Meeting Ephthemia

Photo by Alfred Schrock on Unsplash

One of the first people who came to visit during Inner City Pastoral Ministry "table time" yesterday on the corner near Bissell Centre West was a small elder with shiny black hair, a huge smile (in spite of very few teeth), and the tendency to shout the odd word to emphasize it. 

She picked up a few snacks ("I like them HICKORY STICKS!"), thanked us, and moved on to collect hugs from a couple of Bissell Centre staff members that she obviously recognized, and they her. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, arms outstretched, just waiting to be embraced, and she was not disappointed. Their encounter made me smile.

Pastor Quinn and I stood at our little table of shareable items for almost an hour,  having our own encounters with people who came for snacks, toiletries, dry socks and underwear (it had rained at least an inch overnight, probably more). 

I love table time for the interactions with the locals. One guy made me laugh when he said, "I'm from Newfoundland, so give me the tuna and crackers kit, not that chicken salad and crackers sh*t." Inevitably, there are jokes and stories exchanged at our table. Some of the stories are hard to listen to, but the tellers of those stories appreciate that we listen and sometimes pray for them -- if they request it. Inner City Pastoral Ministry is a ministry of presence, of just being with folks. We can't solve their problems for them, but we can listen.

After we had given everything away to people who had come to our table from nearby encampments and other dwellings, Quinn headed inside to see if any of our regular community members were taking advantage of the Bissell's services, as he usually does. I broke down cardboard boxes and folded up our portable table, watching for Quinn's return, because he's my ride home. He was gone longer than usual, but eventually I spotted him further down the sidewalk, chatting with the little elder with shiny black hair and very few teeth at the small garbage bin across from the entrance.

When I arrived, Quinn was using the lid of the bin as a table for a tape dispenser, and carefully taping the arm back onto the elder's glasses. She had a small bleeding abrasion on the side of her nose where the nose piece of her broken glasses had cut into her skin, and a lot to say about it. "That STUPID woman had to hit me for NO GOOD REASON!" she said. "I'm sixty-six and that TWENTY-SOMETHING B**CH thought she'd take a piece of me. COWARD. Now she's HIDING inside."

Quinn confirmed that he'd seen a younger woman "clock" the older one, and that he'd gone inside to ask the Bissell's nurse for help outside (better to keep the two parties apart), but the nurse was already swamped by people needing attention. So I waited with the little woman while Quinn went back in to see what he might do for the elder first aid-wise.

I asked her name. "I'm Effie," she told me. 

"But there's more to your name than that, I'll bet," I said. "What is Effie short for?"

"My full name is Ephthemia. It's Greek. Do you know what it means?"

"Greek!" I exclaimed. "It's a beautiful name. But how did you get a Greek name?" 

"My dad knew a Greek guy," she said. "Ephthemia means Beautiful Butterfly. That's me. I'm a beautiful butterfly."

"You definitely are," I agreed, and pointed to her t-shirt, which bore the image of a woman with butterflies in her hair. Delighted that I'd noticed, Ephthemia wrapped me in a hug. I asked where she lived, and she told me she had a place in a nearby seniors' affordable housing building.

Quinn returned wearing medical gloves, carrying gauze and a little vial of saline solution. He asked Effie's name and got the same story I did, but without the hug. He carefully swabbed the cut on her nose and told her to stay away from the young woman who had hit her and suggested that she go see the nurse anyway to get checked for concussion.

Effie said, "I'm not afraid of HER! I've gotten worse beatings from a KITTEN." She gave me another hug, I told her to take care, and Quinn and I headed back to the car.

"Did you see what actually happened?" he asked me.

"No, I was folding up."

"I saw the girl hit her, hard, but I'm suspecting Effie smacked the girl's uncle on the head first, or maybe poked her as she walked by. I guess we'll never know."

"With a name like Ephthemia, she's certainly one of a kind," I said. "I wonder if it means what she says it does. I've never heard it before." 

When I arrived home, I looked up Ephthemia/Efthimia, and it actually translates as "well-spoken." But if "beautiful butterfly" suits her self-image better, I definitely won't argue. 

Effie will have a shiner today, but hopefully it won't matter too much because Ephthemia knows she is a beautiful butterfly. In my books, and in God's sight, she is.

Ode to a childhood home

My wonderful parents recently made the decision to move to a home more suited to their needs, and their home of 49 years officially received its SOLD sign on Saturday morning. 

It's a momentous occasion for our family, and I sat down to moodle on the good karma of this place just over a month ago. Re-reading what I wrote today, I barely had to change a word (but Dad wanted baseball and bunnock games in there, and Mom wanted Ante-I-over somewhere...) 

Ninety-nine twenty-seven,

you've been the meaning of "home"

for almost half a century.

And what a beloved place you have been --

a place of comfort and joy,

of games and fun,

of laughter and tears,

of celebrations and challenges.

Your big old Mayday tree in the backyard

where we set up skipping ropes 

to ferry messages via ice cream pail

from one trunk to the next

(and where I once got stuck),

and your Snoopy and Woodstock playhouse

that Marjorie and Elizabeth 

decorated before we came,

always full of spiders

or neighbourhood boys

that we didn't like.

Your proximity to the school across the street

so early mornings didn't have to be 

quite so early.

The backyard tent 

built over your umbrella clothesline

and the dress-up clothes fashion shows

that entertained us on summer afternoons.

Slinkies walking down your stairs,

"hospital" played in your attic,

a "passion play"

complete with thunder and lightning

(when Jesus died)

enacted by puppets 

behind your basement bar.

Oh, and the school hamster who escaped

(don't panic, DON'T tell Mom!)

and somehow squeezed under it

to be discovered in the corner of a keepsake box,

happily munching a saved school report.

Ping-Pong in your rec room

with Dad, 

who played left-handed

(until we beat him),

card games around your dining table

with all the cousins at Christmas,

and watching The Wonderful World of Disney 

in your living room on Sunday nights.

Piano lessons from a neighbourhood babysitter,

twelve-string guitar songs floating down

from your pink and purple bedrooms,

Study No. 6 ringing through you

over and over and over,

til Mom sighed with pleasure.

One of your rooms full 

(every wall)

of Edmonton Oilers newspaper highlights

painstakingly cut out of

The Edmonton Journal.

Renovations...

and your new family room

full of light.

Baseball and Bunnock games

across your street

and over the schoolyard fence

on which more than one of us

ripped our pants.

