Sunday, July 01, 2018
My Death At A Funeral
Pictured: Exile Painting, by Faiza Bayou
I am from there. I am from here.
I am not there and I am not here.
I have two names, which meet and part,
And I have two languages.
I forget which of them I dream in.
- Mahmoud Darwish
(Notice in the painting that there is no solid ground to stand on, and the mostly faceless figures blend together with each other; it's difficult to identify with any of them)
Yestreday was Matt's Grandma's funeral.
I've been struggling lately because of being overloaded and exhausted by work. Because of the competitive and greedy way that capitalism structures our lives (which is the latest and local version of the whole "thorns and thistles" thing from Gen. 3), we are all burdened by death like slaves in exile. My life has been consumed by a vain cycle of exhaustion and attempts to recover from said exhaustion with not enough rest. Even in hospice, I can't escape it.
Reduced to Ashes, by Faiza Bayou
Turning to God in the liturgy revealed to me first - early on in the liturgy and in spite of my cold and hardened heart - that I am angry at God. The very act of turning to God and in re-memberance embodying his goodness juxtaposed and revealed my very self against His goodness and mercy. I realized that, deep in my gut, I felt that God is who led me to this place. I ended up a hospice nurse precisely by following God's promptings and receiving God's gifts. And now I basically hate my life, generally not so much struggling with but succumbing to anger, apathy, and frustration. And, because God lead me to a path of life I hate, I realized I had blamed Him for my hate. Hence my previous use of the term "juxtaposition."
Later in the liturgy - as Matt and his Mom told stories of grace and proclaimed good news of His victory over death - I realized that my juxtaposed hate had kept me from turning to the Only One in whom I can and will ever find true rest. Reflecting on this only after the fact, God helped me to remember some key parts of the liturgy that I had only half glossed over the first time around:
Cain Flying Before Jehovah's Curse, by Fernand Cormon, 1880 (Am I Cain, or am I Abel?)
He "heals our diseases," "forgives our sins," crowns us with love and compassion," and in Him we are "renewed like the eagles." (Paslm 103)
"He makes me lie down in green pastures
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul."
- Psalm 23
"The Lord is my light and my salvation
The Lord is the stronghold of my life…
[and how will he even help!? These evil capitalist structures will remain even after I do turn to God]
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
and set me high upon a rock." - Psalm 27
[In other words, He gives me "food to eat" that the angry, anxious, fearful, and hateful me "knows nothing about" - John 4: 32]
and from the liturgy reading of Zephenia 3:
"in his love, he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing
At that time I will deal
with all who oppressed you.
I will rescue the lame;
I will gather the exiles....
At that time I will gather you,
at that time, I will bring you home."
I am not there and I am not here.
I have two names, which meet and part,
And I have two languages.
I forget which of them I dream in.
- Mahmoud Darwish
(Notice in the painting that there is no solid ground to stand on, and the mostly faceless figures blend together with each other; it's difficult to identify with any of them)
Yestreday was Matt's Grandma's funeral.
I've been struggling lately because of being overloaded and exhausted by work. Because of the competitive and greedy way that capitalism structures our lives (which is the latest and local version of the whole "thorns and thistles" thing from Gen. 3), we are all burdened by death like slaves in exile. My life has been consumed by a vain cycle of exhaustion and attempts to recover from said exhaustion with not enough rest. Even in hospice, I can't escape it.
Reduced to Ashes, by Faiza Bayou
Later in the liturgy - as Matt and his Mom told stories of grace and proclaimed good news of His victory over death - I realized that my juxtaposed hate had kept me from turning to the Only One in whom I can and will ever find true rest. Reflecting on this only after the fact, God helped me to remember some key parts of the liturgy that I had only half glossed over the first time around:
Cain Flying Before Jehovah's Curse, by Fernand Cormon, 1880 (Am I Cain, or am I Abel?)
He "heals our diseases," "forgives our sins," crowns us with love and compassion," and in Him we are "renewed like the eagles." (Paslm 103)
"He makes me lie down in green pastures
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul."
- Psalm 23
"The Lord is my light and my salvation
The Lord is the stronghold of my life…
[and how will he even help!? These evil capitalist structures will remain even after I do turn to God]
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
and set me high upon a rock." - Psalm 27
[In other words, He gives me "food to eat" that the angry, anxious, fearful, and hateful me "knows nothing about" - John 4: 32]
and from the liturgy reading of Zephenia 3:
"in his love, he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing
At that time I will deal
with all who oppressed you.
I will rescue the lame;
I will gather the exiles....
At that time I will gather you,
at that time, I will bring you home."
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