The Week of November 6, 2011

If you wish to be a writer, write.  Epictetus

The highlight of this week was an invitation to speak at Merrimac College by Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein who was conducting a service remembering Kristallnacht.  The following is what I said... 

My first experience came in Germany when I was 13 years old.  My mother and I sailed into Bremerhaven in January of 1947 to join my father, an American Army Officer who was stationed in Ludwigsburg.

My initial impression was that everything was as it must have been at the end of the war—only the bodies had been removed.  The bombed out buildings and the piles of rubble were not yet cleared.

It was also my initial impression of Dachau when I saw the camp.  Only the bodies had been removed.  The barracks and the ovens stood in stark contrast to the quaint villages of the lush Bavarian countryside.  The walls of the barracks were covered with scribbling.  I was 13 and I lacked the ability to fully comprehend the horror of the Holocaust.

Dachau was the first Nazi concentration camp in Germany, established on 10 March 1933,  It was built on the outskirts of the town of Dachau, approximately 12 miles north of Munich.  It was the model and training camp for all other SS-organized camps.  In the course of Dachau’s history, at least 160,000 prisoners passed through the main camp and 90,000 through the branches.  The record are incomplete but they indicate that at least 32,000 inmates died there, some from malnutrition, disease, and physical oppression.  Numberless more were transported to the extermination camps in Poland.

Dachau was the first and most important camp at which German doctors and scientists set up laboratories to perform medical experiments on involuntary inmates.  Because of these experiments throughout the duration of the war, Dachau was one of the most notorious camps.  After the war, the doctors and scientists working at Dachau were tried at Nurenberg in the "Doctor's Trial" and seven received death sentences.

Many years later, I married an Army officer and went to Germany again.  He and I went to Dachau and it had been transformed into a Memorial.  Although it was a very impressive memorial I thought that it might have been more effective had it been left as it was when I first saw it.  My initial experience still haunts me and whenever I think of Dachau, it is the first impression that I recall.

I think my father wanted to see Dachau because his Division, the 45^th National Guard Division out of Oklahoma, participated in the liberation of Dachau.  My father was not with his unit at that time because he had been wounded by shrapnel exploding in his helmet, and had been returned to the States.

The third, and last time, that I visited Dachau I was with my daughter who had converted to Judaism and married a Jewish man, and my two two beautiful granddaughters, Adina and Ariela, who were 10 and 8 years old.  We didn't speak much during the tour.  As I watched my granddaughters I thought of all the innocent children who had been killed.  It still is a memory that haunts me.

I thank Merrimack College’s Certificate of Study in Jewish Christian Relations, Reverend Gordon White, my priest at the time, and my good friend, Rabbi Margaret Klein, for teaching me and instilling in me a deep love of my Jewish roots.

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As I lit a Remembrance candle, Rabbi Margaret, called me a "Righteous Gentile," a very great honor.  She also made very kind remarks on her FaceBook site and Rabbi Neil Kominsky, with whom I had participated in an interfaith discussion group for several years before his retirement replied, "Somewhere between a Righteous Gentile and an Honorary Jew!" 

Too Old? (Published four years ago)

Sarah is not my name. It is the name I have chosen to use on my blog. I have chosen it for a reason.

9 They said to him, "Where is your wife Sarah?" And he said, "There, in the tent." 10 Then one said, "I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son." And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. 11 Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. 12 So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, "After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?" 13 The Lord said to Abraham, "Why did Sarah laugh, and say, "Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?' 14 Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son." Genesis 18:9-14

Last summer I was thrilled to be accepted into the process of discernment for Ordination to Deacon in the Episcopal Church. The first question I asked of the committee was “Am I too old?” and they assured me I was not. I completed the process and received a beautiful letter of recommendation to go forward in the ordination process. Six weeks later I was called and informed that the Church had changed canon law at National Convention (in 2006) making 72 the mandatory age of retirement for deacons. I was disqualified before I got out of the starting gate! I was very disappointed and confused about the “call” that I felt. I was “too old” after all.

During the discernment process I had chosen to meditate on the above scripture concerning Abraham’s wife, Sarah, who was blessed by God and gave birth to a child when she was “too old” to have a child. There are many ways of bringing forth new life and that was my prayer. To bring forth new life in old age.

It is still my prayer. And this blog is somehow part of gestation. I am awaiting the birth of new life. What form that new life will take I haven’t a clue. Meanwhile I am pursuing the path that I had hoped to pursue as a deacon. I am involving myself in additional interfaith activities. And I am exploring the experience of growing older and what it means to be “too old.”