The sound of the adding machine

balancing the books for the business,

computer games,

and term papers being typed

in your basement office.

A boarder who didn't stay.

Birthday parties,

youth group gatherings,

graduations, 

and meetings of all kinds.

A first kiss for a future husband

on your front step,

and a wedding's second day party

in your newly built garage.

Campers and trailers 

of various sizes and shapes

parked in your back yard.

New babies

and doting grandparents

building couch cushion forts

for them to crawl through

as they grew.

Your dress up clothes

for another generation,

and costume jewelry besides.

Your huge piles of raked leaves

into which Grandpa

threw his grandchildren

over and over again.

Church music practices

in your front room

once a month

(turn up that bass, Aaron!)

Your Harry Potter party,

complete with costumes

and Grandma's creations --

chocolate marshmallow frogs!

Wild games of ante-I-over

with tennis balls flying over your garage

and leaving marks on your sunroom windows!

Running freshly cut homemade noodles

up and down your stairs

and all over the house

to dry on your beds.

Your much-loved sing songs --

King of the Road 

and Darktown Strutter's Ball

(turn up that bass, Aaron!),

bellowing 'Enery the Eighth I am, I am

or softly singing

Love Can Build a Bridge

with forty of our favourite people

(a few different ones every time).

Lots of splashing in your heated birdbath

and Grandma helping a grandchild

to rescue a bird 

who froze to your chain-link fence

one very cold day.

Surprise kids' art

and handprints

on your walls 

near the treadmill.

Kartoffel und gleis,

chicken noodle soup,

Christmas dinners and Easter suppers.

Playing Christmas game gifts, setting puzzles,

and watching 

Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen

in White Christmas

every year.

Visiting through your window screen

or sitting around your firepit 

properly distanced

during Covid times.

A little black dog chewing pork bones

or napping

on your back rug

during coffee visits.

The company of so many

friends and relatives, 

and Uncle Fred sleeping

in his favourite bed.

And now it's time,

sad as we are to say goodbye,

for us to let you go

so another family can enjoy you.

Just looking at you,

ninety-nine twenty-seven,

they'll never know

how much good karma

is in your bones 

and in our hearts.

Thanks for the memories!

Lazarus revisited

This is still my favourite version of the Lazarus story that we hear in this Sunday's gospel reading. I share here a moodling from 5 years ago, revisited, because I think it sheds a different light on an old story, giving it a meaning that isn't usually preached in churches! 

* * * * * * *

A friend recently returned from a L'Arche retreat with a new view of the story of the death of Lazarus from the eleventh chapter of John's Gospel (I've borrowed from The Message and the Good News Translation for the version below). When we come to the gospel reading on the fifth Sunday of Lent, I like to close my eyes and see it this way…

A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” 

We don’t know much at all about Lazarus, other than that he was Mary and Martha’s brother. It is unusual that the two women seem to be the heads of the household and that Lazarus doesn't seem to bear any responsibility for looking out for his unmarried sisters in the patriarchal society of Jesus’ day. There are also no recorded conversations between Lazarus and Jesus, while we know about his conversations with Martha and Mary. These things could indicate that Lazarus might have been a person with a developmental disability who lived in the care of his sisters.

It's an interesting idea, and one that makes perfect sense to me because of my experiences with family members and friends who have developmental disabilities. They have a knack for gathering special people around them simply by their desire to have friends and by their unconditional love and welcome for everyone they meet. They are unapologetic about needing help, unlike those of us who are mostly able to care for ourselves.

So it’s not hard for me to imagine Lazarus seeing Jesus somewhere in his travels, taking a liking to him, asking him for help to do up his sandal, then inviting him to supper. This vision of Lazarus reminds me of my friend Harry*, who invited a solitary Japanese tourist at a campground to join his L'Arche vacation group for supper (Hiro was so moved by Harry’s openness and hospitality that later he returned to Canada to join our L’Arche community on a permanent basis, and Harry and Hiro are friends to this day).

I imagine that because of Lazarus, Jesus meets Mary and Martha, their brother’s caregivers, who are used to Lazarus bringing home stray dogs and new friends. They all welcome Jesus as if he was an expected dinner guest, and a deep friendship begins -- one that I'm guessing is full of fun, laughter and unconditional love. That’s why, when Lazarus becomes ill, his sisters send word to Jesus. They know that Jesus loves Lazarus, and they trust that their healer friend will help.

But Jesus is held up for a few days because his disciples want him to lay low, afraid after an encounter with some Jews who are accusing him of blasphemy and who might still be carrying stones in their pockets in case they meet Jesus again. So he appeases his disciples, saying that

“This sickness is not fatal. It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.”

Clearly, Jesus knows things that the disciples, Martha and Mary don’t…

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had been buried four days before. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Judeans had come to see Martha and Mary to comfort them about their brother's death. 

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died! But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask him for.” 

“Your brother will rise to life,” Jesus told her. Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.”

Jesus gives Martha a triple-whammy of good news. 1) Lazarus will rise, 2) knowing Jesus himself is life itself, and therefore 3) Martha and anyone who believes in Jesus will also have eternal life! He says:

“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord!” she answered. “I do believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.”  

The moment Mary heard it, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The people who were in the house with Mary comforting her followed her when they saw her get up and hurry out. They thought that she was going to the grave to weep there. 

Mary arrived where Jesus was, and as soon as she saw him, she fell at his feet. “Lord,” she said, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” 

Mary is completely at home with Jesus. Her grief at losing Lazarus knocks her to the ground, and she doesn't care if Jesus sees it. She knows that he feels it too. If you've ever lost someone dear to you, you know what it can be like when a friend comes to be with you in your grief...

Jesus saw her weeping, and he saw how the people with her were weeping also; his heart was touched, and he was deeply moved.  

Jesus wept.

I love that these two words are the shortest verse in the Bible. If Jesus weeps, we all have permission to weep, and more than that, we all need to allow ourselves to grieve. He’s showing us that our human emotions are gifts, too. And if Jesus can weep, in public, every person can do the same no matter their gender, never mind the idea that "Men don't cry."

