The Voices of St. Johns Youngstown

I recently had the opportunity to photograph this local abandoned factory. When I first shot this photo the colors and textures pulled me in. Today when I posted it on instagram I was drawn to the peeling paint.

Years ago, actually more years than I’d like to admit, I worked in a steel mill. I started as everyone else did in the dreaded labor gang. It was gruelingly hard work. When we had down time, our foremen would always make us paint and paint we did. We painted everything, the floor, the walls, the tools, the machinery, people’s shoes, you get the idea. We never prepared the surface just painted over the old paint, dirt, oil, grease, just painted over all of it. As I reflected on this photo I was drawn back into painting. All those layers of paint now peeling away revealing what lies beneath.

I’ve spent a lot of time discerning my call over the past two years. Peeling the layers of paint away, trying to reveal what God had created me to be.  Layer after layer, coat after coat, I peeled and peeled and peeled. What I discovered, is that I covered a lot of pain with a fresh coat of paint. God knew what was under those layers but I had lost touch with that part of myself. What I learned on my journey of self discovery is that God accepts and loves me as I am.

My prayer for you today…. Stop painting! Be you! You are loved as you are  a fresh coat of paint is not required!

It has been a while since I have written. Personal family crises have overwhelmed my energy so that I can only seem to get done exactly what needs to be done. One of my recent tasks has been helping to clean out my parent’s condo. I realize in retrospect that my mother had an entire room dedicated to caring for people. She had drawers filled with small gifts, wrapping paper and ribbons, and cards. Boxes and boxes of cards. For every occasion. I took many of them and may never have to buy a Halloween card again.

My mother is like that. She is kind. She remembers. There was a whole stack of cards just saying that someone matters, that she cares. I took those too, determined to distribute them, sometimes randomly and sometimes intentionally. I realized that I have a lot of people I love and think about, and I should tell them so.

Since my Dad’s death a few weeks ago I have been deeply moved by people who have reached out to me. Good friends have called, church members have been so generous. But what has struck me was how many people sent cards. I have loved each one. They have made me feel cared about and connected, like someone understood on some level what grief is about. People I never thought would reach out to me have made my day. Thank you if you are one of those people.

I also collected a small stack of sympathy cards from my mother’s collection. I suspect it has dwindled as she has had more reason to use them with age. I am quite determined to send them all and buy more. I have learned all over again what a difference a small kindness can make. I highly recommend it.

So what did we learn during this Lenten season? We learned that we are not perfect, and that we hurt people, and that we can be irritating, and that we care. We learned that other people don’t always understand us, and that we need to try harder. We learned that we sin, and that sinning is a hard habit to break. And we recognize that the world sins, and we often benefit from that.

Lent is always a time when we see things in ourselves that are hard, that are challenging, that give us wisdom. This is a great opportunity, and the point is to keep learning. The worst choice would be to work so hard to come to this and then walk away because the period for personal introspection is over, and go back to pretending not to know.

We can rejoice to know these things about ourselves, and work to form new, healthy and life-giving habits that overcome our challenges at least a little. We can celebrate the glimpse of what we might become, what we have always hoped to become, and adjust our journey.

We can realize that daily study and prayer are absolutely possible, that not complaining makes us happier, that we don’t need all the stuff we buy and that plastic is a problem we are going to have to keep working on. All good.

Lent is not the only time we try to be better, just a concentrated and communal time. For myself, I pray that I can keep pushing back against my sins and finding a little more good in me every day. I pray that for you as well!

I am missing my friend Liz.

That last week, visiting in the nursing home, I told the nurses that they just had no
idea how great she was. Since then I’ve been going over in my mind just what
made me say that.

Liz was true to her beliefs. If she thought a group was doing worthwhile work she
financially supported them and many times if possible volunteered for them – and
there were many such groups. She was an avid bird watcher so participated in the
bird counts sponsored by Cornell University. She was a dog lover. Tom and Liz’s
dogs came to them through various routes. I think by the time they got Apache he
was so traumatized that he didn’t get off of their couch for the first 2 weeks. And
Corky was a dog that needed a home so Liz and Tom took him in. What pleasure
they got from the dogs, walking them in Poland Woods and in the process
forming a large circle of dog loving friends.