Old age comes from God, old age leads on to God, old age will not touch me only so far as He wills.
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Ode to My Hands (first published 4 years ago)

Hands are the heart's landscape.  Pope John Paul II

As a young woman my hands were small, slender and smooth.
Now my hands are looking old, wrinkled with visible veins.

I fell several years ago, my hands reaching out to break the fall, and broke my wrist so severely that my hand became swollen and I could not use it for many weeks. After the pins and then the cast were removed, I spent several months in therapy with a hand specialist. With her expertise and encouragement and exercise I eventually recovered the full use of my hand much to the surprise of my orthopedic surgeon and my therapist. They did not expect me to regain full use.

Since that time I have been mindful of my hands. They took care of my children when my children were babies and held their hands, as they grew older. They have held the hands of my grandchildren and now, my great-granddaughter. They have washed many dishes (I actually married before the advent of the dishwasher), folded many clothes and fixed broken toys. They have administered first aid to my children and held the hands of my family and friends when they needed comforting.

My hands have been blessed with creativity. They have embroidered, knitted, done needlepoint, smocked and quilted. My hands have drawn and painted, cut and pasted many craft projects, held a camera and taken photographs. My hands have enjoyed the sensual feel of fabrics and have sewn clothes for me and for my children. They sewed and beaded a quilted chuppah for my daughter's wedding. They have made many gifts for the people I love.

My hands have provided me the pleasure of playing the piano. My hands have kneaded dough, baked cookies and cooked for my family and friends and guests. They have arranged flowers and pulled weeds and planted bulbs.

My hands tickled the backs of my husband and my children. My hands held their heads when they were sick and throwing up. My hands have petted many dogs that I have loved.

My hands have held the chalice, offering “the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation” during communion. I have laid my hands on others to pray for their healing.

My hands touched my father as he lay dying and touched my mother as she lay dying.

My hands have worn my engagement ring and my wedding band, the diamond ring my parents gave me when I finally graduated from college at the age of 40, and all the beautiful rings that my father made for me.

My hands are no longer smooth but they have served me well and deserve respect and appreciation. They have been the instruments of my soul. I pray that I will never take them for granted as I used to do.
May the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us;
Prosper the work of our hands; prosper our handiwork. Psalm 90:17

Abounding in Love

Part of the legacy that my father left me is an appreciation for language and a love of words.  He taught me early on to "look it up" in the dictionary!  The word "abound" came to my attention recently and has continued to remain in my consciousness.  "Abounding in love."  I looked it up in the dictionary.  Abound is to be plentiful in, be rich in;  teem with; be abundant in; to be great in amount.

Abound.  Without bounds; unlimited.  God abounds in love.  God's love is without limits.  God's love cannot be measured.  It is extravagant.  And we see God's abounding love in God's creation.  God did not create a single tree.  God created many trees.  God did not create one kind of vegetation.  God created many.  God did not create one species.  God created many.  And when God fashioned humankind, God made male and female.  And inherent in God's system of humans reproducing themselves, there is the possibility of infinite characteristics and personalities.

Why then would God desire us to become clones of each other?  Why, when it comes to ways of glorifying and recognizing God, would God suddenly become penurius and withholding?  All of nature is an extravaganza of God's abundant love and generosity.  God has created abundant ways of worshipping God.  Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, and others.

God has asked of us only that we abound in love for God and for each other.  It is our failure to abound in love that has resulted in the travesty and suffering of this world.  God gave us a very great gift--the gift of freedom--the freedom to choose.  The freedom to love God--or not.  The freedom to love one another--or not.  And we so frequently abuse that freedom and fail to honor the gift and the Giver.  We are created in the image of God.  We have been given the power to create through the choices that we make.  In my Bible Study Group, I was introduced to the concept of the "inevitability of the word," meaning that once a word has been spoken, the  consequences are inevitable.  God "said"--and it was so.  We say--and it is so.  We need to exercise responsibility for this great power with which God has blessed us.  To exercise it cautiously.  And to excercise it in expressing abundant love to God and to all that God has made.

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.  David Hare

The spiritual life isn't a one-time event-- it's a life pattern, built layer by layer. It takes a while to build it. And it is never finished. Barbara Cawthorn Crafton.

The idea of a human life and a spiritual life existing simultaneously hasn't been an easy one to grasp. Most of my life has been focused on humanity. What shall I eat? Where will I live? What should I wear? And what will I be (when I grow up)? This world in which we live demands a great deal of time and attention. And having survived for nearly 77 years I am feeling that in a few years I will want to stop the world and get off!