“See how much he loved him!” the people said. Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” 

In my mind, these are also people who loved Lazarus deeply. Lazarus probably united all the neighbours in Bethany – everyone knew him, and everyone looked out for him – and he looked out for everyone too (like my friend Thomas* does), greeted them all by name every day, smiled at them even when they didn’t smile back, and doled out plenty of hugs. So of course they’re a little miffed that Jesus would heal a blind man and not their beloved friend. And Jesus hears their murmurings and feels the same way about Lazarus as they do.

Deeply moved once more, Jesus went to the tomb, which was a cave with a stone placed at the entrance. Martha, the dead man's sister, said, “There will be a bad smell, Lord. He has been buried four days!” Jesus said to her, “Didn't I tell you that you would see God's glory if you believed?” 

Martha’s heart leaps. Of course she believes in Jesus, who loves her brother so deeply. Anything is possible with that kind of love.

They took the stone away. Jesus looked up and said, “I thank you, Father, that you listen to me. I know that you always listen to me, but I say this for the sake of the people here, so that they will believe that you sent me.” After he had said this, he called out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  

He came out, his hands and feet wrapped in grave cloths, and with a cloth around his face. “Unbind him,” Jesus told them, “and let him go.” 

And there stands Lazarus, fumbling with the cloths with one hand, his other hand reaching out for his friends, the hugest smile on his face, probably even laughing with delight, as if to say, “I’m so glad you came! This calls for a celebration!”

Jesus healed many people in his short ministry, and could have raised many more people from the dead, but according to John's gospel, Lazarus is the only one. If Lazarus was a man with a developmental disability, Jesus' attentiveness and love for him tells us a lot about God's special love for people with disabilities of any kind.

And if God loves them so much, it seems we need to allow them more room to bind us together as community, to pay attention to how they call forth our love, and how their love helps us to accept our own limitations. Relationships with persons with disabilities help us to become people who celebrate -- not money, fame, or power, but rather -- every person because all of us have our own abilities and disabilities. Let's face it, none of us are perfect.

John's gospel tells this amazing story about life and death and life again before we hear about Jesus' death and resurrection. Maybe we've heard this story so many times that it's ceased to be amazing for us. But this version helped me to view it in a way that makes all its characters more real to me. My reflection for today is to imagine the celebrations that ensued for Lazarus, the man who called forth so much compassion and joy in Bethany. What an incredible party!

And when we all walk out of our graves to endless life with our loved ones, it will be even moreso!

*I use pseudonyms for my L'Arche friends.

A video worth sharing

 How I love this One. One by Birdtalker... Enjoy!

Tawatina Bridge -- a must see

I think it's probably safe to say that a lot of people in Riverdale, Cloverdale and surrounding communities here in Edmonton were quite heartbroken by the closure of the pedestrian/bike bridge for the construction of the Valley LRT line back in 2016. Five years is a long time to wait to walk across the river to visit each other.

Shadow and I walked the old footbridge quite a bit with his people, neighbours and friends back in his puppyhood. It was an important link in the River Valley corridor that so many people love, and a lot of people missed it. 

Lee and I watched and commented on the progress of the construction of its replacement, Tawatina Bridge, every time we walked the dog in Strathearn Park, which overlooks the site. And we were really thrilled when it reopened on December 12... so much so that we took Shadow and went down a couple of hours in advance of its official opening to check it out (and avoid the crowds). 

It definitely didn't disappoint.

It is (or soon will be) a functional transit bridge for the Valley Line, yes, but it's also a cultural space with art by Indigenous artists that speak to Indigenous history, to the creatures that live here, and to our connections as human beings to the web of life. My poor little camera can't do the artwork justice -- you'll just have to see it for yourself. I've been there three times already, and look forward to going back again, because there's always more to notice... and I love being near the river, too.

Why not check Tawatina Bridge out for yourself? (And tell me about your favourite art work there? I love the painting of the view to the top of the teepee -- not pictured here -- the "beaded" images of people, and all the different animals...)

May this bridge always remind Edmontonians that we are responsible for working for truth and reconciliation, upholding our part in Treaty Six, and respecting all community members: human, animal, plant, air, water, earth and fire...

A moodling revisited... Patience and Love

This week, I am thinking of and praying for a dear friend who was admitted to ICU this week because of a heart attack. This little story about her was written nearly ten years ago, but what I have learned in my relationship with Sandy (not her real name) is timeless. She is a wonderful and valued member of our L'Arche Edmonton community, and I post this in her honour, and in the hopes that her health will continue to improve. Please, my friends, pray with me for her.

* * * * * * *

While I was working at the L'Arche offices this morning, Sandy, one of our members with a disability, came into my office. Sometimes she comes in while I'm in the middle of something important and starts fiddling with the books on the shelf or the boxes of brochures. She likes to help, so when I don't have shredding for her to do, she often "makes" her own work. Unfortunately, she doesn't know the kind of assistance that's helpful. Today, by the time I freed my brain from the document I was typing, Sandy had a handful of fundraising envelopes that she was spreading across a table. "How you?" she asked, when she realized that I was watching her. 

It's easy to get impatient when work is interrupted, but at L'Arche we do our best to see the interruptions as part of the job. "I'm fine," I said, as I got up from my desk, gently took the envelopes from Sandy and put them back on the shelf where she had found them. Instead of shooing Sandy back downstairs as I often do, I took her hand and said, "Would you like to help me go find something in the community room?"

" 'Kay," she said. As we walked down the stairs holding hands, she counted the steps from one to nine, and echoed me as I counted the remainder. At the bottom, we reached the door of the Day Program where Sandy and the other core members engage in all sorts of activities. The sounds of drumming and singing emanated from the room, and Sandy suddenly remembered where she was supposed to be. "Bye," she said, and left me standing in the hallway. She loves music; I had to finish my errand alone.

About an hour later, I was engrossed in my work on the computer screen again, and didn't really notice Sandy slip into my office until she put an arm around me, kissed me on the top of the head, and said in her soft, squeaky voice, "I love you, Reea."

"I love you, too," I said, as she disappeared again. I guess patience with Sandy's little interruptions reaps rewards. She never told me she loved me until today.

Livestreamed Ecumenical Prayer for 2021

My prayer life during this pandemic has been different, but good. The only thing I am really missing (besides the people with whom I usually share my faith) is the almost monthly gathering of people for ecumenical meditative prayer with scripture, silence, and the songs of Taizé. But I've found a way around it, sort of.

