I received a gift card to a local kitchen store for my birthday. I wanted to get something I that I needed and would use often. The amount on the card wasn't substantial enough for me to purchase the chef's knife I coveted ($200.00), neither the 3 cup food processor ($90.00), nor the Viking stand mixer ($549).
It was enough, however, to cover the cost of a large microplane. As one who loves cheese (the older, the firmer, the better), this seemed ideal. I spent a couple of minutes trying to discern the best way to remove and replace the plastic protective cover--sliding it off and on, or snapping it off and on. It just so happens that snapping is the faster and safer method.
As I struggled to slip the plane back into the cover, it jumped from hand and grazed its razor sharp teeth against the outside of my thumb, taking a very fine layer of dry skin with it. This experience was actually highly reminiscent of an incident in my childhood, when in my one childhood act of disobedience, I entered my father's workshop, picked up his carpenter's plane, and nearly sliced my thumb off.
Fearing that this particular microplane may have developed a taste for human flesh, I replaced it on the hook and took home a different, albeit identical, microplane.
I hope whoever does purchase the flesh-hungry microplane washes it prior to use. And I dearly hope I never read in the paper that a local resident who was attacked and kill by a microplane with a taste for human flesh. I'm just not sure I could bear the guilt.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Birthday Thoughts
It is my birthday today. Because I am busy with life, and do not have internet at home, and the library is only open a short while longer, this will be short.
Being a year older, entering a new decade of life, having my age end in a zero, has brought about a life review.
Here it is:
I have done nothing of significance with my life thus far. I've frittered away 30 years. It's actually pretty damned depressing. What a crappy, crappy birthday.
I'm a thoroughly ordinary human being. I've never minded being thoroughly ordinary. Being ordinary means being invisible. Being invisible means being safe. But I always thought despite being so ordinary, I would, at least, have done something extraordinary.
When I thought I wanted to be a marine mammologist, I imagined that by this age I'd have discovered something amazing that completely changed the way the world considered the mammals residing in our oceans.
When I thought about becoming a lawyer, I imagined that by this age, I'd be fighting injustice, working for a group like The Innocence Project or IJM.
When I settled on seminary, I thought for sure that by this age, I'd be ministering to people, bringing the love and light of God into the lives of others.
What have I done? Not a single blessed thing. (Feel free to read that "blessed" as a profanity, by the way). Nothing.
This isn't the life I thought I would have. I have made no significant or lasting difference in the life of anyone. I matter to no one. Lots of people love me, this I know. But if I weren't alive today, if I hadn't been born on a Thursday morning in April 30 years ago today, I honestly believe the world would be no different.
And I have no idea how to change that.
I have no idea how to do anything extraordinary.
I have no idea how to make a difference in a single life, let alone the wider world.
But, I know that I'll celebrate my birthday with a dear friend tonight. I'll get up tomorrow, prepare fellowship for after church. I'll assist in worship at my church. After the service, I'll do it all over again at the care facility in town. Then, I'll rur back to the church to help my father finish serving/cleaning up after fellowship. And life will go on like always.
For the record, I'll be serving my church wonderful stuff most have likely never eaten. I feel I have an obligation to increase their collective palette. I'll be serving:
*Bacon Wrapped Dates Stuffed with Maytag Blue Cheese
*Caprese on a toothpick
*Brie and Figs on French Bread
*Cheese and Fruit (Pears and Grapes pared with Blue and Smoked Gouda)
*(Gluten Free) Scotcharoos (which everyone has eaten, but it's a favorite)
*(Gluten Free) Better Than Sex Cake
Maybe I should set my goals much lower for the next 30 years.
Here's to hoping 60 is significantly less than depressing than 30.
Being a year older, entering a new decade of life, having my age end in a zero, has brought about a life review.
Here it is:
I have done nothing of significance with my life thus far. I've frittered away 30 years. It's actually pretty damned depressing. What a crappy, crappy birthday.
I'm a thoroughly ordinary human being. I've never minded being thoroughly ordinary. Being ordinary means being invisible. Being invisible means being safe. But I always thought despite being so ordinary, I would, at least, have done something extraordinary.
When I thought I wanted to be a marine mammologist, I imagined that by this age I'd have discovered something amazing that completely changed the way the world considered the mammals residing in our oceans.
When I thought about becoming a lawyer, I imagined that by this age, I'd be fighting injustice, working for a group like The Innocence Project or IJM.
When I settled on seminary, I thought for sure that by this age, I'd be ministering to people, bringing the love and light of God into the lives of others.
What have I done? Not a single blessed thing. (Feel free to read that "blessed" as a profanity, by the way). Nothing.
This isn't the life I thought I would have. I have made no significant or lasting difference in the life of anyone. I matter to no one. Lots of people love me, this I know. But if I weren't alive today, if I hadn't been born on a Thursday morning in April 30 years ago today, I honestly believe the world would be no different.
And I have no idea how to change that.
I have no idea how to do anything extraordinary.
I have no idea how to make a difference in a single life, let alone the wider world.
But, I know that I'll celebrate my birthday with a dear friend tonight. I'll get up tomorrow, prepare fellowship for after church. I'll assist in worship at my church. After the service, I'll do it all over again at the care facility in town. Then, I'll rur back to the church to help my father finish serving/cleaning up after fellowship. And life will go on like always.
For the record, I'll be serving my church wonderful stuff most have likely never eaten. I feel I have an obligation to increase their collective palette. I'll be serving:
*Bacon Wrapped Dates Stuffed with Maytag Blue Cheese
*Caprese on a toothpick
*Brie and Figs on French Bread
*Cheese and Fruit (Pears and Grapes pared with Blue and Smoked Gouda)
*(Gluten Free) Scotcharoos (which everyone has eaten, but it's a favorite)
*(Gluten Free) Better Than Sex Cake
Maybe I should set my goals much lower for the next 30 years.
Here's to hoping 60 is significantly less than depressing than 30.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
It's All Jesus's Fault
John 11:1-45
*****
This morning’s sermon comes with a disclaimer. Two weeks ago, there were some complaints from my discernment committee about the length of my sermons. Namely, that they are too short. So, this morning, I’ve beefed it up a bit. Having said that, if you nod off in the middle of my sermon, no worries! I get it. And if you do manage to stay awake, and you start getting restless…well….blame Sherman!
Last week, we heard about Jesus healing a blind man. After healing this man, an act that upset the religious leaders because it was performed on the Sabbath, Jesus hangs around for a bit and chats up these same religious leaders. This is the part of the story the lectionary skips between last week and this.
This exchange is the whole of chapter 10 in John’s gospel, and I think it’s actually pretty important. Not just because giving you a recap is going to make the service run until noon. And not just because it was a paper I wrote in seminary on John 10 that led me to change my academic focus from one of pure intellectual pursuit to pursuing a career in pastoral ministry.
It’s actually important to us this morning because it gives us some important background information concerning our primary text.
In chapter 10 Jesus talks a lot about sheep, gates, and shepherds. Jesus refers to himself as the gate, claiming that all who enter through him (enter what?) shall be saved.
Conversely, Jesus says that all who came before him were thieves and robbers who came only to steal, kill and destroy. Those who came before Jesus are the Jewish religious leaders. You know, the people Jesus is currently talking to.
The text tells us that “they,” the highly educated, literate, religious elite did not understand what Jesus was saying. So, Jesus ups the ante. He says that he is the shepherd. It’s difficult to imagine that the religious missed the allusion this time—Psalm 23. “The Lord is my shepherd…” and all that. Jesus is, in essence, claiming to be God.
Now, this gets a few people riled up, and they try to discredit Jesus: “He’s demon-possessed and a raving lunatic.” Other, though, remembering that Jesus just healed a man blind from birth, disagree. No demon-possessed man could heal the blind.
So, the Jewish religious authorities are split on whether or not Jesus is 8 kinds of crazy. So, he sticks around for the next holiday—the Feast of Dedication. This is what we know today as Hanukkah. It’s a celebration of the cleansing of the Temple by Judas Maccabeus in 165 BC after Antiochus Epiphanes defiled it by sacrificing a pig on the altar of burnt offerings.
If you were here two weeks ago for my last sermon, you might recall that I spent some time discussing ritual purity in Judaism. Pigs are unclean. Really unclean. So, sacrificing a pig on the altar, in the Jewish Temple is really, really bad.