I recognize that at some point I became aware of my own spiritual life as a separate entity. In the beginning, I related it to my church-going activities. Around forty to fifty years of age, I began to avidly read books of a spiritual or religious nature and day dreamed about going to a seminary. I also dreamed dreams at night that I learned were numinous dreams. My awareness during this period seemed to speed up. I nurtured myself with prayer and meditation and kept lengthy journals. When I retired from my career as a counselor I enjoyed being freed from the demands of working but found that I missed having something meaningful to do. I had good intentions of using my time to do all the projects that I hadn't had time to do and indulging my love of reading but my self-motivation was sabotaged by my tendency to procrastinate!  I didn't have a time table to keep me on track. 

After two years of retirement the phone rang and it was a friend of mine who had been ordained as a priest in the Episcopal church.  Her secretary had just quit and she asked me to take the job for three months while she looked for someone to take the job permanently.  I turned out to be the permanent replacement!  Eight years later I was still there and finally retired at age 75.  During that time, encouraged by my friend and priest, I joined a group preparing for ordination to the Diaconate.  I was chosen as a candidate for ordination and was thrilled.  However the National Convention was being held at the same time and for the first time limited Deacon's to a mandatory retirement age of 72.  I was 72.  I had a beautiful letter recommendng me and sometimes read it to remind me that I am of value, employed or not, age 77 and counting!

So now I am trying to live a meaningful human life and a meaningful spiritual life.  I have good moments and lots of laughter but there are times when I feel I have missed the boat and will regret it. 

Versions of Self

"Hard to learn that you are not, anymore, exactly who you have been, that you are not even who you think you are." Barbara Crafton

I tend to think of myself as being--well, myself, just an older version of myself.  Not able to do all the things that I once did.  Perhaps I have lived several versions of myself.  It seems easy to acknowledge that I am no longer a child, nor a teen, nor a married mother of four children.  My children are now 53, 51, 49, and 47!  I have 16 grandchildren and 5 great-grandchildren! And I was divorced from my husband and have lived 32 years as a single woman.  It seems likely that I have lived through many versions of myself.

I'm just not sure what version of myself I will be in the future.  I am  uncomfortably close to being an octogenarian!  When I review my life I am happy about most of it but sad about other times.  In retrospect I believe that I missed opportunities that would have led to bigger and better things.  I invested too much of myself in a tumultuous relationship after my divorce that didn't have a prayer of resulting in what I really wanted.  I do have regrets, but they cannot be undone.  They can only be acknowledged and learned from and not repeated.  Thank God, I believe that God loves all his children and that true repentance results in forgiveness.   

So now, all I have to do is determine who I will be in the present version of myself.  What will be my priorities as I grow older?  Surely there is part of who I was that is worth keeping!  What shall I let go or revise?  How much choice do I have?  Or is it something that just happens?

Friendship!

It is great to have friends when one is young, but indeed it is still more so when you are getting old. When we are young, friends are, like everything else, a matter of course. In the old days we know what it means to have them.  Evard Grieg

Betty, a good friend, and I drove down to Hingham, MA yesterday to visit another good friend, Jean, who is living at Lindon Ponds. After a trip to the bank, which Jean needed to take, we went to her apartment. We had time before lunch to catch up with all the news of our lives and the news of our children.  Then we went to the dining room and enjoyed lunch.  Jean served us dessert in her apartment and we discussed current news of the world, our mothers and the NYTimes Mother's Day contest describing your mother in six words, the experience of growing older, books we were reading, changes taking place in the church, and our participation in LIRA (Learning in Retirement Association).  We shared our mutual desire to learn as much as we could about the world in which we live and our deepening curiosity as we grow older.  It was a very pleasant day and we made plans to visit again.


I met Betty 30 years ago when I went to St. John's Episcopal Church.  She was the organist and choir director then and she invited me to join the choir and I did.  Several years later we met Jean when she and her husband joined the church.  Paul had been a Deacon and they had lived in India for several years.  After Paul died, Jean continued to invite friends to dinner and we watched a movie afterwards, usually a foreign film with subtitles.  Then on a trip to Portugal with one of her sons and his family, Jean fell and broke her leg.  It required a long convalescence and a new life-style, so she moved to Lindon Ponds.

Our conversation concluded with our thoughts on the value of friendships.  And we agreed that long-standing friendships were wonderful but that we had to make new friends as well since, sadly, we had reached an age when friends had begun to move away or to die.  A friend with whom we have shared so many experiences is warm and comforting but we need also to have younger friends to challenge us and with whom we can share new experiences.  While we live, we need to live fully and to seek new ways of doing things and not to give into doing things just because we have always done it that way!

A true friend is the gift of God, and he only who made hearts can untie them.  Robert South