We can't all gather together to sing and pray in these days of pandemic, but I've figured out how to broadcast prayer from my own home via Facebook. I was a bit worried about infringing on music copyrights, so I contacted the Brothers of the Taizé Community, and they don't mind if I use recordings of their music interspersed with readings and prayers during the pandemic. In fact, Brother Jean-Marc wrote, "We are glad to hear about the ecumenical prayer that you hold, and we would certainly encourage you to keep going even if you can only meet online at present."

So I have set up a schedule of nine Sunday evening prayers throughout 2021, and I invite you to join me online via the Taizé Prayer in Edmonton and Area facebook page, which you can find by clicking here. It's not like singing and praying together in one place, but it's still a good opportunity to lift the needs of our world to God. Our first prayer coincides with the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, and incorporates prayers that will be used in other local prayer services as well as prayers from the Taizé Community. 

It almost goes without saying that unity (my word of the year!) is what our world really needs right now, so feel free to invite others to join us, as united hearts are the only thing that can change our human trajectory...

What's the good word for 2021?

Happy New Year! Those who have been following these moodlings for a while probably remember that every New Year, rather than making a bunch of New Year's Resolutions, I choose a word to focus on for the 365 days ahead. 

I have to chuckle a little when I look back at the word for 2020. One year ago, I picked the word COMMUNITY, because certain struggles and challenges in 2019 made me withdraw too much from some of the people I love, and I needed to reach out and include them more fully in my life rather than quietly indulging in my own pity party. I also wrote that

if we want to continue as a human race, we need to put our divisions behind us and become COMMUNITY when it comes to world peace, caring for our environment, eliminating poverty, working for the rights of the marginalized, and the list goes on... There are so many issues that have to be tackled by good people who care, and though we all have different pet concerns, perhaps we can agree that the common good of ALL, no matter the stripe, is what we need to work toward. Because really, our divisions are just our fears being given too much credit.

Dog walking view, January 2, 2021

I launched myself into 2020 with optimism and the desire to connect with others. I set up a full schedule for ecumenical prayer in different churches in the city, put together some lovely recipes for baking with my friends at L'Arche, and found a wonderful job with some marvelous people involving a lot of really great music (one of my passions). But after only 8 shifts at the Winspear Centre for Music, COVID shut everything down. Concerts, baking, ecumenical prayer. Everything except my daily dog-walking routine, a community of me and Shadow-dog! (Thank heavens for my husband and daughter being here, too, or I probably wouldn't be laughing at my 2020 choice for word of the year. They were a pretty great little community, most days!)

Community has also been something a lot of us find at a certain physical distance or online if we are fortunate. After the initial lockdown was eased somewhat, in person opportunities (with masks) became a possibility. I managed to join the Sunday Community of Emmanuel at the Bissell Centre, and felt like I had come home in so many ways, even though physical distancing and COVID protocols (taking temperatures, hand sanitizing, providing bagged snacks instead of lunch, masking, and wiping everything down with bleach) were in play... until November/December, when case numbers took off and doors closed again.

I suppose I could try a do over with COMMUNITY as the word of the year. But in this time where we must stay apart for the sake of our health system and the vulnerable people in our midst, I've decided that instead of physically distanced community, I want to use 2021 to focus simply on UNITY, especially after the storming of the Capitol Building in Washington DC yesterday.

In my understanding, UNITY doesn't mean that we all need to think the same, act the same, love the same, have the same skin tone, believe in God the same, or hold the same political views. Rather, it means that we are conscious that, although there are many things we disagree on, we can work together for the good of all. Unity asks us to set down our hurt and anger and outrage and try to understand others in a way that invites them to work with us toward the beauty, goodness, and truth that we are all created equal, and the reality that really, we are all one family that needs to come together, not just for our own personal good, but for the good of our earth, especially post-COVID, whenever that time comes.

So my word of 2021, my meditation mantra, is UNITY. In my morning prayer, I am asking God of many names to unite our hearts daily. And I hereby vow to unite with others who desire to make the world a better place in whatever way I can. Maybe by writing letters. Signing petitions. Telling jokes. Smiling at other dog-walkers from that physical distance. Participating in Zoom meetings. Planning for a positive future even in the midst of this strange time. Wearing my mask for the sake of the vulnerable. You get the drift.

What's your word of the year?

Creative connections

It's still early in this time of Covid-19, and things will get worse before they get better. But I have to say that, so far, I'm really impressed with the many creative ways that people are coping with this crisis. Besides being invited to socially-distanced walks with neighbours, I've been on the receiving end of several other fun initiatives to keep spirits up... mostly online: games of Trivial Pursuit and dice (I won 40 cents that will never be collected!), a yoga class, meditative evening prayer from Taizé, and a wine and cheese phone call with a high school chum.

But the most amazing thing so far was a re-connection with a large group of friends, many of whom I haven't seen in over 30 years. I traveled for a year as as a student member of an Up With People cast of 130+ people in a musical, educational and cultural program which focused on peace, love and friendship among nations. We performed in the U.S., Canada, and more than a half-dozen countries in Europe, while participating in community involvement activities at schools, senior centres, and social agencies. Living with a large group like that, I made a few lifelong friends, but keeping up with everyone was impossible. Back in the 80's, all we had was snail mail, and long distance phone calls were pricey, especially overseas!

But communication now is another story altogether. On Saturday morning, my friend Allie, who subscribes to an online conferencing service, invited as many castmates as she could to join her in an online video gathering. By the end of the meeting, 2 screens worth of about 40 friends from 7 different countries connected (some for over 4 hours). Everyone agreed that it was pretty great to see people we hadn't seen since we did our final show at the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. on July 4, 1988.

At first, our online gathering was chaos, everyone trying to get a word in edgewise, but then Andrew decided we should all take turns updating each other about our lives, and that worked really well. Our lives have taken many twists and turns, and it seems we're all in different stages of self-isolation because of the corona virus, but are finding all sorts of different ways to stay connected with the people we love.

If the human race learns anything from this pandemic, I hope it's a deeper appreciation of the things we've been taking for granted, and that who we are and how we love one another is what's most important.

Here's a beautiful little video about how one poet sees that the coronavirus is helping us to reframe our lives... Thanks, Nora, for sharing it with me! Be well, all...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgm9E_cmvWA

Breaking down barriers

Here's the video I mentioned in yesterday's moodling. If you've ever met my friend B., you know her smile and soft voice knocks down walls even better than she breaks boards. Enjoy! And click here if you would like to subscribe to see more of Michael McDonald's wonderful L'Arche videos.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAxbdIJL7l4

2020 Word of the Year

Happy New Year, friends!

