On Dying Dreams

Last night I dreamt that I was lying in bed, curled in a fetal position, crying inconsolably.

This is not an uncommon dream these days.  I've had it about six times since January 15, 2020.

We had just returned from vacation the day before and our only real task that morning was a visit to the urologist.  (In fairness, Husband had a LOT of tasks on his list in preparation for the coming semester and I had laundry and cooking on my list, but the only really IMPORTANT thing, so far as I was concerned, was that visit to the urologist).

It's strange, sitting or standing in the exam room of a urology clinic, looking at charts and models of male and female urogenital anatomy and reading little blurbs and numbers about things like how many couples face infertility and whose body contributes at what rates, while my husband produces a sample for the doctor and I try to offer him privacy, knowing that I want to peak through the microscope at what's on the slide and that this happens in such short order I can't exactly wait in the lobby and hope to be called back when things are prepared.

The slide looks empty at first, and then I see one and then another - sperm that are wiggling with all their might, going nowhere.

This isn't right.  The last time we went through this, there were sperm everywhere and they were swimming across that slide like champions - our own little storehouse of Michael Phelpses.  "So, your numbers and motility are both down substantially in the last three months," the urologist says.

We return to the exam room and all take seats.  "I mean, we got back from vacation yesterday," I say, holding onto anything that might offer a glimmer of hope.  "Between the hot tubs, cases of wine, and blackberry gummy edibles...."

"It's possible," says the urologist.  "What's probable when we see unproductive motility is the presence of Anti-Sperm Antibodies (ASAs).  They grab onto the tails and prevent them from propelling forward."

I'm a married to a guy who does statistical modeling for a living because he finds it fun.  Okay, fun is an overstatement.  I don't get it and when I ask, he tells me, "It's really, really interesting and when something works, it's really, really cool."  When the urologist says, "probable," I know what that means.

The glimmer of hope I had been holding onto is extinguished.

"So," I ask, already anticipating an answer in the negative, "would that mean IUI?"

"No," the urologist says.  "That means IVF would be your only option.  If that's something you're open to exploring, I can give you a referral for more testing, but at this point, if you're not considering IVF, there's not much point."

We headed home with a referral for more testing, though I had already drawn my line in the sand.  I knew that IVF would not be an option for me.

Still, we did more testing and by the end of January learned that, yes, ASAs were the culprit.  Yes, IVF would be our only option for a biological child.  For me to become pregnant, to generate life, to carry and birth a new human.

I don't actually know anything about the experience of IVF.  I have a general knowledge of how it works, but I don't actually know the nitty-gritty details.  So, reconsidering my line in the sand and wanting to have all the information before making a decision, I registered Husband and myself for a "Demystifying IVF" seminar.  February 13, 2020, we had the sexiest, most depressing Valentine's date in the history of the multiverse.

As it turns out, IVF is even more horrifying than I had imagined.  On top of that, with ASA factor infertility, standard IVF is not an option.  We would be looking at ICSI and IVF - where they pick the single best sperm available and inject that single sperm in the the single best egg available and hope for the best - with significantly increased risk to the resulting embryo.  Fortunately, I do not have to even consider this.  We are ruled out of IVF for other medical reasons.

So, that's it.  The end of the options.

I have spent my entire life doing the necessary internal healing work with one goal in mind - to create a life that was conducive to generating life, to raising children in a safe and health home.

Now, I know.  It took too long, the obstacles were too many, and the amount of trauma that needed to be transformed was just too much.

It appears that in building a life for children I will never have, I managed to build an extraordinary life for myself.  And I am not a hedonist.  I do not want to live exclusively for my own pleasure and comfort.

Whenever I stop to think about these things, something like hope and joy come bubbling up to the surface.  "Grace abounds," is the refrain filling my entire being.  "Even in this, grace abounds."

Still, when I sleep and the world falls away and my mind has space to feel the loss and grief, I dream about the grief of dying dreams.  And I weep.

Bittersweet Chocolate and Montmorency Cherry Scones

Having been convinced, by a candle that smells like Gwyneth Paltow's vagina, that the only way to survive the pandemic is "clean" eating, I broke out the bag of turbinado (raw) sugar that's been sitting in the pantry for two years and made a batch of scones.  They're baking in the oven as I type this.

I have no idea how they'll turn out.  I've never made scones before today.  I like scones, but if I'm going to whip up something in the kitchen, it's usually something to feed a crowd (like a couple dozen cupcakes) or that can be single-serving frozen (like cookie dough) for the need-to-have-now cravings that occasionally make their appearance.