Anyway, Jesus is hanging out, celebrating this festival. And he’s making some bold claims. The Jewish authorities can’t agree on whether he’s crazy or if he really is the Messiah. So, they do something really radical—they ask him! They say, “Hey, if you’re the Messiah, can you just say so? Using plain Hebrew? None of this light stuff. Enough with the sheep and the gate. That whole ‘Son of Man’ thing…. I mean, what? Bread of life? Cannibalism? Seriously!? Enough already! Okay!? Are you the Messiah? Yes or no?”
And how does Jesus answer this really simple question? “You are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice and follow me.” He goes back to the whole, “I am a shepherd” thing! People use this tactic today. You’ll see it on occasion when a news program has somebody really important as a guest on. The host will be asking questions, and the guest will say things like, “Now, that’s an interesting question, but going back for a minute to my previous point….” And they never actually answer another question. (Oh, Sarah Palin). This can run the gamut from ridiculous to infuriating.
But then, Jesus does the unthinkable. He actually claims to be God. So, the religious authorities decide to stone Jesus to death. He, however, escapes their clutches and makes his way over to the opposite side of the Jordan River, about 25 miles away. There, he chats up a whole new group of people, and this group believes in him!
So, this is where we find Jesus this morning. He’s hanging out with a group of people who actually like him! Can anyone really blame him for sticking around awhile?
While Jesus is across the Jordan, probably in an area called Perea, he gets a message from two sisters: Mary and Martha. If there had been telegrams back in the first century, I think it might have gone something like this:
Urgent message. STOP.
He whom you love is ill. STOP.
Please return immediately. STOP.
Miraculous healing needed. STOP.
Mary and Martha. END.
P.S. We’re talking about Lazarus. STOP.
We assume John is with you. END.
Regardless of how it happened, Jesus got the message. Jesus responds by saying the same thing we heard last week. “This is for God’s glory. This is so the Son of God may be glorified through it.”
And then, Jesus hangs out for another two days! Can you imagine what that must have been like for Mary and Martha? “Hey, Jesus! Guy who turns water into wine, who heals the paralyzed, who make blind men see…yeah, you! Our brother is dying, the one you know. The one you love. Please, come heal him!”
And Jesus is sitting there, “Sorry, ladies. My vacation isn’t over. But don’t worry. It will all work out to bring me glory in the end.”
Seriously!? Someone I love is on the brink of death, you’re the only hope for healing, and you decide to spend a bit more time working on your tan, enjoying the weather on the other side of the Jordan?
And then, when Jesus does decide to return to Bethany to assist Mary and Martha, he tells his disciples that Lazarus is sleeping! So, let’s go find him!
This is the point at which Jesus’s disciples are reminding him that just a few days ago the Jewish authorities were trying to stone him. So, recognizing the dangers inherent in going anywhere near Jerusalem, the disciples say, “Look, if Lazarus is just sleeping, he’ll be fine! You’re not really needed. Let’s stay here, where you’re safe. Where we’re safe. Because, you know, the religious leaders have seen us hanging out with you…so, maybe we shouldn’t be going back….”
So, Jesus comes clean and he gives them a frank answer (FINALLY!). He says, “Lazarus is dead.”
And then Jesus says, “I’m glad I wasn’t there.” He says some other stuff in there, too, about how it’s for the disciples’ sake, so that they’ll believe. But, I wonder if all of the disciples heard any of that. Or if they got to the part where Jesus said, “I’m glad I wasn’t there to heal this friend of mine, this man whom I love,” and maybe they missed everything else. I wonder this because I know if I had been a disciple of Jesus in the first century, that’s all I would have heard. And I would have been thinking to myself, “Who are you? And why did I give up everything to follow you?"
But Thomas, the twin, says, “Well, we’ve come this far with Jesus. We may as well return to Judea with him. I mean, what else can we do? We gave up everything to follow him. So, if he’s going to get himself killed, we may as well die with him.”
Of course, there are other ways to read this. When I read it, I have the closing scene from Braveheart running through my head. The one where, after Mel Gibson’s character, William, has been drawn and quartered, and Robert the Bruce has made a sweet deal with king of England, securing a nifty title and ensuring some semblance of peace for Scotland is riding before his troops. It’s down to the last minutes. He’s about to be crowned King of Scotland, under the head of Edward the Longshanks. Suddenly, he turns to them, and he says, “You’ve bled with Wallace! Now bleed with me.” And he leads them into an epic battle that wins Scotland her independence. Maybe that’s what Thomas is saying, “We made a commitment to this. Let’s see it through. Not out of resignation, but out of a love for this man we’ve devoted our lives to.”
So, Jesus arrives in Bethany, which is about 2 miles from Jerusalem, where an angry mob wants to kill Jesus because he told them that he’s God. And we learn that Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days. And Martha comes to see Jesus. The first thing she does is blame Jesus. “If you had been here, Lazarus would still be alive!” But she doesn’t stop there. She goes on to proclaim that anything Jesus asks, God will give him.
And Jesus tells her that Lazarus will rise again.
Now Martha, demonstrating a faith in the power of God and the surety of an afterlife says, “I know that he’ll be resurrected on the last day.” She hearkens back to the book of Daniel and says, “Yeah, when the whole thing is over, and the Son of Man descends on a cloud, opening graves and calling forth their inhabitants, I know that Lazarus will rise again.”
And Jesus tells her, “I’m already here. I know the cloud is missing, and I didn’t descend from the sky, but walked up that hill. But I’m telling you, I’m the guy! And if you believe in me, death will never mean death for you.”
So, Martha goes and gets Mary. And when Mary finds Jesus, a whole troupe of Jewish mourners in her wake, the first thing she says to him is, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died! It’s all your fault!”
And Jesus, rather than going through that whole explanation again about how he’s going to resurrect Lazarus, just goes ahead and decides to get the job done. He asks Mary where they buried Lazarus. And as they begin making their way to the tomb, Jesus begins to weep.
And that troupe of mourners who followed Mary says, “See how he loved him! Surely if he can give sight to the blind, he could have healed Lazarus. It’s all his fault the man died!”
But Jesus just continues one, and when they get to the tomb, Jesus asks for the stone to be rolled away. And Mary says, “He’s been dead for four days, Jesus. That’s going to be really, really smelly.”
This a point that actually really confuses me. Not the whole “He’s gonna stink” part, because dead bodies in hot climates rot fast. It’s the four days part. Because, you know, Jesus had been hanging out in a place that was 2 days journey away! Which means that unless the telegram delivery guy was feeding his camel jet fuel, Lazarus was likely dying as Jesus was getting the message! There’s no way Jesus could have gotten back to Bethany in time to save Lazarus!
So, then, we’re left the one alternative as to why all the blame falls squarely on Jesus’s shoulders. He never should have left Bethany in the first place! Except, you know, for the fact that people were trying to kill him….
But Jesus doesn’t point any of this out to them. He just reminds them that he’s made them a promise: if they believe, they will see the glory of God.
Then, Jesus says a short prayer out loud, acknowledging that God has heard and always hears him. Then, he shouts, “Hey, Lazarus! Come out and party with us!”
And Lazarus comes out, still wearing the burial shroud. And Jesus command the people, “Unbind him and let him go!”
Now, a lot of the images in this story parallel the images in another story. One found in the Gospel of Mark. I don’t have time to fill those out for you today. I’m sure you’d like to get home before supper. However, for those of you who are interested, I would suggest you take some time this week to compare and contrast this story with the two stories found in Mark 5: the Garasene Demoniac and Jairus’s Daughter/The Bleeding Woman.
In today’s story, Jesus does this amazing thing—he raises a man from the dead. Resurrection! Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen anybody raised from the dead. And certainly not after four days. This does not, however, mean that I don’t belive it’s true, or even possible today. I totally think God can do it! The last time someone I loved deeply died, I prayed and prayed for a bodily resurrection. I prayed up until the pastor, at the memorial service a week later, declared, “Into your hands, we commend his spirit.” It didn’t matter that my friend had been cremated. This commending of his spirit was truly the final nail in the coffin for me. “That’s it. It’s over,” I remember thinking.
And I wondered where Jesus was. What interrupted him? Why hadn’t he shown up?