It's been a few weeks since I moodled online (though I'm always internally moodling about various things as I go through my days). I enjoyed a long Christmas/New Year moodling break, and will have a story or two that arises from it. But for this first post of 2020, I think it's fitting to announce my Word of the Year for 2020.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dmA2_h_Xgro

And 2020's word of the year is...

COMMUNITY!

I have many reasons for picking this word. The main one is that, though my 2019 year of Blessing was full of so many beautiful and blessed moments, there were also many challenges in which I felt very much alone. Toward the end of the year, though, I realized the importance of reaching out for support and companionship as I dealt with my challenges. I'm still struggling in many ways, but I've decided that rather than clamming up and toughing it out, I need to be more open and invite my family, friends, and perhaps some other different forms of community to struggle along with me when I'm feeling overwhelmed.

Another thing that's on my mind as we begin this New Year is the state of our world. We are so divided, whether it be politically or ideologically -- East vs. West, USA vs. Iran, environmentalists vs. big oil, conservatives vs. liberals, settlers vs. Indigenous, cis-gendered vs. LGBTQ2S+, Boomers vs. Milennials, Christians vs. Muslims vs. Jews --  name any issue and there's probably a divide in it. 

But if we want to continue as a human race, we need to put our divisions behind us and become COMMUNITY when it comes to world peace, caring for our environment, eliminating poverty, working for the rights of the marginalized, and the list goes on... There are so many issues that have to be tackled by good people who care, and though we all have different pet concerns, perhaps we can agree that the common good of ALL, no matter the stripe, is what we need to work toward. Because really, our divisions are just our fears being given too much credit.

I think I'll end this little announcement of my Word of the Year with one of my favourite little pieces by Australian Michael Leunig. (I hope he and his loved ones are safe from those wildfires... another climate crisis we need to address as a world community... ) I know I've moodled this before, but it bears repeating as we start into a decade where we must work together for the sake of our species and ALL the others. I love Michael's image of everyone in their own sad little boxes. That's kind of where I've been, but I'm done with being stuck in my own little box, and I hope you are with me on that. We CAN make this year, this decade, a Happy one if we break down the mostly cardboard walls that divide us, if we choose community.

If you have your own Word of the Year and are willing to share it, I'd love to hear about it in the comments below. Happy New Year, and New Decade!

The Ridge Key Phoenix

One year ago today, my friend, Allie, lost her home and business to the Camp Fire at Paradise, California. Allie is a force for positivity and good in the world, a warm, loving person who draws people into her gentle and fun-loving presence like a magnet draws iron. Today, November 8th, is an emotional day for her and everyone involved with the healing and rebuilding of Paradise, as there will be different events marking a very difficult anniversary.

I spoke with Allie this morning, and she reminded me of the video she shared to her Facebook page earlier this week. I decided to share it here because Jesse Mercer's idea is inspired, brilliant, and life-giving. It's a sign of the resilience of the people of Paradise, and a reminder that art inspires healing, community, and hope. I wish I could be there this morning to see it unveiled because though the pictures are amazing, they can't really give a sense of the sculpture's size, scope and meaning. If you have the time, please watch to the end -- you'll get a better sense of what an artwork like this means.

My prayers today are for the many people of California who are climate change refugees because of so many terrible fires, and especially for those from Paradise, that they may find strength and goodness as they rebuild their lives in many different ways.

https://youtu.be/mi-M1g4fAJU

Come and join us!!

Here's a very quick moodling... to invite all my readers in the Edmonton area to join me in a whole lot of fun at the L'Arche Backyard Party. Hanging out with L'Arche is a guaranteed good time, and this year, a wonderful way to mark Summer Solstice. Details below. Hope to see you there!

"I think I've changed my mind!"

My life with the L'Arche Community is shifting. Instead of spending most of my time on administrative tasks, I'm working with the core members more, much to my delight. They always make me smile.

Yesterday afternoon was no exception. It was cookie time. The gang and I made 'Oatmeal Cookies with a Purpose' from my old copy of the Mennonite More with Less cookbook. It's a recipe for a soft, easy to work with cookie dough that my Day Program friends with and without disabilities could easily shape as they pleased and decorate. Most opted to press m&ms into their cookies before baking, but a few cookies were baked un-decorated, so we iced them and put on sprinkles, as you can see in the picture.

The best moment of the afternoon was when when everyone, core members and staff alike, were joking around and happily nibbling warm fresh cookies. But my favourite anecdote occurred earlier, as I was helping to put aprons on each core member, asking if they were willing to help shape the cookies. Some I didn't even have to ask -- they were "all in" from the moment I started putting ingredients into the mixing bowl. But Lark* and Mariette* said no. They're older ladies and they usually prefer to sit and watch everyone else do things.

Not wanting to leave them out, I turned to Lark and said, "Are you sure you don't want to make cookies? If you don't make some, what will you do when the rest of us are enjoying our treats?"

An assistant piped up, "If you don't make cookies, you don't eat cookies."

I could tell that the wheels were turning as I watched Lark's expression change with the idea of no cookies. "No one else is going to make them for you," I said.

Lark paused a moment, then grinned and announced in her high, reedy voice, "I think I've changed my mind!" Mariette begrudgingly agreed with Lark, and as soon as I gave them their cookie dough, they both got right into it!

Everyone enjoyed their cookies when they were ready, and Mariette even hung in with me until the last cookie was iced and sprinkled, insisting that I deliver the pink-sugared one to her favourite staff member friend, who works in an office down the hall. Vinh, don't forget to thank her!

It was a delightful afternoon, and it was fun to see everyone in a happy mood, enjoying their cookies together. I much prefer baking with Day Program to working at a computer!

* I use pseudonyms for my L'Arche friends.

Talking Circles to heal a nation

On a snowy day last week, my daughter and I participated in a women's Talking Circle at one of our city libraries. Christina called and invited me at the last minute, and suspecting that a Talking Circle might have something to do with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's Calls to Action, I agreed to attend with her.