Every once in awhile, I'll pick up a scone for myself from our local co-op while grabbing a rustic croissant for my super hot Husband.  Husband treats croissants like a guilty pleasure and rarely eats them in front of me - saving it for a snack (he swears).  Not wanting to moan in glutinous, pastry based ecstasy is my hunch.

The problem with the local co-op scones is that they're way too dense.  A common problem with gluten-free baked goods of all varieties.  I mean, my wedding cake was delicious and I could have done better at home with one hand tied behind my back.  It wouldn't have been as pretty and I love the pictures that will eventually make their way into our wedding album, if we ever find the time to sit down and prioritize those pictures we want highlighted.  Perhaps this pandemic and the requisite extra time at home will make that happen.

That, however, is really neither here nor there.  It's somewhere in the ether.  What's here is scones - or the recipe for scones.  What's there is the actual scones baking in my kitchen oven.

I used this recipe by Stella Parks as a base for my first scone experiment.  I'm not such a fan of milk chocolate in my baked goods.  Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina candle convinced me that "closer to the natural state" is the only thing that will save us.  So, I swapped out the milk chocolate and added bittersweet chocolate instead.  Being celiac, I also substituted gluten-free flour for the all purpose flour.  Then, deciding that what a scone with bittersweet chocolate truly needed was some montmorency cherries and almond, I adjusted the amount of flour to accommodate blanched almond flour and cut back on the amount of chocolate to accommodate some dried cherries.

Here's the modified recipe:

7 ounces gluten-free flour
2 ounces blanched almond flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt
2 tsp sugar
2 ounces high-fat butter (Hope Creamery)
3 1/2 ounces bittersweet chocolate chips
2 1/2 ounces dried montmorency cherries
2 ounces whole milk
6 ounces heavy whipping cream
1 tsp almond extract

Turbinado sugar for sprinkling


Pre-heat the oven to 400F.

Whisk together the flours, baking powder, salt, and sugar.  Cut in the butter until it all forms a coarse meal.  Stir in the chocolate and cherries.  Make a well in the center and pour in the milk, cream, and extract.  Mix to combine.

Turn the dough out onto a piece of parchment paper and shape into a 7" round.  (Rather than buy one of those fancy boards or try to draw a 7" circle on my paper, I placed my parchment paper on the bottom of an 8" round cake pan and patted the dough out to within 1/2" of the pan edges).

Cut into six wedges, sprinkle with a bit of turbinado sugar, and transfer the parchment paper to a baking sheet.  Bake for 25 minutes.


I just heard the kitchen timer warn me that there is one minute left in baking.  Let's hope this worked well and that they taste better than Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina candle smells.

On Earth as It Is in Heaven

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From Luke 11:1-13

*****

In today’s translation of the Lord’s Prayer, we read it simply:

God:

Reveal who you are.

Set the world right.

Keep us alive with three square meals.

Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others.

Keep us save from ourselves and the Devil.

If this prayer isn’t clear enough, Jesus tells a parable.  You’ve finally gotten your kids to bed and they’ve stopped with the “one more story,” “a last sip of water,” “a final hug,” “I need to pee,” “but I love you so much” routine and they’re asleep.  You’ve shut off the lights, brushed your teeth, collapsed into bed.  Exhausted from the day’s routine of work and family life – there’s never enough time for it all – you’ve fallen into a deep and sound sleep.

The doorbell rings.  Blearily, you open your eyes.  You glance at your clock.  It’s 2:00am.  With every fiber of your being, you despise, utterly hate the person ringing your doorbell.  And you ignore it.  If they don’t know they’ve woken you, perhaps they’ll go away.

Listen – I get it.  I don’t have kids and I love my job, but let me tell you a story.  For those of you who don’t know, our house is a small and lovely little Cape Cod in a charming neighborhood just a couple of block from the college.  It has a delightful three season porch on the front with side-by-side windows on all three sides.  Even better, the porch not only has a door with glass panels that opens into the living room, but that same wall has three massive windows that open between the living room and porch as well.

I like my quiet life and I’ll freely admit that I know exactly none of my neighbors by name and fewer than three of them by sight.  There may or may not be children living on my street, but I can say with high confidence that there are children in – or who visit – the larger neighborhood.