But then, I began to think about my friend. I began to tell myself the stories had shared with me. In knowing his story, I was able to see the ways in which God had worked resurrection miracles in his life—a victim of childhood sexual abuse, he went on to become a world renowned Broadway actor. A man who wasn’t even sure he believed in the God he so fiercely hated became the most gifted minister I have ever had the privilege to know.
And I began to tell myself my own story; I began to acknowledge the parts of my life in which Jesus had worked resurrection miracles. Most of you have known me since I was a child. Surely you can see the change! This awareness of the resurrections in my own life brought about a new resurrection—a renewal of my faith. New life was breathed into me. My eyes were opened, and I began to see the resurrection miracles in the lives of those around me.
And so, this morning, I encourage you to look with new eyes; to see the resurrection miracles all around you. Even and most especially during those times when it seems Jesus is too late. See where the resurrection has already happened. Look anew for the resurrections happening now. And give glory to God.
This morning, I leave you with the final words from our first reading, from the prophet Ezekiel 37:9-14:
Then he said to me, “Prophesy, to the breath, prophesy, mortal and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord GOD: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.”
I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.
Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to the, Thus says the Lord GOD: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the LORD, have spoken and will act.”
*****
This morning’s sermon comes with a disclaimer. Two weeks ago, there were some complaints from my discernment committee about the length of my sermons. Namely, that they are too short. So, this morning, I’ve beefed it up a bit. Having said that, if you nod off in the middle of my sermon, no worries! I get it. And if you do manage to stay awake, and you start getting restless…well….blame Sherman!
Last week, we heard about Jesus healing a blind man. After healing this man, an act that upset the religious leaders because it was performed on the Sabbath, Jesus hangs around for a bit and chats up these same religious leaders. This is the part of the story the lectionary skips between last week and this.
This exchange is the whole of chapter 10 in John’s gospel, and I think it’s actually pretty important. Not just because giving you a recap is going to make the service run until noon. And not just because it was a paper I wrote in seminary on John 10 that led me to change my academic focus from one of pure intellectual pursuit to pursuing a career in pastoral ministry.
It’s actually important to us this morning because it gives us some important background information concerning our primary text.
In chapter 10 Jesus talks a lot about sheep, gates, and shepherds. Jesus refers to himself as the gate, claiming that all who enter through him (enter what?) shall be saved.
Conversely, Jesus says that all who came before him were thieves and robbers who came only to steal, kill and destroy. Those who came before Jesus are the Jewish religious leaders. You know, the people Jesus is currently talking to.
The text tells us that “they,” the highly educated, literate, religious elite did not understand what Jesus was saying. So, Jesus ups the ante. He says that he is the shepherd. It’s difficult to imagine that the religious missed the allusion this time—Psalm 23. “The Lord is my shepherd…” and all that. Jesus is, in essence, claiming to be God.
Now, this gets a few people riled up, and they try to discredit Jesus: “He’s demon-possessed and a raving lunatic.” Other, though, remembering that Jesus just healed a man blind from birth, disagree. No demon-possessed man could heal the blind.
So, the Jewish religious authorities are split on whether or not Jesus is 8 kinds of crazy. So, he sticks around for the next holiday—the Feast of Dedication. This is what we know today as Hanukkah. It’s a celebration of the cleansing of the Temple by Judas Maccabeus in 165 BC after Antiochus Epiphanes defiled it by sacrificing a pig on the altar of burnt offerings.
If you were here two weeks ago for my last sermon, you might recall that I spent some time discussing ritual purity in Judaism. Pigs are unclean. Really unclean. So, sacrificing a pig on the altar, in the Jewish Temple is really, really bad.
Anyway, Jesus is hanging out, celebrating this festival. And he’s making some bold claims. The Jewish authorities can’t agree on whether he’s crazy or if he really is the Messiah. So, they do something really radical—they ask him! They say, “Hey, if you’re the Messiah, can you just say so? Using plain Hebrew? None of this light stuff. Enough with the sheep and the gate. That whole ‘Son of Man’ thing…. I mean, what? Bread of life? Cannibalism? Seriously!? Enough already! Okay!? Are you the Messiah? Yes or no?”
And how does Jesus answer this really simple question? “You are not my sheep. My sheep listen to my voice and follow me.” He goes back to the whole, “I am a shepherd” thing! People use this tactic today. You’ll see it on occasion when a news program has somebody really important as a guest on. The host will be asking questions, and the guest will say things like, “Now, that’s an interesting question, but going back for a minute to my previous point….” And they never actually answer another question. (Oh, Sarah Palin). This can run the gamut from ridiculous to infuriating.
But then, Jesus does the unthinkable. He actually claims to be God. So, the religious authorities decide to stone Jesus to death. He, however, escapes their clutches and makes his way over to the opposite side of the Jordan River, about 25 miles away. There, he chats up a whole new group of people, and this group believes in him!
So, this is where we find Jesus this morning. He’s hanging out with a group of people who actually like him! Can anyone really blame him for sticking around awhile?
While Jesus is across the Jordan, probably in an area called Perea, he gets a message from two sisters: Mary and Martha. If there had been telegrams back in the first century, I think it might have gone something like this:
Urgent message. STOP.
He whom you love is ill. STOP.
Please return immediately. STOP.
Miraculous healing needed. STOP.
Mary and Martha. END.
P.S. We’re talking about Lazarus. STOP.
We assume John is with you. END.
Regardless of how it happened, Jesus got the message. Jesus responds by saying the same thing we heard last week. “This is for God’s glory. This is so the Son of God may be glorified through it.”
And then, Jesus hangs out for another two days! Can you imagine what that must have been like for Mary and Martha? “Hey, Jesus! Guy who turns water into wine, who heals the paralyzed, who make blind men see…yeah, you! Our brother is dying, the one you know. The one you love. Please, come heal him!”
And Jesus is sitting there, “Sorry, ladies. My vacation isn’t over. But don’t worry. It will all work out to bring me glory in the end.”
Seriously!? Someone I love is on the brink of death, you’re the only hope for healing, and you decide to spend a bit more time working on your tan, enjoying the weather on the other side of the Jordan?
And then, when Jesus does decide to return to Bethany to assist Mary and Martha, he tells his disciples that Lazarus is sleeping! So, let’s go find him!
This is the point at which Jesus’s disciples are reminding him that just a few days ago the Jewish authorities were trying to stone him. So, recognizing the dangers inherent in going anywhere near Jerusalem, the disciples say, “Look, if Lazarus is just sleeping, he’ll be fine! You’re not really needed. Let’s stay here, where you’re safe. Where we’re safe. Because, you know, the religious leaders have seen us hanging out with you…so, maybe we shouldn’t be going back….”
So, Jesus comes clean and he gives them a frank answer (FINALLY!). He says, “Lazarus is dead.”
And then Jesus says, “I’m glad I wasn’t there.” He says some other stuff in there, too, about how it’s for the disciples’ sake, so that they’ll believe. But, I wonder if all of the disciples heard any of that. Or if they got to the part where Jesus said, “I’m glad I wasn’t there to heal this friend of mine, this man whom I love,” and maybe they missed everything else. I wonder this because I know if I had been a disciple of Jesus in the first century, that’s all I would have heard. And I would have been thinking to myself, “Who are you? And why did I give up everything to follow you?"
But Thomas, the twin, says, “Well, we’ve come this far with Jesus. We may as well return to Judea with him. I mean, what else can we do? We gave up everything to follow him. So, if he’s going to get himself killed, we may as well die with him.”
Of course, there are other ways to read this. When I read it, I have the closing scene from Braveheart running through my head. The one where, after Mel Gibson’s character, William, has been drawn and quartered, and Robert the Bruce has made a sweet deal with king of England, securing a nifty title and ensuring some semblance of peace for Scotland is riding before his troops. It’s down to the last minutes. He’s about to be crowned King of Scotland, under the head of Edward the Longshanks. Suddenly, he turns to them, and he says, “You’ve bled with Wallace! Now bleed with me.” And he leads them into an epic battle that wins Scotland her independence. Maybe that’s what Thomas is saying, “We made a commitment to this. Let’s see it through. Not out of resignation, but out of a love for this man we’ve devoted our lives to.”
So, Jesus arrives in Bethany, which is about 2 miles from Jerusalem, where an angry mob wants to kill Jesus because he told them that he’s God. And we learn that Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days. And Martha comes to see Jesus. The first thing she does is blame Jesus. “If you had been here, Lazarus would still be alive!” But she doesn’t stop there. She goes on to proclaim that anything Jesus asks, God will give him.