(In case you missed my earlier Moodlings about the TRC, Canada has a long history of mistreatment of Aboriginal peoples, most especially through the Residential School System, which saw Aboriginal children taken from their families and put into schools far from their homes run by government and churches. The idea was to destroy the Aboriginal culture and replace it with a version of state-sanctioned Christianity -- your basic cultural genocide of the First Peoples in a country being settled by Europeans. The damage done by the Residential Schools is multi-generational, and many of the problems faced by Indigenous people continue. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission's efforts to address these injustices led to 94 Calls to Action, many of which are still only on paper.)

Our Talking Circle was facilitated by Sharon, one of Christina's university professors, and it began with a feast of bannock (!) and delicious beef stew. Chairs were arranged in a circle, and about a dozen of us sat together, discussing the snowy day for starters.

Soon Sharon gave us a page explaining talking circles. I was struck by this quote:

"The Circle has healing power. In the Circle, we are all equal. When in the Circle, no one is in front of you. No one is behind you. No one is above you. No one is below you. The Sacred Circle is designed to create unity..." 

-Dave Chief, Oglala Lakota, Grandson of Red Dog/Crazy Horse's Band.

Sharon, who has a Métis background, began our gathering by acknowledging that we were gathered on Treaty Six Territory, and offered a brief prayer and welcome song with her drum. Then she invited us to smudge, though the library didn't allow the burning of sage or sweet grass. We passed around the sacred medicines -- sage, sweetgrass and diamond willow fungus -- enjoying their fragrances. Then we stood in our circle as each woman smudged imaginary smoke from the medicines in an abalone shell over our five senses and our bodies as we prayed for healing. Sharon shared with us a link to a scientific study that showed that the use of medicinal smoke reduces environmental toxins in a room, and I'm sure Aboriginal people have many other wholistic practices that come from ancient earth wisdom. It was a calming, meditative start to our afternoon.

Then Sharon invited us to share our names and our genetic backgrounds, as each speaker held her turtle rattle. A talking circle is just that -- a place where a person who holds a special object has the opportunity to talk, and the rest of the people in the circle listen with respect and without judging, until it is passed to the next person. It turned out that a third of our group had some indigenous heritage, and the rest of us were children of "settlers" in Canada. So much history, so many things to be healed.

The second time around the circle, Sharon invited us to share about something on our heart. And in the sharing, we realized how we were different, and also how we shared many similarities. Struggles, sorrows, illness, joy -- we had all experienced them. I was also quite touched by the elderly Indigenous woman beside me, who passed on her speaking times, content just to listen, though I'm sure she had many stories she could have shared.

And the third time around the circle, Sharon shared a story about a crow who wanted to be an eagle, from aboriginal author Richard Wagamese's book, One Story, One Song (2011, Douglas & MacIntyre, ISBN 1553665060). It spoke to all of us in different ways, and we expressed how the story fit with our lives. Then Sharon closed the circle with one more prayer, and we said our farewells and headed home through the snowy afternoon.

To experience a sharing circle with complete strangers made me see how Dave Chief's words about it having healing power and creating unity is absolutely true. Each person listened respectfully to everyone else, and though we came from diverse backgrounds as people of Aboriginal and settler heritage, the stories told and the tears that flowed bound us together in friendship in two short hours.

I am someone who is quite aware of the privilege I've grown up with, so I was a little apprehensive about how a circle would actually work. But it did work because no one blamed or judged anyone else, everyone was respected, and deep truths were spoken. We were all invited to share, we all listened, and we all came away with a deeper appreciation for each other's lived experience.

I'm not sure if Talking Circles are part of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's 94 Calls to Action, but I really hope so. I'll have to read them to find out. Regardless, reconciliation requires sharing of life, deep listening to the struggles, hurts and joys of others, and a respect that leads to friendship. At our women's talking circle, we got a preview of what healing our nation, learning from Aboriginal people, and healing settler biases and prejudices could look like.

Hope for healing Canada comes through forgiveness, friendship, and community. If you ever have the opportunity to attend a talking circle, I'd highly recommend it.

And I think Richard Wagamese's book will be worth a read, too -- I'm going to borrow Christina's copy!

Christmas Dancing at Day Program

During today's Monday morning volunteer stint at L'Arche Edmonton's Day Program, I found myself working with a few others, tying special L'Arche Christmas cards into packets of five and curling the ribbon ends ahead of next week's Christmas Pageant and Craft Sale. We chatted as we worked, and Christmas carols played from a computer tablet.

It was a very relaxed atmosphere, with people coming and going from Art Therapy or visits down the hallways. Sandy was sorting her cards, as usual, Thomas was informing us about when some of our friends and colleagues would be arriving after meetings outside of the building, and Darren was making colourful pictures in his usual place*.

But it was Leanne who caught my attention. She was sitting by herself, humming along to the Christmas music -- until Boney M's Mary's Boychild began to play. Then she was up on her feet, dancing her heart out. Jingle Bells followed, and I stopped my ribbon curling activities and danced with her, absorbed by her single-minded devotion to moving her body to the beat. It was a moment of pure and simple happiness.

I wish all my readers some pure-and-simple-happiness-moments in the days and weeks ahead!

And here's another happiness moment -- if you're in the Edmonton area, please join us at Eglise St. Thomas D'Aquin (8410 89 Street) next Monday, December 18th at 7 p.m. for the Annual L'Arche Edmonton Christmas Pageant (and Craft Sale). All are welcome!

* I use pseudonyms for the names of my L'Arche friends.

We are all children of light

After hearing today's reading from St. Paul's letter to the Thessalonians, I am smiling and shaking my head at God's wisdom -- and timing. Paul writes: But you, beloved, are not in darkness... you are all children of the light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness." (1 Thessalonians 5:4a, 5) And there is a part further on in the reading (verse 11) that also fits my experience today: "Therefore, encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing."

Back story: Since my last visit to Taizé in October of last year, I have had a dream of sharing a peace prayer with communities of different faiths in our city. The Brothers of Taizé start each week with a simple Sunday evening prayer for peace, a half hour of silence that ends with a chant asking, "Grant us your peace, O Lord..." For the past year, I have been trying to connect with people of different faiths who would be open to such a prayer.

Today, through a series of fortunate events, my friend Julien and I spent a few hours meeting and praying with people of an interfaith community that is very excited about the possibility of peace prayer together. The Sri Sathya Sai Baba Centre was celebrating the birthday of their founder this afternoon, and the community offered us wonderful hospitality by means of a delicious afternoon snack, a meaningful performance about caring for creation offered by their young adults' group, heartfelt prayer in call and response chants in Hindi, Sanskrit and English, a wonderful vegetarian supper (complete with birthday cake), and lots of excellent conversation. (Stay tuned to these moodlings for information about an upcoming interfaith Peace Prayer...)

