to rain.

I listened carefully, it wasn’t rumbling, just raining. So off I trundled to the pool, and slipped in. It really is magical this swimming in the rain thing… It was still hot and the pool was still cool. The guard watched from under the overhang and i mostly floated. ahhhhhhhh.

Then back for the vigil with the two hundred. You’ve heard me on that.

And then out to the local ice-creamery to watch the end of the glorious sunset, a moon hanging in the sky with some planets to chat with and the rising of the fireflies.

I don’t know how much we accomplished on real Peace last night (although I have my suspicions…) but it was lovely to finish the evening in the company of a like-hearted friend rejoicing in the beauty of the earth and the blessings of the Solstice… claiming the sabbath for rejoicing in and being present to Mother Earth and her abundance.

Maybe we’ll do better on big P Peace today…

A Thunder Moon Sabbath to Remember

The Thunder Moon is really rattling. Every day it seems, we have a thunder boomer.

And last night the sweetest rain to sleep by. zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Today is Father’s Day… may your memories be sweet and may you make new ones as sweet and juicy as this season’s berries.

Today’s the solstice, giving us a whole sweep of bright and shiny days with long hours of sun (over 15!) well, sun behind the clouds, because that’s what’s going on here! May we be illuminated… May we use the light to look clearly at what is going on in our world. May the beauty we see empower us and keep us strong in the face of the work to be done.

And there’s a lot of work to be done.

Today in my valley we will commemorate the nine who died in Charleston. We will pause and weep. We will decide what if anything we’re going to do to make a difference here. Or at least have a start at it. Let us remember those who died for no reason other than hatred. Our family has lost children. It’s awful. I can’t imagine losing children — or anyone — simply because they existed. To have them targeted and executed. Assassinated. May we be moved to act against the hate — and act in ways that make a difference.

Peace was never more urgent; never more confusing. Let us Peace.

Am I Complicit with Peace — or Not?

I hope that this is one of the questions that we can begin to ask ourselves… where do we stray from the Path of Peace?

How easy is it to think that a loving heart will dissipate the structures of racism that are embedded in the foundation of our country?

What is the specific work I must do?

Can I allow myself to acknowledge my failings… my sin… to live with that discomfort long enough to allow it to transform me, to allow myself to feel the urgency of this sacred, terrible moment… that I will make a place for the Other. That I will become a person of Justice.

Can I refrain from refuge in a prayer that the Divine will welcome these Martyrs home, as if The Lady did not snatch these souls to her bosom to comfort their terror and their loss, as if The Lord needed to be reminded to welcome and to love.

Why have we not heard the word Martyrs? are we unwilling to see these beloved dead as Martyrs to a system that must be abolished?

Can I hold silence long enough to see how far I have wandered from Peace? The Solstice is upon us, shedding full light upon the day’s realities. The Thunder Moon is increasing, rattling our complacencies. Let us look for the Path to Peace…

In Memoriam

I have nothing this morning but the names and stories of those who died.

Clementa Pinckney South Carolina state Sen. Clementa Pinckney, the church’s pastor and a married father of two, was the first victim to be identified.

The 41-year-old pastor was leading a prayer service at the church when alleged gunman Dylann Storm Roof, 21, opened fire. Pinckney was remembered as an accomplished leader in the community.

Sharonda Coleman-Singleton Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, a reverend at the church, was also one of the shooting victims.

The 45-year-old mother of three coached the girls’ track team at Goose Creek High School in Goose Creek, S.C.

Cynthia Hurd Charleston County Public Library confirmed Thursday that one of their librarians died in the attack. Cynthia Hurd, a manager for Charleston County Public Library, was among the victims of the shooting at the Emanuel …

Cynthia Hurd, 54, the manager of St. Andrews Regional Library, was remembered as a woman who spent her life making sure residents of the local community had opportunities for personal growth and an education.

“Her loss is incomprehensible, and we ask for prayers for her family, her co-workers, her church and this entire community as we come together to face this tragic loss,” read a statement from the library. Hurd worked with Charleston County Public Library for 31 years. Before joining St. Andrews, she was manager of the John L. Dart branch.

DePayne Middleton-Doctor DePayne Middleton-Doctor was one of the victims of the church shooting. (Photo: DePayne Middleton/Facebook)

Former Charleston County employee DePayne Middleton-Doctor, 49, was among the victims. In a Facebook post, one of her family members, Laurie Middleton, said she will miss her beautiful personality, laughter, smile and love for all people.

“My beautiful Songbird. This is a hard one to Swallow. I will truly miss you my love,” she wrote. She was reportedly the mother of four girls and sang in the church’s choir.

Tywanza Sanders Allen University identified alumnus Tywanza Sanders, 26, as one of the victims, WACH reported.

The young man graduated from the school’s Division of Business Administration in 2014.

Myra Thompson Denise Quarles confirmed to “Good Morning America” that her mother, Myra Thompson, 59, had died, but declined to comment further.

The Anglican Church in North America also confirmed Thompson’s death. Her husband, the Rev. Anthony Thompson, is a vicar for Holy Trinity REC.

Ethel Lee Lance Ethel Lee Lance, 70, was a sexton who had reportedly worked at the church for more than 30 years.

Her daughter, the Rev. Sharon Rischer, confirmed to “GMA” that Lance died in the shooting. “I’m lost, I’m lost,” her grandson, Jon Quil Lance, said to The Post and Courier. “Granny was the heart of the family.”

Daniel L. Simmons Daniel L. Simmons’ daughter-in-law, Arcelia Simmons, confirmed to ABC News that he died in the shooting.

Simmons was a retired pastor from another church in Charleston and attended the Emanuel AME Church’s services every Sunday and Bible study every Wednesday, she said.

Susie Jackson Longtime church member Susie Jackson, 87, was confirmed as the other victim. Her grandson, Tim Jackson, told WEWS that she was a loving person with an infectious smile. “It’s real, real hard. It’s challenging because I don’t believe she deserved to go this way. It hurts to process,” he said.

Jackson was active in the church, serving on the usher board and singing in the choir, according to the ABC affiliate.

May they be our call to the making of Peace and a demand for Justice: That the people may live. May our prayers rise and lead us forward.

Tears in Paradise, Act for Peace

Two days home from a workshop on Undoing Racism, taught by the People’s Institute for Survival and Beyond, I wake up to the news of the death of nine Black people by a white gunman. They were shot at church in a Bible Study.

I’d already sent out the day’s musing about how we who live in Paradise don’t make room for everyone, don’t insist that Paradise is abundant. And then this, proof.

It could be one crazy guy except we tolerate crazy white guys doing this. This is a thing. This is a trend. This is a movement. White people killing bunches of Black and Brown people. Will his religion be on trial the way the Boston Marathon’s religion was? Will we (finally) wonder what it is in White culture that causes so many to go so wrong? Because it’s about time we do.

And in all the pictures of the aftermath, people kneeling in prayer, people holding hands in prayer, not a white face in the picture. “And I didn’t hear nobody pray.” And oh right, I didn’t hear anyone say, there is an epidemic of white exceptionalism and it’s killing our neighbors. But it’s true. I didn’t see anyone say, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ramadan starts today. Maybe while our Muslim sisters and brothers are refraining and reflecting, we might do the same.

I’m sure that some people like those in the AME church would be grateful to wake up in Not Hell. But Paradise is possible, if we understand the need to throw open the Garden gates and welcome the world. Do we believe in Life?

It’s time to wake up, step up, show up for Peace. It’s time to redefine and transform Paradise. Each and every one of us is needed for this hard and precious work.

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