And Jesus tells her that Lazarus will rise again.
Now Martha, demonstrating a faith in the power of God and the surety of an afterlife says, “I know that he’ll be resurrected on the last day.” She hearkens back to the book of Daniel and says, “Yeah, when the whole thing is over, and the Son of Man descends on a cloud, opening graves and calling forth their inhabitants, I know that Lazarus will rise again.”
And Jesus tells her, “I’m already here. I know the cloud is missing, and I didn’t descend from the sky, but walked up that hill. But I’m telling you, I’m the guy! And if you believe in me, death will never mean death for you.”
So, Martha goes and gets Mary. And when Mary finds Jesus, a whole troupe of Jewish mourners in her wake, the first thing she says to him is, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died! It’s all your fault!”
And Jesus, rather than going through that whole explanation again about how he’s going to resurrect Lazarus, just goes ahead and decides to get the job done. He asks Mary where they buried Lazarus. And as they begin making their way to the tomb, Jesus begins to weep.
And that troupe of mourners who followed Mary says, “See how he loved him! Surely if he can give sight to the blind, he could have healed Lazarus. It’s all his fault the man died!”
But Jesus just continues one, and when they get to the tomb, Jesus asks for the stone to be rolled away. And Mary says, “He’s been dead for four days, Jesus. That’s going to be really, really smelly.”
This a point that actually really confuses me. Not the whole “He’s gonna stink” part, because dead bodies in hot climates rot fast. It’s the four days part. Because, you know, Jesus had been hanging out in a place that was 2 days journey away! Which means that unless the telegram delivery guy was feeding his camel jet fuel, Lazarus was likely dying as Jesus was getting the message! There’s no way Jesus could have gotten back to Bethany in time to save Lazarus!
So, then, we’re left the one alternative as to why all the blame falls squarely on Jesus’s shoulders. He never should have left Bethany in the first place! Except, you know, for the fact that people were trying to kill him….
But Jesus doesn’t point any of this out to them. He just reminds them that he’s made them a promise: if they believe, they will see the glory of God.
Then, Jesus says a short prayer out loud, acknowledging that God has heard and always hears him. Then, he shouts, “Hey, Lazarus! Come out and party with us!”
And Lazarus comes out, still wearing the burial shroud. And Jesus command the people, “Unbind him and let him go!”
Now, a lot of the images in this story parallel the images in another story. One found in the Gospel of Mark. I don’t have time to fill those out for you today. I’m sure you’d like to get home before supper. However, for those of you who are interested, I would suggest you take some time this week to compare and contrast this story with the two stories found in Mark 5: the Garasene Demoniac and Jairus’s Daughter/The Bleeding Woman.
In today’s story, Jesus does this amazing thing—he raises a man from the dead. Resurrection! Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen anybody raised from the dead. And certainly not after four days. This does not, however, mean that I don’t belive it’s true, or even possible today. I totally think God can do it! The last time someone I loved deeply died, I prayed and prayed for a bodily resurrection. I prayed up until the pastor, at the memorial service a week later, declared, “Into your hands, we commend his spirit.” It didn’t matter that my friend had been cremated. This commending of his spirit was truly the final nail in the coffin for me. “That’s it. It’s over,” I remember thinking.
And I wondered where Jesus was. What interrupted him? Why hadn’t he shown up?
But then, I began to think about my friend. I began to tell myself the stories had shared with me. In knowing his story, I was able to see the ways in which God had worked resurrection miracles in his life—a victim of childhood sexual abuse, he went on to become a world renowned Broadway actor. A man who wasn’t even sure he believed in the God he so fiercely hated became the most gifted minister I have ever had the privilege to know.
And I began to tell myself my own story; I began to acknowledge the parts of my life in which Jesus had worked resurrection miracles. Most of you have known me since I was a child. Surely you can see the change! This awareness of the resurrections in my own life brought about a new resurrection—a renewal of my faith. New life was breathed into me. My eyes were opened, and I began to see the resurrection miracles in the lives of those around me.
And so, this morning, I encourage you to look with new eyes; to see the resurrection miracles all around you. Even and most especially during those times when it seems Jesus is too late. See where the resurrection has already happened. Look anew for the resurrections happening now. And give glory to God.
This morning, I leave you with the final words from our first reading, from the prophet Ezekiel 37:9-14:
Then he said to me, “Prophesy, to the breath, prophesy, mortal and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord GOD: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.”
I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.
Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to the, Thus says the Lord GOD: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the LORD, have spoken and will act.”
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Living Water
John 4:5-42
*****
It’s not secret in the New Testament that Jews and Samaritans dislike one another. “Dislike”, in fact, is putting it mildly.
The Samaritans, who consider themselves Jewish, were descendents of a group of Jews who had not been resettled during the Assyrian exile. They have Jewish ancestry. However, because they remained in occupied territory, likely blending aspects of the occupying culture into their daily lives, Jews from the resettled group—those who ended up Jerusalem—consider them to be illegitimate.
Additionally, during this time, changes were being made in the priestly leadership of the Jews. Some of the old order of priests ended up serving the Samaritans, giving them a legitimate claim to having ties to Jewish priesthood, a claim the Jews denied.
One of the major disagreements between the two groups concerned the appropriate place for worship. Samaritans believed it was acceptable to worship in their ancestral lands, while Jews claimed true worship could only take place in Jerusalem.
These differing views on worship help to illuminate the reason that Jews and Samaritans did not share cooking and drinking vessels, or eating utensils: ritual purity.
Jews held to strict ritual purity. Any kind of contact—direct or secondary—with unclean people was seen to contaminate the Jew. Jews considered Samaritans entirely unclean, even going to so far as to refer to them as menstrual rags. Jewish desire to avoid contact with Samaritans was so strong that Jews would go significantly out of their way while travelling in order to avoid passing through Samaritan territory.
In the event that Jews and Samaritans did come into contact with one another, it was not unusual for the two groups to fight. On one occasion, recorded in historical record, when a group of Galileans were passing through Samaria, the Samaritans battled the Jews and killed significant numbers of them.
So, it is significant that Jesus, who hails from Galilee, is crossing through Samaritan territory. Jesus is risking serious injury, even to the point of death, at the hands of the Samaritans. He’s also risking the possible contempt of his disciples who would consider Samaritans unclean, and view interacting with them a violation of purity codes.
And this is where we find Jesus this morning: sitting by Jacob’s well, in Samaria, at noon.
Now, the biblical authors are intentional writers. No detail, no matter how small, is ever thrown in by chance. Thus, it is also significant that they author of John’s gospel chooses to note the time.
Desserts in the Mediterranean are hot places to hang out, in the middle of the day. As such, women would rise early in the morning, likely before dawn, and head out of the city to the well in order to draw water for their family’s daily use. The well might be considered the “water cooler” of the ancient world. As these women gathered, the well was likely as much a place for social interaction as the site of a day’s first chore.
Here we find Jesus, joined by one woman, drawing water at noon. This is a woman who is likely ostracized by the other women in her community. And the reason for this is made clear a little later in the passage: she’s a bad girl.
We have all kinds of names for women like her today, and chances are good there were all kinds of names for a woman like her 2000 years ago—married five times, and currently living with a man who is not her husband.
A Samaritan woman who’s living in sin. There is no doubt about it: this woman is utterly unclean, likely seen as beyond redemption, and considered worthy of judgment and scorn.
And Jesus asks her for a drink. This is an action on the part of Jesus that violates every cultural boundary he’s been raised from infancy to observe. And he does it because he doesn’t see a Samaritan woman of ill repute. He sees a woman who is valuable and worthy and whose identity is something wholly other than “unclean.”
And Jesus has something to offer her.
Jesus tells this woman that he can offer her living water.
Living water has a very specific meaning in ancient Jewish culture. It’s quite likely that this woman, a Samaritan, a group which shares a common heritage with the Jews and considers themselves to be Jewish, this woman is probably familiar with the meaning of living water.
Living water is defined by its source and is distinguished from drawn water. While drawn water comes from a well, drawn out of underground aquifers, living water comes from a moving, that is live, source. The source of this moving, living water is most often a river or spring. Beyond simply distinguishing their varying sources, however, drawn and living water also have very distinct purposes:
Drawn water is used for daily living.