But what struck me most about our visit was the beautiful prayer just before supper, at which men and women of the community waved lamps in large circles and held the light out to all in the room, waving the light toward us as a sign that we are all filled with God's light.

It underlined for me the understanding that the names we give to God and the forms we imagine that God may take are not what is important in this life or in our prayer. What matters is that we understand that God lives and loves in every being on this planet, and that we are all children of the light no matter how we believe. In this regard, we have more in common than we can possibly understand.

O God of light,
thank you
for showing us your light,
for filling us with your light,
and for lighting our way
toward the unity and peace
you intend for all of creation.

Bless us
and remain with us
as we seek you
and find you
in each other's light.

Help us
to care for your beautiful creation
by living simply
and by recognizing your light
in all that you have made.

Show us
how to encourage one another
and build each other up
so that we may work together
until all enjoy
the peace and unity
you intend for our world.

+Amen.

Of wedding rings lost and found

We were walking the dog on Saturday morning when I noticed that my wedding/engagement rings (joined into one piece) were not on my finger. To me it's really a single ring with a double meaning, and I couldn't remember having removed it, but I've found it in our sheets on more than one occasion (why I slip it off in my sleep is beyond me). So I wasn't too worried... at first.

There was nothing in our bedding, but I remembered that when the dog jumped off the bed to come to the kitchen, Lee and I heard a metallic clink and wondered what Shadow might have set loose. So I swept our entire bedroom, lifted furniture that doesn't usually get lifted, and checked both our wastebaskets. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

I wandered through the garden, searching the vegetable beds, looking in all the places I had been in the previous 24 hours. I wondered if the ring had perhaps been picked up by those treasure hunting crows who sometimes leave pieces of tinfoil for me in our birdbath. Maybe my ring would fall out of a magpie nest in our park pine tree someday, to rest forever in or under the pine needles where the rabbits make their resting hollows. I sighed. And I asked St. Anthony of Padua, patron saint of lost things, where my ring could have gone and would he mind helping me find it? It's a funny thing we Catholics like to do.

The interesting thing is that there was a big news story just last week about a wedding ring turning up on a carrot (click here to see it). Mary Grams lives near Camrose, less than an hour from here. It was her ring, missing for 13 years, that made the news across Alberta. Seems to me my Auntie Barbara can tell a similar story.

The only thing I've ever found on a carrot thus far was a clothespin spring! But maybe a carrot could bring my ring back to me, someday... hopefully... In the meantime, I wore an antler ring that Christina gave me in the spring, made by a fellow from Grande Prairie. And I tried not to feel sad.

Still, as much as I told myself that the lost ring was just some metal with a couple of little tiny rocks attached -- stuff, no big deal -- it was more than that. It was the love of a young man for a young woman, a promise made and kept for over 26 years, a symbol of something deep and profound, and I would miss it, and grieve it, and come up with a much simpler replacement somehow. But how does one replace sentimental value?

The ring stayed on my mind all week, of course. You know the joke about the guy looking for his car keys under a streetlight, and a cop comes to help him look? After searching the whole area, they don't find the keys, and the cop says, "Are you sure this is where you lost them?" and the guy says, "Well, actually, I lost them in the park, but it's brighter over here." Well, I looked everywhere, even places I hadn't been, and a lot of places twice. Lee and I even got out of bed to check the edges of our bed frame one night. After hearing about that, my dad suggested I should get a metal detector and go over my garden again, too.

So, last night, I posted about my missing wedding ring and asked friends on Facebook if anyone knew someone with a metal detector I could borrow. I don't think I've ever had so many responses to a post before! I learned that the story about Mary Grams also made it to friends in New York and California! No one had a metal detector at the ready, but people re-posted my request to community groups they belong to, and thanks to the caring comments of so many friends (including more pray-ers to St. Anthony), I started to feel a bit more hopeful that the ring would return.

This morning a few friends reported that they knew of metal detectors I could borrow, and I was thinking to go pick one up this evening. I was halfway through cleaning my desk (in case the ring just happened to be there somehow), when the doorbell rang and there was a lot of firm knocking. Rather hesitant to open the door because I was still in my housecoat, I found a young man named Charlie, and his big sister, Ella, both of elementary school age, greeting me with, "Did you lose a ring?" They had somehow heard that the lady with the green Holyrood neighbourly bench was looking for a wedding ring, and Charlie was carrying his metal detector, a snazzy, almost new gizmo, with its instruction manual. He gave me a mini-lesson on metal detector use right there on my front step, he and Ella wished me good luck, and off they went.

And off I went to search my garden. Nothing in the potato patch, where I had dug up potatoes the night before I noticed the ring missing. Nothing in the strawberry boxes. But oh so many beeps and noises from the compost pile where I dumped those potato vines. Had they pulled my ring off? How would I ever find it in there? I spent a good 45 minutes digging through its layers, and feeling a bit hopeless again. Then a big thundercloud started growling and I decided I'd better hurry and gather up any produce that was ready (in case of hail), so I picked tomatoes and cucumbers and...

Elated is too calm a word. The rain started to fall, but I didn't care. I pulled a few carrots, ran into the house, washed them, packaged them with cucumbers and tomatoes and a jar of homemade jam to thank my new friend Charlie for his willingness to help. I ran over to his house during a pause in the storm.

Charlie was very happy, but not as happy as I am! I'm convinced that his desire to be of assistance to someone he had never met before is what turned the search around. Yes, I might have found my ring eventually, but a magpie might have found it first. And the Facebook friend who connected Charlie with me also deserves kudos for using social media in such a helpful way.

So, many thanks to Charlie, and to all those good people in my life who offered encouragement, advice, and prayers. After five days of fruitless searching, I was losing hope, but my friends found it and returned it to me.

It's not lost on me that Mary Grams and I are both wearing our rings again thanks to encouragement or assistance from others in our circles of friends!

"When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, "Rejoice with me, for I have found the [ring] that I had lost." (my paraphrase of Luke 15:9 -- it works for me!)