Not long after we’d moved here (probably in the 14-16 month time frame – maybe 20 months), the Boy Scouts were once again selling popcorn.  The boys (who looked at most to be in 3^rd or 4^th grade) were wandering through the neighborhood in pairs, carrying their brochures and order slips, and pulling a red wagon of available product behind them.  I swear to you, Normal Rockwell once painted this scene.

I have just finished a walk around the closest college campus – and I had a lovely time.  Husband has wandered off to his campus office at the University.  The house will be empty except for the cats.  And because those charming little creatures like to see more of the outside world, Husband has left the door between the three season porch and the living room open.  The shades have been pulled up.  The windows are open.  Light is streaming into the house as I walk up the street and I’m looking forward to getting home and resting in the peace and quiet.

And then, I see them.  The Boy Scouts.  Five houses down and headed in the wrong direction.  I know that if I enter the front door, they’ll see him.  I begin to panic.  This wasn’t part of the plan.  This isn’t how I wanted to spend my afternoon.  So, I keep walking.  To the end of the block.  And around.  To the alley.  And I walk carefully through the backyard.  And I slowly, and as quietly as possible, slip my key in to the back door.  I unlock it.  I turn the knob.  I slide the door open just enough to enter.

And then I hit the floor on all fours as the doorbell begins to ring.  I slide the back door closed.  I army crawl into the kitchen – being careful to remain behind the dining room table and the living room couch.  Once in the kitchen, I roll to a sitting position with my back resting against a cupboard.  “How long, oh Lord!?” I silently plead, as the doorbell rings and rings.  A mystical windchime that serves as the harbinger of death.

The cats have disappeared entirely.  I swear the Boy Scouts stand there ringing the bell for 45 minutes.  (It’s probably more like 45 seconds).  “Deliver me from evil, Lord!” I pray.

Eventually the Boy Scouts left and I spent my afternoon doing what I had hoped to do all along – avoid all contact with human kind.

So, back to our story – it’s not 2:00pm, it’s 2:00am.  It’s not the faceless, nameless Boy Scouts who might living nearby; it’s your next-door neighbor and good friend Bob.  He isn’t there selling the devil’s snack that will inevitably got stuck in your gums and requires industrial dental floss and minor surgical instruments to remove; he’s in desperate need of a loaf (or three) of bread.  An old friend from his neighborhood has shown up – in dire straights – and Bob is delighted by the opportunity to lend a hand, but he doesn’t have enough on hand.  Can you please just help a guy out?

And because he’s now been ringing the doorbell and calling out loudly for 45 minutes, you know he isn’t going away.  The rest of the neighborhood is beginning to rouse.  And everyone knows that you are the generous, reliable, helpful, good Christian in the neighborhood – the person everyone counts on.  You’ve built your entire life on this reputation.  So, you get up; you welcome Bob in; you invite him to your kitchen; and together you pick out a couple of loaves of bread, a quart of milk, a half a dozen eggs, and a slice or two of ham.  You wish Bob well and after shutting the door, locking the deadbolt, cutting the electricity to the doorbell, and collapsing back into bed.

Here’s the thing – Jesus isn’t telling us, “God is just like you in this story!  If you keep knocking and asking and seeking, God will get up and give you bread to save God’s reputation!”  No!  Jesus is telling us, “God is the one who is knocking and this is what it means for God to reveal Godself – on earth as it is in heaven:

“Open your door!”

“This is what it means for God to set the world straight:

“Show hospitality to your neighbor and the stranger!”

“This is how God meets our daily needs:

“You feed the hungry among you!”

“This is how we know and understand God’s limitless forgiveness of our sins:

“Only in the measure by which we show forgiveness to others will be experience the forgiveness of God.”

“This is how God makes the world a safer place:

“Our choosing to live in community keeps us all safer together.”

God’s love is never conditional – so why is ours?  Why do we ask for full forgiveness from God, yet dole out piecemeal forgiveness to others?  Why are we surprised when we experience God’s forgiveness only in the same measure by which we extend forgiveness to others?  Why do we ask God to meet all of our needs, yet we only meet the needs of those we’ve deemed “worthy,” or “good,” or “legal”?

The whole world is watching us as God knocks at our doors, pleading with us to care for the stranger.  Will we continue to hunker down in imagined safety, pleading with God to keep the rest of the world’s needs at bay?  Will we continue to claim that we simply do not have the resources to do what is right?  Will we continue to close our doors to the Kingdom of God, refusing to let it into our lives today – just as it is in heaven?