Living water is absolutely essential for Jewish purity. Jews who were considered ritually unclean were required to immerse themselves in water. They only way such immersion could make one pure again was if such bathing was one with living water.
Jesus is offering this woman so much more than a beverage to quench her thirst on a hot day at noon. Jesus is promising to make this woman pure. What’s more, Jesus is declaring that he purity he’s offering is once and for all—the water he gives her will become a spring of water, a source of living water within her, gushing up to eternal life. Nothing and no one can take it away from her. Once she has it, she is eternally clean.
Jesus is offering this woman purity, redemption, an opportunity to re-enter the social sphere without stigma. Jesus is offering to utterly transform her life. And he can do it.
This woman, this unclean woman, the object of scorn and ridicule and judgment within her community, is so excited about what Jesus has to offer her that she leaves her water jug and runs back to the city, defying all cultural conventions about the place this kind of woman holds and she declares, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! Can this be the Messiah?”
What I find most fascinating about this woman’s call to her fellow townsfolk is that although she already knows that Jesus is the Messiah, he’s shared this fact with her after all and this news has made an impact, she doesn’t tell her fellow townsfolk that Jesus is the Messiah. Rather, she invites them to explore for themselves the possibility that Jesus might be. She asks a question, permitting those in her town to answer for themselves.
And her testimony is powerful. Her transparency about her experience of Jesus is so powerful it created in others a thirst for Jesus and the living water he offered as well. Because of her testimony, many Samaritans from that city believed in him.
And they wanted to know more! They returned to the well with this woman and they invited Jesus to stay with them. These Samaritans extended hospitality to someone traditionally considered to be an enemy. The hospitality they showed outstripped any hospitality he might have received from the Jews. In fact, in John’s gospel, far from showing Jesus any hospitality, the Jews show nothing but hostility and hatred to Jesus.
The Samaritans in town heard this woman’s testimony and they just had to know more. Because of her invitation, their thirst was satisfied. Because she spoke with transparency and boldness, the people in her town came to know Jesus as the Savior of the world.
Do was have that kind of a testimony in us? Are we overflowing with this spring of living water? Does our testimony of Jesus’s work in our lives invite others to meet Jesus and come to know him as a Savior? Does it create in others a thirst for the living water the has to offer?
And as Christians who have this spring of living water within us, are we willing to look past the social stigmas of the “unclean” people in our lives, loving them for who they are rather than judging them for what they’ve done?
Too often, I think we measure our success against the failures of others. We consider Jesus someone we alone can claim. We claim springs of living water for ourselves and draw drops of water for others.
This is certain true of me at times.
My hope for us this morning is that our springs would flow out to those in our lives, enticing them to deeper knowledge of Jesus, or inviting them to meet him for the first time. My hope is that we can be like the Samaritan woman—open, transparent, excited individuals who invite others to meet this man who knows everything about us and loves us anyway. And I hope being known and loved by Jesus allows us to better know and love others.
*****
It’s not secret in the New Testament that Jews and Samaritans dislike one another. “Dislike”, in fact, is putting it mildly.
The Samaritans, who consider themselves Jewish, were descendents of a group of Jews who had not been resettled during the Assyrian exile. They have Jewish ancestry. However, because they remained in occupied territory, likely blending aspects of the occupying culture into their daily lives, Jews from the resettled group—those who ended up Jerusalem—consider them to be illegitimate.
Additionally, during this time, changes were being made in the priestly leadership of the Jews. Some of the old order of priests ended up serving the Samaritans, giving them a legitimate claim to having ties to Jewish priesthood, a claim the Jews denied.
One of the major disagreements between the two groups concerned the appropriate place for worship. Samaritans believed it was acceptable to worship in their ancestral lands, while Jews claimed true worship could only take place in Jerusalem.
These differing views on worship help to illuminate the reason that Jews and Samaritans did not share cooking and drinking vessels, or eating utensils: ritual purity.
Jews held to strict ritual purity. Any kind of contact—direct or secondary—with unclean people was seen to contaminate the Jew. Jews considered Samaritans entirely unclean, even going to so far as to refer to them as menstrual rags. Jewish desire to avoid contact with Samaritans was so strong that Jews would go significantly out of their way while travelling in order to avoid passing through Samaritan territory.
In the event that Jews and Samaritans did come into contact with one another, it was not unusual for the two groups to fight. On one occasion, recorded in historical record, when a group of Galileans were passing through Samaria, the Samaritans battled the Jews and killed significant numbers of them.
So, it is significant that Jesus, who hails from Galilee, is crossing through Samaritan territory. Jesus is risking serious injury, even to the point of death, at the hands of the Samaritans. He’s also risking the possible contempt of his disciples who would consider Samaritans unclean, and view interacting with them a violation of purity codes.
And this is where we find Jesus this morning: sitting by Jacob’s well, in Samaria, at noon.
Now, the biblical authors are intentional writers. No detail, no matter how small, is ever thrown in by chance. Thus, it is also significant that they author of John’s gospel chooses to note the time.
Desserts in the Mediterranean are hot places to hang out, in the middle of the day. As such, women would rise early in the morning, likely before dawn, and head out of the city to the well in order to draw water for their family’s daily use. The well might be considered the “water cooler” of the ancient world. As these women gathered, the well was likely as much a place for social interaction as the site of a day’s first chore.
Here we find Jesus, joined by one woman, drawing water at noon. This is a woman who is likely ostracized by the other women in her community. And the reason for this is made clear a little later in the passage: she’s a bad girl.
We have all kinds of names for women like her today, and chances are good there were all kinds of names for a woman like her 2000 years ago—married five times, and currently living with a man who is not her husband.
A Samaritan woman who’s living in sin. There is no doubt about it: this woman is utterly unclean, likely seen as beyond redemption, and considered worthy of judgment and scorn.
And Jesus asks her for a drink. This is an action on the part of Jesus that violates every cultural boundary he’s been raised from infancy to observe. And he does it because he doesn’t see a Samaritan woman of ill repute. He sees a woman who is valuable and worthy and whose identity is something wholly other than “unclean.”
And Jesus has something to offer her.
Jesus tells this woman that he can offer her living water.
Living water has a very specific meaning in ancient Jewish culture. It’s quite likely that this woman, a Samaritan, a group which shares a common heritage with the Jews and considers themselves to be Jewish, this woman is probably familiar with the meaning of living water.
Living water is defined by its source and is distinguished from drawn water. While drawn water comes from a well, drawn out of underground aquifers, living water comes from a moving, that is live, source. The source of this moving, living water is most often a river or spring. Beyond simply distinguishing their varying sources, however, drawn and living water also have very distinct purposes:
Drawn water is used for daily living.
Living water is absolutely essential for Jewish purity. Jews who were considered ritually unclean were required to immerse themselves in water. They only way such immersion could make one pure again was if such bathing was one with living water.
Jesus is offering this woman so much more than a beverage to quench her thirst on a hot day at noon. Jesus is promising to make this woman pure. What’s more, Jesus is declaring that he purity he’s offering is once and for all—the water he gives her will become a spring of water, a source of living water within her, gushing up to eternal life. Nothing and no one can take it away from her. Once she has it, she is eternally clean.
Jesus is offering this woman purity, redemption, an opportunity to re-enter the social sphere without stigma. Jesus is offering to utterly transform her life. And he can do it.
This woman, this unclean woman, the object of scorn and ridicule and judgment within her community, is so excited about what Jesus has to offer her that she leaves her water jug and runs back to the city, defying all cultural conventions about the place this kind of woman holds and she declares, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! Can this be the Messiah?”
What I find most fascinating about this woman’s call to her fellow townsfolk is that although she already knows that Jesus is the Messiah, he’s shared this fact with her after all and this news has made an impact, she doesn’t tell her fellow townsfolk that Jesus is the Messiah. Rather, she invites them to explore for themselves the possibility that Jesus might be. She asks a question, permitting those in her town to answer for themselves.
And her testimony is powerful. Her transparency about her experience of Jesus is so powerful it created in others a thirst for Jesus and the living water he offered as well. Because of her testimony, many Samaritans from that city believed in him.
