You know that “pondering” is one of my favorite words.
One of my Writing Revs shared a piece about a recent vision quest experience she had, and how people would ask her about it by saying, “So didja have a great time?” How do you answer such a question? About a vision quest?
As ChaplainMom will attest after today’s phone call, I am only too happy to expound at length on my experience at Iona. But most people are not that interested in all that went on. However, I know that they are interested in me as a person, and that’s where the question is coming from, so I’ve been trying to think of a response that respects their question and honors the integrity of the experience but isn’t 27 minutes long.
Haven’t gotten too far on that.
CM and I have a bit of shorthand when it comes to walking the labyrinth: “Everything means something on the labyrinth.” What we mean is that when you bring that kind of intentionality to an experience, especially an experience of prayer, it’s best to pay attention to everything that happens around and within you. There is, or at least can be, a message in it. Maybe even a bit of grace.
The people who lost their bags on the trip can dismiss that as a quirk of British Airways, combined with the torrential rains that led to massive flight cancellations. And indeed that is the cause—I’m not one of those “God made the bags get lost for a reeeeeason” kind of people—but still, there is an invitation to look deeper than cause and effect, to what the loss of one’s bags is doing to a person mentally and spiritually. Is there a gift in it? A frustration that might be instructive? A nudge to look at one’s life a little differently?
So I would say, just as everything means (or can mean) something on the labyrinth, everything means (or can mean) something on a pilgrimage.
So what does it mean that I came home straightaway to a huge church funeral?
She was a saint of the church. She’d been sick a long time with a vague illness and had entered hospice while I was away, and if I am honest, I am glad that it happened when Senior Pastor was still here to officiate at the funeral. (She leaves for Iona tomorrow.) The family dynamics are extremely complicated and the circumstances around this 57-year-old woman’s illness and death are murky, to say the least. The official cause is liver and kidney failure. While I have nothing concrete to base this on, I have the strong sense that she died because she decided she didn’t want to live anymore.
I didn’t cross her path often, but she was always deeply involved in the caring ministries of the church. Story after story was told about her radiant smile, her fierce and abiding love for her children, her tireless giving to others. She poured out her love, her lifeblood, her kindness and mercy in the form of notes, casseroles, and hour upon hour of listening. And those stories were told with none of that grief-induced exaggeration. She really was a saint. No embellishment required.
But she didn’t take care of herself. She had poor boundaries. And that’s the heartbreak of it, and I am so glad that Senior Pastor named that, painful though it was for us to hear.
I led a women’s retreat several years ago here at Suburban Pres, on “Sabbath-Keeping for the Stressed” or some such. Sabbath is hard for everyone, I said. It’s hard for mothers (and fathers) in a particular way; children rely on us for very real things. But still. I railed on that dreadful J.O.Y. thing (Jesus first, Others second, Yourself last) and told the oxygen mask story. I will admit it, I was a bit smug, barely six months into ministry and motherhood.
Church Saint was there and set me straight on a break. “My grandmother taught me J.O.Y. and it’s what I’ve tried to live my whole life. You say that we need to tend to ourselves but it’s just not that simple.”
But now she is dead in part because she did not take care of herself.
This is not about me knowing better. Good Lord. I don’t know what the answer is any more than anyone else. But I wish it weren’t too late for me to cradle this dear woman’s face in my hands and say, “You once said that it wasn’t that easy to put yourself first. You’re right. But sometimes your life depends on it.”
It’s too late for her, but it’s not too late for me and for you.
I am in the midst of some fairly significant discernment, and that’s what I took with me to Iona. As ChaplainMom said, the pilgrimage experience doesn’t end when the pilgrimage ends. The work continues once you’ve climbed down from the mountain. It continues even in the valley of the shadow of death, and back again.
12 Responses to “post-pilgrimage ponderings”
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Asides
» It’s National Procrastination Week (who comes up with these things?), and in honor of people like me who like to celebrate NPW all year long, here’s a good article.
» Best packaging. Did your headphones come in a sweet case? See a bottle of tea in another country that stood off the shelves? Well, that’s kind of a silly question, but I’ve come this far with the blog challenge… I did get this Gelaskin for my laptop. If you see me in the coffee place, say hi.
» When did you get your best rush of the year? Here.