Her mind was so sharp. Honoring the year that St. John’s celebrated the
sesquicentennial she researched and wrote the abbreviated history of St. John’s
by decade, for The Good News. She could recall a hymn just by a sentence and she
practically knew the hymn number also. The same was true for Bible passages.
She made me think the educational system in England must really be something!!

Then with me – her sense of recall was so much better than mine, – about what I
was thinking!!! –Liz, who is my favorite author? Gail Godwin came the reply. Yes,
that’s it!! Liz, what was that book we read with the…? The answer was always
there. Even now – trying to recall the first book we read in book club?? I think
book club started around the year 1997 – 98 with a book that was immensely
popular but did not quite line up with what we thought. Liz of course would know
the title and year immediately. [Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch
– I remembered enough to google it…]. We both loved mysteries – from the dark
Scandinavian twisted characters and murders to the light hearted, funny, M.C.
Beaton’s characters, Agatha Raisin and Hamish MacBeth. I feel slightly guilty
mentioning my reading and hers in the same paragraph. She was much deeper
into theological reading for EfM and more spiritual reading. I think she always had
about three books going.

Liz was just so much a part of my life. She came in every week to sign checks even
on the “dark, dank, dreary” Youngstown days- evidently England’s rain isn’t quite
like ours!! – and we would talk about what was going on. We got through a rocky,
divisive time in the church when the main altar was placed in the center of the
cross of the church and also through several clergy changes!! We walked for many
years for the CROP Walk. We worked on the Continuum of Care for Mahoning
County – part of obtaining the county’s HUD grant. She got me started working
with the Needle’s Eye. Then we began walking in and supporting the Panerathon
as Liz’s battle with cancer began.

Books being a big part of lives, Liz gave me a book recommendation less than a
week before she died: Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End
by Atul Gawande. She spelled out the author’s name for me. I went to the library
that afternoon, got it, and immediately read it. What a friend – giving me a tool to
help understand and to be better prepared for what was happening. This is why
she was so great.

O God of grace and glory, we remember before you this day our sister Liz. We
thank you for giving her to us, her family and friends, to know and to love as a
companion on this earthly pilgrimage. Console us who mourn. … BCP 493

When I helped to run a homeless shelter in Chicago, we housed about 20 people, and also had the house open in the evenings when people needed a place to hang out before the big shelters opened later. The folks who gathered in the basement were the ones who were either really crazy or afraid of people. One of those women, who would hide in the dark parts of the basement, was Phyllis.

Phyllis was really wacky. Talked to herself, yelled at people, essentially did whatever she could to keep people away. And that was what homeless women did, they acted super crazy and dangerous as a way to protect themselves from assault. One night another worker asked if Phyllis could take the opening that came available that morning to live in our house.

I said no way. She was too over the top. She had to be able to live with other people, share a bathroom, get along. I seriously doubted that was possible. But the other worker, Roger, was much more compassionate, and wore me down. Phyllis became my housemate.

And an amazing thing happened. Once Phyllis felt safe and cared for, she was not crazy at all. In fact, she became my friend. She had been abandoned by her husband, left with all their debt, couldn’t make the payments, had no family, ended up on the street.  She never talked about what happened to her on the street, but you didn’t have to wonder too hard because it happens to all women who live on the street.

She took a few months to get her balance again, and eventually she took a job as an administrator of another shelter. She was kind and helpful and so loving to the people she served. All it took was to be treated like a person, treated with dignity, and Phyllis was herself again. I am not saying that cures all mental illness. But many of the people we served at that shelter had mental illness issues, and none of them were ever violent or dangerous.

As a nation, we have to offer help to people struggling with mental illness issues. They need medication, treatment, a place to stay and jobs to do. Just like we all do. But in my experience, this will not solve the shootings in schools.  It is just another opportunity to do the right thing by treating people with respect and care. So I am not against addressing the issues and concerns of mental illness. But I am also for getting rid of the guns.