And they wanted to know more! They returned to the well with this woman and they invited Jesus to stay with them. These Samaritans extended hospitality to someone traditionally considered to be an enemy. The hospitality they showed outstripped any hospitality he might have received from the Jews. In fact, in John’s gospel, far from showing Jesus any hospitality, the Jews show nothing but hostility and hatred to Jesus.
The Samaritans in town heard this woman’s testimony and they just had to know more. Because of her invitation, their thirst was satisfied. Because she spoke with transparency and boldness, the people in her town came to know Jesus as the Savior of the world.
Do was have that kind of a testimony in us? Are we overflowing with this spring of living water? Does our testimony of Jesus’s work in our lives invite others to meet Jesus and come to know him as a Savior? Does it create in others a thirst for the living water the has to offer?
And as Christians who have this spring of living water within us, are we willing to look past the social stigmas of the “unclean” people in our lives, loving them for who they are rather than judging them for what they’ve done?
Too often, I think we measure our success against the failures of others. We consider Jesus someone we alone can claim. We claim springs of living water for ourselves and draw drops of water for others.
This is certain true of me at times.
My hope for us this morning is that our springs would flow out to those in our lives, enticing them to deeper knowledge of Jesus, or inviting them to meet him for the first time. My hope is that we can be like the Samaritan woman—open, transparent, excited individuals who invite others to meet this man who knows everything about us and loves us anyway. And I hope being known and loved by Jesus allows us to better know and love others.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Amazing Circle of Life
We've been waiting for five days for Magdalene to give birth. There was the possibility that the dates got mixed up. I was on vacation when she was bred (unintentionally), and had to go by my brother's best guess. Last Saturday could have made nine weeks. Then again, tomorrow could have made nine weeks.
I got up this morning with plans for the day: a toast to the memory of Willy Wonka and work on my sermon, preparations for a day long road trip on Friday.
As soon as I heard the front door shut at 9:00 this morning, I pulled out the wine. Just as I was straightening up, Magdalene had an accident on the kitchen floor. This is extremely unusual for Magdalene. On occasion, if someone isn't home or if someone doesn't get to the door in time, she might have an accident, but this time, she didn't even try to get outside. Which was curious, because this morning, when we got up at 6:00, she didn't want to go outside either. Her stool was runny and knowing she hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary in the past couple of days, I thought, "Maybe this is the sign that today is the day."
I put Maggie outside while I cleaned up the mess. I was on my way to let her back in when she cried out, loudly. "It sounds like she's in pain," my mom said. This, I am guessing, was her first strong contraction. Maggie will sit at the door and whimper. She might scratch, just a little, but she doesn't bark when she wants in, and she certainly doesn't cry. I opened the door and she bolted in, running upstairs to our room.
I poured sparking wine this morning for my mother and myself so we could toast the memory of Willy Wonka: The Three Legged Wonder Dog. Then, I headed upstairs to check on Maggie.
She was sitting in my favorite chair, her water sac had presented. It was 9:26am. I tucked her in her kennel to keep her safe, and because this is where we'd pretty much decided she's have her puppies. She'd been sleeping in it off and on for weeks. She was comfortable, felt safe in it.
Well, Magdalene was having none of this. She was definitely NOT having her puppies in her kennel, thank you very much. She'd much rather have them in my favorite chair. So, I headed downstairs to grab an adult human potty pad to place over the seat cushion.
Well, this the point at which Maggie decided the chair be damned, she was going to give birth to her puppies where ever I happened to be in the house, so she came trotting downstairs behind me. She crawled into her bed in the living room kennel, broke her water sac and ate everything.
Her bed is soft and squishy and furry. It also holds onto wood shavings, no matter how many times it's run through the wash. I didn't think the bed was necessarily safe or sanitary enough for Maggie to give birth in, so I coaxed her out of the downstairs kennel, and took her upstairs to my room again.
I put the potty pad down on the chair. Maggie rooted around on it until it was crumpled up away from her, and she was resting comfortably on the cushion itself. So, I put her back in her birthing kennel. Then, I put the birthing kennel on the chair and pulled up a second chair directly in front of it, so she could see me. This seemed to satisfy her. For awhile.
At 10:02am, Maggie's first puppy presented. Just a black dot in a bubble of placenta. Then, it disappeared. Maggie paced, she turned, she whimpered, she rearranged everything in her kennel. She rested. Then, she'd start all over again. Finally, I took the top off of her kennel so I'd have a better view and more room if she needed any assistance.
Around 10:55am, Maggie jumped from her kennel into my lap. She was preparing to make the jump, so I made a bridge with my legs between the two chairs to assist. She curled up for a bit. Around 11:07am, the puppy reappeared, in my lap. Except it wasn't the whole puppy, and it was no longer in the sac. It was just the tail. Protruding from Magdalene's body.
I got nervous. Could puppies be delivered breech? Was this normal? Did she need immediate vet care? How would I get her there when both vehicles were gone?
I ran downstairs to call the vet, and as I hit the kitchen, I heard her scream. And I mean, she screamed. And my heart just broke for her. I've never heard such a noise in all my life. I raced to the phone, called the vet, and spoke to the very kind Dr. Butterfield who assured me that from all I'd told her, Maggie was doing fine. First litters can be scary and yes, painful, but rump first is totally fine. If Maggie was in active labor for over an hour without giving birth, then I should bring her in. As I was hanging up the phone, my mother (who had joined us with her sparkling wine when I told her Maggie was in labor) called down to let me know that the first puppy had been born at 11:15am.
It turns out that Maggie really had no idea what was happening to her. She was in so much pain, her immediate response was to turn toward whatever was hurting her and snap at it. So, my mom help her upright and basically let the puppy drop out. Once Maggie realized what it was,she immediately began to clean the sac off of the puppy and all was right with the world.
Maggie's second puppy presented almost immediately. Again, she screamed. Loudly. Several times. It was born at 11:20am. Again, Maggie, cleaned off the sac and got the puppy breathing. Both puppies began to root around, looking for a teat. We assisted, getting them to Maggie's belly, and belong, both puppies had latched on and were nursing happily.
Maggie rested. She seemed happy and relaxed.
Figuring I had a bit of time, I took a bath.
At 12:58pm, I walked into my room, and checked on Maggie and the puppies. Everybody seemed fine. I sat down to begin drying my hair. Maggie screamed. Half a puppy appeared. She screamed again and the rest of it came out, along with the afterbirth of the first puppy. Maggie began to eat the afterbirth, while her third puppy just lay there, still in the sac. I removed the first puppy from Maggie and brought her attention back to the third puppy, which she immediately began to clean up.
As soon as she had gotten the third puppy clean, I put the first puppy back in with her, and she began to eat the afterbirth. But something wasn't right. The new puppy wasn't moving. The first two puppies had, by this point, opened their mouths. They'd moved their legs. There had been mouthing and flailing limbs while they were still in the sac and Maggie cleaned them off.
This puppy hadn't moved at all since it was delivered. I got a nasal aspirator and mom helped me as we made sure the mouth and nasal passages were clear. Mom massaged the puppies heart. We even used the nasal aspirator to gently blow air into the puppies lungs. Nothing worked. The puppy was cold to the touch and after several minutes, we gave up.
Maggie continued to rest. The first two puppies nursed occasionally. Every once in awhile, Maggie would stand up and turn in circles, the second live and the dead puppy dangling from her. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so sad. I read Harry Potter.
At 2:25pm, Maggie passed and ate the after birth to her second puppy.
At 2:47pm, she passed the afterbirth to her third puppy. I removed the puppy and afterbirth from the kennel, and at 2:48pm, Maggie gave birth to her fourth puppy, without a sound! She cleaned it up. I made sure it was breathing.
Maggie kept looking at me like she didn't understand what I'd done. She kept looking at the towel in which I'd placed the third puppy. Thinking the nutrition in the afterbirth would be beneficial, I placed the puppy back in the kennel around 3:15pm. Maggie at the afterbirth and cleaned the puppy. I tried to remove it from the kennel again, but she gave me such a sad look, that I placed the puppy back in the kennel. She pulled up puppy to her chest, wrapped one leg around it and rested. My super fabulous younger brother went outside to dig a grave.
At 3:52pm, Maggie gave another cry. With that cry, her fifth and final puppy was born. She cleaned it off. It was alive, breathing. It latched onto the first teat it could find and suckled for at least 20 minutes.