Sometimes, when I think back that fine, late summer day when the Boy Scouts came knocking on our door, I wonder if I made the wrong choice.  Honestly, I know I did.

I trust that if Jesus actually lived in my house (or in my heart) all the time (instead of only the times when it’s most convenient and expedient for me), he would have answered the door.  And if he’d had the cash or a checkbook available, he’d have bought a bit of popcorn, to boot.  But even if he hadn’t, he’d have welcomed the people at the door and treated them like they were part of his community – because they are, whether they live in the neighborhood or not.

I think that if I fully realized who Jesus is, I would have known that in answering the door, I was welcoming him.

And I guess that’s the lesson in the Lord’s Prayer for me – I need to stop hiding behind the counter, thinking about what it means to follow Jesus, and debating with others who is truly deserving of the love of God.  I need to stop hiding and start living.  And frankly, that takes work.  The work of loving the world, of living the kingdom of God on earth, of providing for the needs of the whole human family – regardless of whether or not we deem them worthy – is work worth doing – and I hope you’ll join me in doing it.

Amen.

Following Jesus

Preached from the Lectionary texts, The Message translation:

Galatians 5:1, 13-25 

Luke 9:51-62

*****

It’s an unfortunate reality that we don’t always get what we want.  This is often, especially, the case when it comes to how other people treat us.  I generally meander through life desiring that others treat me with the most basic degree of respect.  It’s certainly not unwelcome if they also happen to recognize my natural and radiant brilliance and defer to me in all matters in which I have both knowledge and experience – but while these latter two are desirable, I don’t actually expect them.  I have to tell you, I am rather often disappointed on all three fronts – particularly when engaging in everyone’s favorite pastime – social media. It seems the rules and norms around social engagement simply are not respected anymore.

Which, it appears from our gospel lesson today, isn’t all that new a phenomenon.  Let me give you a little context from Luke’s Gospel:

·     A couple of chapters back, Peter declared that Jesus is the Messiah

·     Jesus immediately predicts his own death

·     8 days after this dire prediction, Jesus is transfigured

·     Following this, in last week’s Gospel, Jesus heals a demon-possessed boy, killing a herd of swine in the process, and the locals chase him out of town

·     At which point, Jesus predicts (again) that he is going to die

It’s not terribly surprising, in context, that Jesus is headed for death.  He’s breaking a lot of rules – eating with sinners; hanging out with unclean folk; being declared the Messiah – who is believed to the one who will overthrow Roman oppression and free the Jews from an unjust, violent, oppressive, and dehumanizing government; causing trouble and threatening the livelihood of those he meets out in the countryside.

So, having been chased off by the locals, who want nothing to do with this swine-killing, demon-exorcising, itinerant healer and his band of unemployed fishermen, Jesus begins his journey south.  He leaves Capernaum, at the northern edge of the Sea of Galilee and likely walks along the Jordan River until reaches the southern border where it empties into the Dead Sea, before veering right and heading to Jerusalem.

Now this is approximately an 85 mile journey, done on foot, with a whole caravan of people with him.  And unlike ultra-marathon runners today who pack 100 mile journeys in 27 hours, Jesus didn’t have 2 liters of Coca-Cola and a backpack full of energy bars readily available to him.  However, like the 100 milers of today, there was an expectation of the spirit of community – the socio-cultural rules and norms of Jesus’s time included giving food, shelter, and care to strangers in their midst, regardless of where or not you agree with their reasons for being there.

It’s not just a cultural expectation – it’s biblical Law.  And Samaritans held to the same scriptures as the Jews.  The people of God are required to give food to the hungry, shelter the poor, welcome the stranger, protect the travelers in our midst.  It was customary in the first century to provide water for washing – a symbol of acceptance and an indication that the host bears no ill intentions.  So, it is quite the act not just of inhospitableness but also of hostility that the Samaritans, learning that Jesus is headed to Jerusalem, refuse him hospitality.

And it is perhaps this line, more than any other in the entire bible, that speaks to my heart of heart and tells me that I am at home within the Christian tradition:  “When the disciples James and John learned of it, they said, ‘Master, do you want us to call a bolt of lightning down out of the sky and incinerate them!?’”  Seriously, these are my people!  If only removing my opponents from the field of battle were so easy.  *sigh*

Jesus’s disciples want justice.  They want retribution.  They want to right the wrong done to them when they were rejected because of their destination.  “These Samaritans aren’t going to follow the Law?  Well, we’ll show them what happens to people who don’t do things the right way!” And perhaps, having been refused hospitality, they saw hostility instead.  “Let us protect ourselves from these enemies!  Strike first!  Jesus just told us that he is going to be delivered into the hands of men, that he must suffer, and that he will be killed.  This impending crisis is all theirfault!”