As I Am #9 --19 paper cranes

L'Arche Internationale's little videos about the beauty, goodness and truth of people with disabilities and their caregivers never disappoint. The most recent comes from L'Arche Japan and features Sachiko, a woman who lives a beautiful life and creates beautiful paper cranes to carry beautiful souls to paradise. If you haven't seen this yet, I highly recommend it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2hpNbELFHo

The Lazarus you might not know

A friend recently returned from a L'Arche retreat with a new view of the story of the death of Lazarus from the eleventh chapter of John's Gospel (I've borrowed from The Message and the Good News Translation for the version below). When we come to the gospel reading on the fifth Sunday of Lent, I like to close my eyes and see it this way…

A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” 

We don’t know much at all about Lazarus, other than that he was Mary and Martha’s brother. It is unusual that the two women seem to be the heads of the household and that Lazarus doesn't seem to bear any responsibility for looking out for his unmarried sisters in the patriarchal society of Jesus’ day. There are also no recorded conversations between Lazarus and Jesus, while we know about his conversations with Martha and Mary. These things could indicate that Lazarus might have been a person with a developmental disability who lived in the care of his sisters.

It's an interesting idea, and one that makes perfect sense to me because of my experiences with family members and friends who have developmental disabilities. They have a knack for gathering special people around them simply by their desire to have friends and by their unconditional love and welcome for everyone they meet. They are unapologetic about needing help, unlike those of us who are able to care for ourselves.

So it’s not hard for me to imagine Lazarus seeing Jesus somewhere in his travels, taking a liking to him, asking him for help to do up his sandal, then inviting him to supper. This vision of Lazarus reminds me of my friend Harry*, who invited a solitary Japanese tourist at a campground to join his L'Arche vacation group for supper (Hiro was so moved by Harry’s openness and hospitality that later he returned to Canada to join our L’Arche community on a permanent basis, and Harry and Hiro are friends to this day).

I imagine that because of Lazarus, Jesus meets Mary and Martha, their brother’s caregivers, who are used to Lazarus bringing home stray dogs and new friends. They all welcome Jesus as if he was an expected dinner guest, and a deep friendship begins -- one that I'm guessing is full of fun, laughter and unconditional love. That’s why, when Lazarus becomes ill, his sisters send word to Jesus. They know that Jesus loves Lazarus, and they trust that their healer friend will help.

But Jesus is held up for a few days because his disciples want him to lay low, afraid after an encounter with some Jews who are accusing him of blasphemy and who might still be carrying stones in their pockets in case they meet Jesus again. So he appeases his disciples, saying that

“This sickness is not fatal. It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.”

Clearly, Jesus knows things that the disciples, Martha and Mary don’t…

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had been buried four days before. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Judeans had come to see Martha and Mary to comfort them about their brother's death. 

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died! But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask him for.” 

“Your brother will rise to life,” Jesus told her. Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.”

Jesus gives Martha a triple-whammy of good news. 1) Lazarus will rise, 2) knowing Jesus himself is life itself, and therefore 3) Martha and anyone who believes in Jesus will also have eternal life! He says:

“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord!” she answered. “I do believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.”  

The moment Mary heard it, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The people who were in the house with Mary comforting her followed her when they saw her get up and hurry out. They thought that she was going to the grave to weep there. 

Mary arrived where Jesus was, and as soon as she saw him, she fell at his feet. “Lord,” she said, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” 

Mary is completely at home with Jesus. Her grief at losing Lazarus knocks her to the ground, and she doesn't care if Jesus sees it. She knows that he feels it too. If you've ever lost someone dear to you, you know what it can be like when a friend comes to be with you in your grief...

Jesus saw her weeping, and he saw how the people with her were weeping also; his heart was touched, and he was deeply moved.  

Jesus wept.

I love that these two words are the shortest verse in the Bible. If Jesus weeps, we all have permission to weep, and more than that, we all need to allow ourselves to grieve. He’s showing us that our human emotions are gifts, too. And if Jesus can weep, in public, every person can do the same no matter their gender, never mind the idea that "Men don't cry."

“See how much he loved him!” the people said. Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” 

In my mind, these are also people who loved Lazarus deeply. Lazarus probably united all the neighbours in Bethany – everyone knew him, and everyone looked out for him – and he looked out for everyone too (like my friend Thomas* does), greeted them all by name every day, smiled at them even when they didn’t smile back, and doled out plenty of hugs. So of course they’re a little miffed that Jesus would heal a blind man and not their beloved friend. And Jesus hears their murmurings and feels the same way about Lazarus as they do.

Deeply moved once more, Jesus went to the tomb, which was a cave with a stone placed at the entrance. Martha, the dead man's sister, said, “There will be a bad smell, Lord. He has been buried four days!” Jesus said to her, “Didn't I tell you that you would see God's glory if you believed?” 

Martha’s heart leaps. Of course she believes in Jesus, who loves her brother so deeply. Anything is possible with that kind of love.

They took the stone away. Jesus looked up and said, “I thank you, Father, that you listen to me.I know that you always listen to me, but I say this for the sake of the people here, so that they will believe that you sent me.” After he had said this, he called out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  

He came out, his hands and feet wrapped in grave cloths, and with a cloth around his face. “Unbind him,” Jesus told them, “and let him go.” 

And there stands Lazarus, fumbling with the cloths with one hand, his other hand reaching out for his friends, the hugest smile on his face, probably even laughing with delight, as if to say, “I’m so glad you came! This calls for a celebration!”

Jesus healed many people in his short ministry, and could have raised many more people from the dead, but according to John's gospel, Lazarus is the only one. If, Lazarus was a man with a developmental disability, Jesus' attentiveness and love for him tells us a lot about God's special love for people with disabilities of any kind.

And if God loves them so much, it seems we need to allow them more room to bind us together as community, to pay attention to how their weakness calls forth our love, and how their love helps us to admit and accept our own weaknesses. Relationships with persons with disabilities help us to become people who celebrate -- not money, fame, or power, but rather -- every person because all of us have our own abilities and disabilities. Let's face it, none of us are perfect.

John's gospel tells this amazing story about life and death and life again before we hear about Jesus' death and resurrection. Maybe we've heard this story so many times that it's ceased to be amazing for us. But this version helped me to view it in a way that makes all its characters more real to me. My reflection for today is to imagine the celebrations that ensued for Lazarus, the man who called forth so much compassion and joy in Bethany. What an incredible party!

And when we all walk out of our graves to endless life with our loved ones, it will be even moreso!

*I use pseudonyms for my L'Arche friends.