When the afterbirth had passed and Maggie had eaten it, I decided it was time to bury the dead puppy. My brother and I took it outside to the backyard, where we've buried our pet rabbits in years past, and placed it in the hole. The hole was no more than 9x9x9 inches. Christopher placed the puppy in the grace, and it looked so tiny I started to cry a little. Until that moment, it just seemed like part of the process. Suddenly, it seemed excruciatingly sad.
We said a short prayer. It was a cold and drizzly afternoon. I filled in the hole. It was difficult, but necessary.
Then, we headed back inside. Maggie is resting comfortably, though she does look occasionally at me with a confused expression, as though she's wondering when I'll bring her other puppy back to her.
For now, the four are doing well. They're nursing. They're squeaking. They're curling up with Maggie.
At some point, they'll need names.
Thus far we have:
#1: Unnamed (Girl)
#2: Unnamed (Girl)
#3: To remain unnamed, as non-viable, (Girl)
#4: John the Beloved Disciple (Boy)
#5: Daisy May (Girl)
So, this evening, I raise a glass. To birth and death and that wonderful in between called life!
(Pictures to come as soon as I can get them uploaded)
I got up this morning with plans for the day: a toast to the memory of Willy Wonka and work on my sermon, preparations for a day long road trip on Friday.
As soon as I heard the front door shut at 9:00 this morning, I pulled out the wine. Just as I was straightening up, Magdalene had an accident on the kitchen floor. This is extremely unusual for Magdalene. On occasion, if someone isn't home or if someone doesn't get to the door in time, she might have an accident, but this time, she didn't even try to get outside. Which was curious, because this morning, when we got up at 6:00, she didn't want to go outside either. Her stool was runny and knowing she hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary in the past couple of days, I thought, "Maybe this is the sign that today is the day."
I put Maggie outside while I cleaned up the mess. I was on my way to let her back in when she cried out, loudly. "It sounds like she's in pain," my mom said. This, I am guessing, was her first strong contraction. Maggie will sit at the door and whimper. She might scratch, just a little, but she doesn't bark when she wants in, and she certainly doesn't cry. I opened the door and she bolted in, running upstairs to our room.
I poured sparking wine this morning for my mother and myself so we could toast the memory of Willy Wonka: The Three Legged Wonder Dog. Then, I headed upstairs to check on Maggie.
She was sitting in my favorite chair, her water sac had presented. It was 9:26am. I tucked her in her kennel to keep her safe, and because this is where we'd pretty much decided she's have her puppies. She'd been sleeping in it off and on for weeks. She was comfortable, felt safe in it.
Well, Magdalene was having none of this. She was definitely NOT having her puppies in her kennel, thank you very much. She'd much rather have them in my favorite chair. So, I headed downstairs to grab an adult human potty pad to place over the seat cushion.
Well, this the point at which Maggie decided the chair be damned, she was going to give birth to her puppies where ever I happened to be in the house, so she came trotting downstairs behind me. She crawled into her bed in the living room kennel, broke her water sac and ate everything.
Her bed is soft and squishy and furry. It also holds onto wood shavings, no matter how many times it's run through the wash. I didn't think the bed was necessarily safe or sanitary enough for Maggie to give birth in, so I coaxed her out of the downstairs kennel, and took her upstairs to my room again.
I put the potty pad down on the chair. Maggie rooted around on it until it was crumpled up away from her, and she was resting comfortably on the cushion itself. So, I put her back in her birthing kennel. Then, I put the birthing kennel on the chair and pulled up a second chair directly in front of it, so she could see me. This seemed to satisfy her. For awhile.
At 10:02am, Maggie's first puppy presented. Just a black dot in a bubble of placenta. Then, it disappeared. Maggie paced, she turned, she whimpered, she rearranged everything in her kennel. She rested. Then, she'd start all over again. Finally, I took the top off of her kennel so I'd have a better view and more room if she needed any assistance.
Around 10:55am, Maggie jumped from her kennel into my lap. She was preparing to make the jump, so I made a bridge with my legs between the two chairs to assist. She curled up for a bit. Around 11:07am, the puppy reappeared, in my lap. Except it wasn't the whole puppy, and it was no longer in the sac. It was just the tail. Protruding from Magdalene's body.
I got nervous. Could puppies be delivered breech? Was this normal? Did she need immediate vet care? How would I get her there when both vehicles were gone?
I ran downstairs to call the vet, and as I hit the kitchen, I heard her scream. And I mean, she screamed. And my heart just broke for her. I've never heard such a noise in all my life. I raced to the phone, called the vet, and spoke to the very kind Dr. Butterfield who assured me that from all I'd told her, Maggie was doing fine. First litters can be scary and yes, painful, but rump first is totally fine. If Maggie was in active labor for over an hour without giving birth, then I should bring her in. As I was hanging up the phone, my mother (who had joined us with her sparkling wine when I told her Maggie was in labor) called down to let me know that the first puppy had been born at 11:15am.
It turns out that Maggie really had no idea what was happening to her. She was in so much pain, her immediate response was to turn toward whatever was hurting her and snap at it. So, my mom help her upright and basically let the puppy drop out. Once Maggie realized what it was,she immediately began to clean the sac off of the puppy and all was right with the world.
Maggie's second puppy presented almost immediately. Again, she screamed. Loudly. Several times. It was born at 11:20am. Again, Maggie, cleaned off the sac and got the puppy breathing. Both puppies began to root around, looking for a teat. We assisted, getting them to Maggie's belly, and belong, both puppies had latched on and were nursing happily.
Maggie rested. She seemed happy and relaxed.
Figuring I had a bit of time, I took a bath.
At 12:58pm, I walked into my room, and checked on Maggie and the puppies. Everybody seemed fine. I sat down to begin drying my hair. Maggie screamed. Half a puppy appeared. She screamed again and the rest of it came out, along with the afterbirth of the first puppy. Maggie began to eat the afterbirth, while her third puppy just lay there, still in the sac. I removed the first puppy from Maggie and brought her attention back to the third puppy, which she immediately began to clean up.
As soon as she had gotten the third puppy clean, I put the first puppy back in with her, and she began to eat the afterbirth. But something wasn't right. The new puppy wasn't moving. The first two puppies had, by this point, opened their mouths. They'd moved their legs. There had been mouthing and flailing limbs while they were still in the sac and Maggie cleaned them off.
This puppy hadn't moved at all since it was delivered. I got a nasal aspirator and mom helped me as we made sure the mouth and nasal passages were clear. Mom massaged the puppies heart. We even used the nasal aspirator to gently blow air into the puppies lungs. Nothing worked. The puppy was cold to the touch and after several minutes, we gave up.
Maggie continued to rest. The first two puppies nursed occasionally. Every once in awhile, Maggie would stand up and turn in circles, the second live and the dead puppy dangling from her. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so sad. I read Harry Potter.
At 2:25pm, Maggie passed and ate the after birth to her second puppy.
At 2:47pm, she passed the afterbirth to her third puppy. I removed the puppy and afterbirth from the kennel, and at 2:48pm, Maggie gave birth to her fourth puppy, without a sound! She cleaned it up. I made sure it was breathing.
Maggie kept looking at me like she didn't understand what I'd done. She kept looking at the towel in which I'd placed the third puppy. Thinking the nutrition in the afterbirth would be beneficial, I placed the puppy back in the kennel around 3:15pm. Maggie at the afterbirth and cleaned the puppy. I tried to remove it from the kennel again, but she gave me such a sad look, that I placed the puppy back in the kennel. She pulled up puppy to her chest, wrapped one leg around it and rested. My super fabulous younger brother went outside to dig a grave.
At 3:52pm, Maggie gave another cry. With that cry, her fifth and final puppy was born. She cleaned it off. It was alive, breathing. It latched onto the first teat it could find and suckled for at least 20 minutes.
When the afterbirth had passed and Maggie had eaten it, I decided it was time to bury the dead puppy. My brother and I took it outside to the backyard, where we've buried our pet rabbits in years past, and placed it in the hole. The hole was no more than 9x9x9 inches. Christopher placed the puppy in the grace, and it looked so tiny I started to cry a little. Until that moment, it just seemed like part of the process. Suddenly, it seemed excruciatingly sad.
We said a short prayer. It was a cold and drizzly afternoon. I filled in the hole. It was difficult, but necessary.