See

here are Robins

orange breasted and brave

flying at each other in a rage

but See

they are here

See

here are Robins

orange breasted and brave

a trifle thinner than last year

but See

they are here

karen

I have been thinking about how hard it is to be a teacher. We have several teachers at church, and I have been in conversation with them for years trying to offer concrete support. And lately we have been talking about safety. None of them want to carry guns. Some of them don’t mind if other teachers who are qualified carry guns. Some are worried about the change in atmosphere guns would cause, the impact on learning and the free sharing of ideas.

I have also listened to several radio programs which have presented both the fears of teachers with a plea to do something to keep everyone safe, and the outrage about the possibility of expecting them to be armed. And my heart is broken.

It leads me to think about the Gospel last week. Jesus is telling his disciples how he will have to suffer and die and then rise again. And his disciples do not want to hear that. It is not the way they think about a Messiah, not the way they imagine being free. And Jesus says, you are thinking in the ways of the world, and I am telling you how God thinks about things.

Our solution to the problem of violence is caught in the same dichotomy. As a nation, we are thinking about ways to be powerful, to be in control, to fight guns with guns. What we need is to think about God’s way, which is building relationships, loving irrationally, and erring on the side of compassion and care. And we absolutely should not ask anyone to make a sacrifice we are not willing or able to make ourselves.  There is a better way, and that is to make sure everyone has what they need, especially good mental health care, safe homes and adequate education funding for every school.

Hopefully our young people will inspire positive change. But in the meantime, I was directed to a website that helps teachers get what they need for their classroom.  Maybe you have seen the Facebook posts about teachers asking to be armed with markers, books, basic supplies. There is a website, Donor’s Choice, where public school teachers and students ask for help with what they need. I recommend we start there. It seems like the least we can do.

When I was a kid, my dad used to tell us on occasion that he had a gun, that he would use it if anyone tried to hurt us, and that we were not to worry about our safety. Of course, as a child, I completely trusted my dad, and I didn’t worry about our safety. He seemed to have it under control.

But I was fascinated by the prospect of a gun in the house. As the oldest, one of my jobs was laundry. I would fold and eventually do all the ironing. I liked it because I could listen to music, and be by myself. But part of the job was also to put the laundry away, and I was always on the lookout for that gun.

In my mind I pictured a small hand gun, a revolver, stuck in the underwear drawer. Why, I couldn’t tell you. But that was the vision I had. And I looked every time, I moved things around—not too much because I never wanted to be caught. I never thought of looking under the mattress or in a shoe box in the closet, so my efforts never expanded past the initial vision.

As adults I have talked to my brother and sister about the gun, and they all admitted to looking for it as well. Maybe it doesn’t exist, but I think it does. And my biggest fear after the death of my parents is having to find and deal with that gun. But thank God I am doing that as an adult. Because even though we were nice kids from a nice family, would I have pulled the trigger if I found it? Would any of us in rage or in play been able to resist that power? I simply don’t know, and am so grateful I never had to find out.

In my opinion, guns are made for one purpose only, and that is to kill. They are seductive, or the power they offer is. They serve no holy purpose. And if our lives are about holiness and developing a deeper relationship with God, if our purpose is to love our neighbor as ourselves, then there is no need for weapons. I will put on the armor of Christ.

If someone tried to kill one of my children or grandchildren, of course I would do anything to save them. So please don’t ask me ridiculous questions. I also know that there are many ways to prevent harm, and I want to engage in all of those first. I have personal experience with this, and I can tell you that nonviolence is always more powerful.

I believe our greatest danger is relying in weapons over relationship. And the only way to change the trajectory of killing we are on is to love one another. How that will play out for you, I don’t know. But I am absolutely sure it is the only way. Guns are an evil distraction to holy work. Let’s not be distracted.

illustrious

as grass

in silken waves

the lilies of the field

who measure gain

in golden hours

and in rain

karen