Lonely turkeys

I am haunted by a turkey.

We have a flock of wild turkeys that lives in the woods around the Companionary.  During the spring mating season I counted 29 of them one day.  Soon after, one lone tom separated from the flock.  He's been hanging around our place, and the surrounding woods, gobbling day after day for weeks.

At first I laughed, delighted that this turkey was here.  But now I'm haunted.  This poor turkey is gobbling to find a mate, or a flock.  This turkey is lonely.  This turkey needs community.

I asked myself, why does this touch me so?  This turkey's call for community reminds me of our need for community as well.  I get to meet a lot of people who want to share their lives, their passion for God, their love with others, but either don't feel called to monastic life or just don't dare or just can't find a place where they fit.  And they haunt me too.  We all need companions, we all need to be part of a flock - even a virtual one.

Sometimes Jesus calls us his sheep.  Sometimes he compares himself to a mother hen sheltering her flock.  Sometimes, as today at Eucharist, he talks about being the vine.  These are all different ways of expressing this truth - we belong together, rooted in and guided by the voice of love.  Turkeys, people (and who among us hasn't been a turkey sometimes?) - we need to belong.

I have been a lonely turkey for long stretches of my life.  I give thanks every day for this community, for all the communities that I now belong to.  My song is no longer the gobble of the lost and alone, but the crow of the delighted proclaimer.  But on any given day, I might be gobbling again.  I need all of you.

My prayer for you today is that you know you belong in Jesus' flock, in God's flock, even if you don't have face-to-face community.  I pray that you know the love that surrounds you, and find your way to a flock that reflects that love and lets you love in return.  God bless you and fill you with peace.

Hail Mary

Last weekend I led a retreat on Mother Mary.  I had been reading, praying, preparing for nine months.  (Isn't that an interesting number!)  The day came, the weekend flew, and I was left exhausted and a bit overwhelmed.  The stories that people told were amazing: stories of times Mary had healed them or others, stories of their own pain and grief, stories of faith and trust.  As much as I had prepared, I wasn't prepared for the reality of Mary in the lives of these people.  They taught me how much further I have to go, want to go, to know this woman.

I realized that, as much as I've spent my life in feminist studies, and then in a convent, and then devoted to Mary Magdalene, there are still depths of feminine energy that I have not accessed.  This shouldn't be news to me; there are depths to God, to Jesus, to the Holy Spirit that I haven't approached.  But it really landed for me that there is so much more to Mary than I have let in.  I'm still shaped by my Protestant, left-brain heritage.  But I want to let go more, and I think Mary will show me the way.

So I'm continuing to pray the rosary, and to spend time with icons of Mary, and maybe I'll keep reading.  But the deep work will come from the prayer, from music and art and dance.  I will lead the retreat again in the fall of 2020, but I don't need to prepare to lead as much as I need to learn from her what she means.

Hail Mary, full of grace.  Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.  Thank you for showing yourself to so many, and for giving me a glimpse of you.  Help me know you more in the coming days.  And yes, please pray for me, for those most ignored and rejected, for us all.  Amen.

Again? Still?

I keep thinking about this series of appearances that Jesus makes.  This coming Sunday we will have another; I'll get to that one on Sunday.  But it's kept me thinking about the earlier ones.  As I pray with Jesus I get a fuller, less orthodox picture of his response.

First he sends the women.  The men don't believe them.  OK.  Nothing shocking about that; even if we leave out patriarchy, I might find it hard to believe.  But then Jesus appears to the gathered disciples (who likely included women).  Now many of them, probably more than a dozen, have seen and talked with him.  But Thomas won't believe them.  So Jesus comes again.  And here's where it gets tricky.

The written text doesn't give us mood or tone.  All we have are the words, so we are free to project our own feelings and hopes and fears onto the text.  How do you imagine Jesus answering?

I've usually seen him as patient and loving.  I hate the move to scapegoat Thomas, so I want Jesus to save him from us.  But yesterday, sitting with Jesus in the chapel, I saw another scene.  I saw Jesus frustrated and impatient.  "OK, you won't believe your companions?  Fine.  Just stick your finger there, buddy.  How do you like them apples?"
"Go ahead.  How many times do I have to go through this?  I need you to believe, to tell others.  I didn't just rise from the dead for my health.  I am trying to save the world here, trying to show you something.  So get with the program!"

Who is to say that this version isn't faithful to the original?  We know Jesus got frustrated and upset sometimes.  The Jesus I know isn't always serene.  Sometimes he's in the Temple of my heart, overturning all the tables.  Sometimes he's crying over the ways I hurt and endanger myself and others.  And sometimes he laughs at me, with me.

Spend some time with Jesus this week, with this Gospel passage (John 20:24-29).  What is he saying to you this Easter season?  How is he saying it?

Have fun!