Then, we headed back inside. Maggie is resting comfortably, though she does look occasionally at me with a confused expression, as though she's wondering when I'll bring her other puppy back to her.
For now, the four are doing well. They're nursing. They're squeaking. They're curling up with Maggie.
At some point, they'll need names.
Thus far we have:
#1: Unnamed (Girl)
#2: Unnamed (Girl)
#3: To remain unnamed, as non-viable, (Girl)
#4: John the Beloved Disciple (Boy)
#5: Daisy May (Girl)
So, this evening, I raise a glass. To birth and death and that wonderful in between called life!
(Pictures to come as soon as I can get them uploaded)
A Letter to Willy Wonka
It's been one year since you passed away. So much has changed. For starters, I finished my thesis and graduated. I moved from the wonderful world of culture that is New York City and returned to the Midwest.
I know that you would have liked to have seen Nana again, but honestly, that's about the only thing this God-forsaken region of the world has to offer.
I miss you every single day.
You were the greatest dog any person could ever have had the hope of knowing. I can't begin to imagine why God was so generous and gracious to me, that the creator of all the universe saw fit to place you in my life. But I am eternally grateful for the short time that we had together.
You taught me so much. I learned how to love myself better, because I was so determined to love you! You taught me how to be open and embrace others just as they are. I learned that sometimes, a smile is the most powerful tool a person possesses, because you brought smiles to SO MANY people's faces. I learned that while true love is unconditional and the power of love is limitless, knowing who you are and establishing the terms of healthy engagement in any relationship is absolutely essential.
I know it was largely my doing, because I'm the one who bought the groceries, but I never tired of your extraordinary palette and your willingness to try new foods. I'm pretty sure it was AZ who introduced you to blackberries, and I know you loved them.
You were an ambassador of friendship and joy and love. You brought so many truly wonderful people into my life whom I would likely not have known half as well if you hadn't been the one to demand some kind relationship. You were always so willing to make new friends--so long as their keys didn't jingle.
And you always made sure I took proper care of you, doing whatever was necessary to communicate your needs to me. In taking proper care of you, I was able to take better care of myself.
You made life lighter and sweeter and lovelier by far.
I have another dog, now. Her name is Magdalene. She could never replace you in my heart. She's worked hard to carve her own little Maggie shaped niche, though. She's lovely and sweet, and I'm sure you'd have loved her. She has been teaching me all kinds of things as well--about how we must accept others for precisely who they are, not comparing them in any fashion to those we've known before. We must take others as they come, and love them fully.
I still find myself, at times, asking her why she can't be more like you. I know this is entirely my failing, and in time, I'll be able to separate out who she is from who I wanted her to be. Because she isn't a replacement you, and was never intended to be. She is her own small package of love and light.
She'll be having puppies soon. I wish you could see them. I know, when they get old enough, you'd have taken them to the lot across the way and played if you were here. I know that you would have taught them how to be their best selves. Because that's what you did for everyone who knew you. You showed them how to be their best selves because you were always only your best self. You never kept part of yourself hidden away. You loved and you loved well.
I can't wait to see you in that grassy meadow some day.
Love,
MaryBeth
Sunday, March 20, 2011
It's the Little Graces
Sometimes, the scariest thing about standing behind a pulpit isn't about what you're going to say (though in all fairness, I was worried that describing to the congregation all the horrible ways in which venom could kill them might be too much), but rather about who you know in the audience.
I experienced this anxiety when I first stood behind the pulpit of my home church, because preaching, for me, is a very personal and intimate experience. Often times, I'm sharing a glimpse of my faith with these people. And at my home church, while I love these people, and generally trust that they love me, there was significant fear. I was afraid that certain people in the congregation would be judging me. I was afraid that because I had grown up in this church, they'd all be thinking about what I was like way back when.
And I was really afraid that that one family in the church, that perfect family who always had it together and whose kids were total superstars, the family who never had a hair out of place, whose children are perfectly well behaved, polite, eloquent, and just plain perfect, just like their polite, eloquent perfect parents would be judging me, harshly, because I'm not always well behaved. I'm not always polite. I'm generally eloquent, but I'm not pretty. I'm not musically talented. And they knew me way back when. Would they ever see me as anything other than who I was? Would they ever actually see who I am?
I still find that family pretty intimidating. Not as much as I once did. I'm also fairly certain that they are not judging me. And I know that if they are, that is their problem, not mine. I have been called to ministry. I will answer that call and walk faithfully, preaching the sermon that I believe needs to be preached when and where I am asked to preach.
This morning, however, was a bit different. I was the pulpit supply at the church across the street. And I was terrified. I was scared to tears this morning about preaching at this church. I was terrified, because of that family in the pews.
That family is not the perfect family. Because their children are grown, and because I did not, largely, grow up in this church, I can't tell you that they were polite, well behaved, perfectly coiffed, eloquent, musically inclined, upstanding members of the church.
Actually, I can assure that this family is NOT perfect. Oh, no, Adolf and Eva are far from perfect. I know this because I lived with them. For about two months. When I was ten years old. They were my foster parents.
I know that calling them Adolf and Eva might seem extreme to some. But, really, this is nothing compared to the first long-term foster family with whom my siblings and I were placed. I like to refer to them as Joseph and Kato. Because, let's face it, that first family was evil personified. The second was leagues behind in their reign of terror.
And I knew they would be there, because Eva was set to be an usher. So, while it was terrifying to consider that I would be preaching in their church this morning, and they'd be there, I told myself that it could have been worse. I could have asked to preach at Joe and Kato's church. Still, I asked my younger brother to come, so I knew there was a friendly face in the crowd.
He did. There was. I made it through.
And all that fear was for nothing. Eva had to swap Sunday's. He was out of town, attending a conference. And Adolf? Well, she was in the nursery, and while the service is piped in on the sound system, I didn't actually have to see her while I preached.
It's the little graces in life.
I experienced this anxiety when I first stood behind the pulpit of my home church, because preaching, for me, is a very personal and intimate experience. Often times, I'm sharing a glimpse of my faith with these people. And at my home church, while I love these people, and generally trust that they love me, there was significant fear. I was afraid that certain people in the congregation would be judging me. I was afraid that because I had grown up in this church, they'd all be thinking about what I was like way back when.
And I was really afraid that that one family in the church, that perfect family who always had it together and whose kids were total superstars, the family who never had a hair out of place, whose children are perfectly well behaved, polite, eloquent, and just plain perfect, just like their polite, eloquent perfect parents would be judging me, harshly, because I'm not always well behaved. I'm not always polite. I'm generally eloquent, but I'm not pretty. I'm not musically talented. And they knew me way back when. Would they ever see me as anything other than who I was? Would they ever actually see who I am?
I still find that family pretty intimidating. Not as much as I once did. I'm also fairly certain that they are not judging me. And I know that if they are, that is their problem, not mine. I have been called to ministry. I will answer that call and walk faithfully, preaching the sermon that I believe needs to be preached when and where I am asked to preach.
This morning, however, was a bit different. I was the pulpit supply at the church across the street. And I was terrified. I was scared to tears this morning about preaching at this church. I was terrified, because of that family in the pews.
That family is not the perfect family. Because their children are grown, and because I did not, largely, grow up in this church, I can't tell you that they were polite, well behaved, perfectly coiffed, eloquent, musically inclined, upstanding members of the church.
Actually, I can assure that this family is NOT perfect. Oh, no, Adolf and Eva are far from perfect. I know this because I lived with them. For about two months. When I was ten years old. They were my foster parents.
I know that calling them Adolf and Eva might seem extreme to some. But, really, this is nothing compared to the first long-term foster family with whom my siblings and I were placed. I like to refer to them as Joseph and Kato. Because, let's face it, that first family was evil personified. The second was leagues behind in their reign of terror.
And I knew they would be there, because Eva was set to be an usher. So, while it was terrifying to consider that I would be preaching in their church this morning, and they'd be there, I told myself that it could have been worse. I could have asked to preach at Joe and Kato's church. Still, I asked my younger brother to come, so I knew there was a friendly face in the crowd.
He did. There was. I made it through.
And all that fear was for nothing. Eva had to swap Sunday's. He was out of town, attending a conference. And Adolf? Well, she was in the nursery, and while the service is piped in on the sound system, I didn't actually have to see her while I preached.
It's the little graces in life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)