by Liz | Dec 20, 2008 | main
This morning my husband came out with an interesting take on the Angel Gabriel. Yesterday, the Gospel reading told the story of Zechariah being struck silent when he did questioned the idea that his wife Elizabeth would finally conceive and bear a child. Today, the Gospel relates the story of Gabriel bringing the message to Mary – who also, it seems aked “How could this be?” JP has concluded that Gabriel is sexist in a very subtle way: he expected less of Mary – (read “Oh, sweetheart, I know this is confusing — let me explain it to you [because I know you aren’t capable of understanding this].”
My husband is a teacher – a high school science teacher. He sees this subtle sort of discrimination in Education: the discrimination of diminished expectation: You’re not so capable, so I’ll make it easier for you. It’s not only how girls are sometimes descriminated against in school, it’s also how blacks were very subtly (or not so subtly) discriminated against — it’s a gently cloaked way of saying “You’re not good enough. I don’t expect that much of you.”
I’m not so sure I come away with that conclusion about these 2 stories. But, I also know that Scripture has a way of telling many stories in a single story. It illustrates to me just how a single story is there to reach us wherever we are. He is a successful, demanding science teacher who’s students often complain at the time and come back later to say “Thank you! I was so well prepared for the next step.”
In my reading of the 2 stories, I can see his point. But what might be there, that my spouse doesn’t pick up on is this: both responded with questions, but what was the attitude with which the question was asked? Was Zechariah curious? or did he close his heart and just refuse to even consider the possibility? Did he require the forceful hand to keep him humble and out of the way until the work was done? Was he arrogant? Would he have even listened to a further explanation? Was Mary more open and just plain curious? She was obviously troubled by the whole plan. From the outcome, it can be concluded that while she might have been a bit skeptical, she remained open to listening, open to possibility.
I suspect I’m not describing all of this with any great facility.
The third idea that comes from this is that JP giving me his insight is not only a gift of his insight, but a glimpse of what lies beneath in him. How he sees the stories lets me see where he is (something that is very difficult for him to do directly – maybe impossible). His response speaks even more about where he is than it does about the stories themselves.
And maybe that is the gift of understanding that I was meant to have.
by Liz | Nov 11, 2008 | main
A framed version of this prayer hangs in my kitchen as a daily reminder:
Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself, that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessing cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint – some of them are so hard to live with – but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.
AMEN
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been recovering from some surgery, and so I have to remember to ask the Lord to seal my lips on my aches and pains. Somehow, I seem to slip past the seal all too often.
by Liz | Nov 2, 2008 | main
“Offer it up” is one of those concepts that constantly escapes me. So it didn’t surprise me to find it as the “question of the week” on the back of the Sunday bulletin. I know I’m not alone in wrestling with this idea.
I read the answer, which included a quote from Pope Benedict XVI — something about making things, events, etc meaningful. OK. That’s fine.
But what finally gave me something to reflect on and possibly practice was the second part of the answer. The part where the author got past offering a situation, or a time of suffering to Jesus and turned that idea inside out a bit. When I’m dealing with daily trials — annoyances, frustrating times that seems so useless, or even pain, I need to let Jesus into the situation with me. “Offer it up” as a space for being with Jesus. Let him walk with me through it and give it a meaning. I have trouble with offering my annoyances or suffering for the good of others – that equation makes no sense. But, I can understand accepting my frustrations and suffering and allowing them to become meaningful times for connecting with God. I can sit with the situation and offer it to God to make whatever good of it that can be made. That is the offering I can make and make sense of.
Now, if only I can remember this the next time I’m sitting in traffic fuming over lost time and lost gasoline, or when I’m in the throws of a raging headache. That will be the test of whether I can learn to “offer it up.”
by Liz | Oct 15, 2008 | main
Yesterday a colleague and I were walking back from a meeting when I stepped on a very hard, round acorn on the sidewalk. Much like stepping on a marble… I felt my ankle twist, I fought for my balance, and then hit the sidewalk pretty hard. The result was a skinned knee and a scraped elbow. Oh, and not a little embarrassment. After checking that there was nothing truly wrong, I got back to my feet. My friend picked up my tea from the sidewalk, and then, once he knew I was OK, he chuckled. I had slammed to the sidewalk without spilling my drink or losing my cigarette.
I have to think – what is wrong with this picture? I’m scraped up and my ankle is a bit sore, but my drink and my smoke are in fine shape. Somehow, I think I’m too attached to caffeine and nicoteine. After all, in the flash of the moment of falling, that’s what I protected.
It’s happened before. I’ve been shown what I care most about. When I was accompanied in to my house that had burned the night before, I recall that the first thing that popped out was — “My guitar is in there!” Granted, I knew that my family was unharmed, so that wasn’t an issue. But, of all the items that had been in the house, the first thing that raced to the front of my “concern line” was my guitar. And the same seems to have been true when I took a tumble in the choir loft at church which resulted in a swollen knee, but a completely unscathed guitar.
I take some comfort in the realization that these moments of light also reflect that I never questioned God’s love for me. I never cursed (and believe me, I am capable of that). But, it’s interesting to know what things I cling to a protect. Are these objects and habits a part of my identity? It seems so.
And so, I have some work to do. It’s not comfortable to think that a cigarette and a glass of tea might be more important than a kneecap or an elbow.
Thank God that with my unstable balance and my seemingly weak ankle, I’ve learned to fall gracefully. I just hope I’ve not learned to fall from grace.