But Jesus rebukes them.  “That’s not how we treat people!” he declares.  Jesus wants a different kind of justice.  And he leads them to the next village.  Things only get better from here.

Continuing their journey, Jesus unveiling the kingdom of God everywhere he goes, and along the way, more people want to be his disciples, to join his movement, to follow him wherever he’s going to go.  And Jesus gets super real with them – you’re going to have to give up all your comforts if you want to follow me.  We’re roughing it and result of hanging out with me is that people are going to reject you and deny you aid when you need it.”  

And yet, Jesus is open to more people joining his mission.  “Follow me!” he cries.  But those invited have a few loose ends to tie up – one has a father to bury, another has a family to sort out.  Jesus calls the bluff of the man who needs a few days to arrange his father’s funeral – it was expected that burial would take place within a day of death – “Leave it all behind,” Jesus tells them.  “This is too important, and too urgent, to wait while you procrastinate and waver.  Now or never!”

Sounds like, fun, right?  A different kind of justice - give up all of your worldly possessions, leave your family behind, travel miles and miles and miles without food, water, shelter, or care, all the while knowing that if you make it to your destination, you’ll probably be rejected there as well – and if what Jesus has said is true, you’re also going to witness the death of the person to whom you’ve devoted your life.  Who’s with me!?

Listen, I just have to say, I’m kind of confused as to how this marketing campaign managed the kind of success it’s seen. This company has survived for 2,000 years and currently has two billion loyalists, including more than 70% of Americans.

Or does it?

When Adolf Hitler ascended to power in post-WWI Germany, he united the local and regional churches under a new national church.  In marrying the church and state, propaganda was used to install Nazi sympathizers at the highest levels of church governance – who in turn make systematic and systemic changes to disenfranchise particular groups of people – beginning with those of Jewish descent.  This was enacted through passing the “Aryan Paragraph” which reserved right of residency and participation in organizations, federations, parties, and public life exclusively for those of Aryan descent.

In response to this, several German clergypersons formed the “Confessing Church” which stood in opposition to the Nazi regime on moral and theological principals – the state could not have total and unchecked control over persons as ultimate sovereignty, according to Christian orthodoxy, belongs to God.  People are not slaves to the state – they are made free by God’s Spirit, through Christ’s sacrifice.  A different kind of justice.  This opposition included Dietrich Bonhoeffer, widely known for his modern classic The Cost of Discipleship, who declared that the church must not simply “bandage the victims under the wheel, but jam the spoke in the wheel itself.”  

Bonhoeffer’s opposition to injustice and his commitment to living out the Gospel resulted in his imprisonment in a Nazi concentration camp and eventual execution.

Two thousand years later, Jesus’s dire warnings about the cost of following him continue to ring true.  We are at a crossroads in our own time and in this place – where one arm of the church has married itself to political power, leading credibility to claims that the government has the right to determine to what individuals can do to their own bodies, who qualifies for due process, which borders can be crossed by whom, who is at fault for allthat troubles our communities today, and just how high the body count has to grow before declare that profits are less important than people.

This doesn’t sound that far off from Paul’s charge that the root of sinful self-interest leads to “a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; the inability to love or be loved; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; ugly parodies of community.”

There is another option.  There is a different kind of justice – one based on the fair distribution of God’s resources.  There is the possibility of living within the kingdom of God today.  When we live into the free life given to us by God and motivated by God’s Spirit, we will demonstrate affection for the “other” in our midst; we’ll have an exuberance for life; serenity in our hearts; we will hold to the convictions of our faith – that everyone and everything is permeated by the divine; we’ll hold a sense of compassion deep within our hearts.  And these won’t be merely intellectual exercises that tease or torment us when faced with annoying coworkers and frustrating family members.  We will work out the implications of this freedom in every single detail of our lives!

The kingdom of God will be within us and all around us.  And it will bring us unwanted attention and make us unpopular and make us the targets of the vitriol and hatred of our contemporary culture.  And it is the only way to follow Jesus.  Only you can decide which church aligns with your own values. But know this:  the Kingdom of God cannot be put off until tomorrow.  If following Jesus is what you want to do, seize the day!