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Great reflections (that God moved you to write just for me) — just kidding.
Really, though, I’ve never heard of the J.O.Y. thing, but that’s the m.o. of my family’s womenfolk. (And I’m pretty tired.)
It’s also a love thing, as in “I love these people, so I’ll kill myself to take care of them.” But that also is crap. It only teaches them to either expect someone to take care of them always (males) or go and do likewise (females).
And so, I wish the disciples had also said, “Lord, teach us to take a sabbath.”
As I read this, although very sad, I’m thinking maybe in her wish to die (as you suspect) that was *finally* putting herself first, although in her death (and your post about it) maybe I can learn a very important lesson.
I really hate the J.O.Y. thing, and it is so prevalent around here. I like the oxygen mask metaphor better.
I’m glad you had a good experience on Iona. I miss that place, somewhere deep in my soul. And I feel you about people not really wanting to know…when we were preparing to leave Egypt, we were told to come up with an answer to the question “so how was your year in Egypt?” that went something like this: “It’s hot, and the pyramids are really big.” Then anyone who wanted to actually know would ask a follow-up, but the majority would be satisfied. It’s kind of sad, actually, that people in our culture are not interested in the stories that make us who we are–they’re interested in the soundbytes.
What a sad story, and a pointed reminder to those of us who struggle with self-care.
I look forward to hearing more about your journey and your continued discernment.
Yes Teri, and by getting the soundbites they (we) can feel like they (we) have “gotten” the experience. “OK, Iona—cradle of Scottish Christianity, Celtic, thin place—got it! Check!”
I have so much to say about the pilgrimage around the island, but have chosen not to, at least not here, because people should either do it, or not do it, rather than letting a description serve as a substitute for the experience.
Thanks, SB.
Blessings on your pilgrimage, RM. Thanks for this post.
Thank you for your ponderings. I am the same age as the woman who died, so that hit me. She gave and gave until there was no more. So sad. Wishing you peace and clarity in your discernment after the pilgrimage–or as it continues.
Well… regarding soundbite answers…
I figure my life-altering epiphanic moments are exactly as interesting as my baby pictures.
Which is to say, extremely.
RM…So much to think about with this post. No surprise given your pilgrimage…and continuing journey. I have actually “ached” to talk with you and share more. When the time is right….
I did not realize Church Saint was only 57. I assumed older. So sad. This was a powerful post.
I have been thinking alot again about Sabbath because September’s “life schedule” (school, dance, music, sports,) is rearing its ugly head and we are having to make those difficult but important decisions to say “no”.
I have MANY close women friends (mothers) who don’t have the language of “Sabbath” but are reflecting the need for “Sabbath” but don’t know how to begin to create that kind of space.
So true your reminder that we model that for our children. They learn Sabbath from us (or not).
Oh…I love the picture! Tee hee!
RM - so much in your words. Yes, pilgrimages are as you describe…had not been reminded of the JOY thing for quite a while - I try to approach the Greatest Commandment and the One like it with equal signs in a circle (love God=Love Neighbor=Love Self - sort of a variation on Guthrie’s perichorisis diagram from class and his book….) and the resistance is nothing short of what you expect when I share it with some folks.
As my wise, wonderful, mother often said - especially to me when I was in the thick of motherhood and transitions - care for yourself then (or so) you may for others. Not the other way around. Yeah, it isn’t all that easy and it is all that hard. Facing - preferabley in the gentle caring hands way - this indeed is something our lives depends upon. Takes practice, early and often. Times of my life I’ve done well at it, others not so much.
I don’t know the oxygen mask metaphor so if RM or teri can fill me in, I’d appreciate it - no rush.
I’m reading HP3 so catching up with the rest of the world - that and Mary Oliver and Leaving Church and cookbooks and Anne Rivers Siddons..and along list of popular fiction requested at the library with long wait lists is some of how I am caring for myself lately.
SFE
I’m with Jan Edmiston–never heard the J.O.Y. thing before, either. Thank heaven.
One of the problems with self-care and sabbath-keeping (as with many aspects of discipleship) is the failure to build in an accountability system. What if retreats like the one you led were followed up by small groups where each member of the group developed a specific plan for self-care and then at meetings the group members held each other accountable for following it?