At long last, another chapter completed!

As [the sun] sank at last behind Mount V., conflict halted and all sides took stock of the day, noted their dead, wounded, and lost, and turned to the tasks of evening. Singers hailed the evening star, bodies were tossed upon pyres, healers moved about bringing such help and comfort as they could, meals were prepared, and mortals longed for rest.

The next day there will be more fighting. And the day after that. And after that.

In the annual procession through the heavens the zodiac sign of Grandmother W., goddess of wisdom, shifts to the season when the Veiled One, goddess of death, is prominent. The people embroiled in this civil war and those affected by it all know this for the constellations are their deities, the sundry manifestations of The One.

The countenance of the Veiled Queen is said to be loving and gracious but none can see it until the moment of death. Her lullaby, the song at time of death, begins with the words "Come my children, and do not fear...."

Indeed, as one sets out on the star path, the anxieties and terrors of life are laid aside. It is time for feasting and rest.

Sweet dreams, my oleaginous owls!

--the BB

This site does not speculate on the relationship between wise birds and Wesson parties. There are places the mind need not go.

A study that raises more questions

Indeed, research should always raise more questions but check this out:

By Elizabeth Cooney, Globe Correspondent | March 18, 2009
Patients who rely heavily on their religious faith to cope with terminal cancer are more likely to receive intensive life-prolonging measures in their last week of life, Boston researchers reported yesterday.

...

About 80 percent of the patients said they used religion to some extent to cope with their illness and more than half said they prayed, meditated, or engaged in religious study daily. More than 30 percent said their faith was the most important thing that kept them going.

[Emphasis mine]

I would love to know more about the content of their theology and the choices they make, especially when I read this paragraph:

The patients who leaned the most heavily on their faith were nearly three times more likely to choose and receive more aggressive care near death, such as ventilators or cardiopulmonary resuscitation. They were less likely to have advanced care planning in place, such as do-not-resuscitate orders, living wills, and healthcare proxies.

What does their faith teach them about God, about death, and about who they are? What roles do fear and trust play in their faith?

Gotta wonder.
--the BB

A moving and beautiful post

Folks, I want to recommend a diary (currently at the top or the recommend list) over at Daily Kos. It is titled "I'm dying. Updated." kwickkick wrote it and asks us all to support our new President in the battle for universal health care. The diarist is a 34-year-old man with pancreatic cancer who knows he will not see 2010 come in. No calls for pity, just a passion to live his remaining months well and urge us to do what is right.

May he journey well this year, surrounded with love and filled with peace and joy.
--the BB

... death itself will open....

Every Lent, then, becomes a little practice for death, every Easter a murmur of the vast futurescape ahead that teems with possibility.

Mike F has a lovely snippet by Sr. Catherine Grace at The Mercy Blog. I commend it to you. Lots of great posts at Mike F's place to nourish your spirit, btw.
--the BB

Getting down on All Souls' Day

My friends Lin and Richard held a Day of the Dead party last Friday (All Souls' Day--or as my Latin-loving mind likes to think "pro animabus omnium fidelium defunctorum"). I took this photo of the ofrenda early on, before the house filled with a wonderful and eclectic group of interesting people. Some folks, at one point, shared stories about those whose photos they brought. Delightful, moving tales. Lots of good food and drink, of course.

One highlight was when a figure came clomping up the stairs. Long black overcoat, a death's head and shawl--our mortality come to visit and remind us, no doubt. Death embraced one of our hosts, then went back down the stairs again.

It was our parish priest. I noted that we are all canonically required to remind parishioners annually to make their wills, but this seemed a bit dramatic.

Just wanted to share a pic of the great ofrenda. Click the photo to enlarge for details.
--the DD

LET IN THE LIGHT!

Solar Flares

Yesterday I had the sad task of officiating at the memorial service for a fifteen-year-old boy who died by accident. The offsetting grace of such a tragedy was the outpouring of love that occurred amid the devastating loss.

It is difficult to offer solace without resorting to platitudes. And. I. Hate. Platitudes. They ring so false and only make things worse.

I was incredibly proud of the teenage boys who got up in front of a multitude and spoke. They were nervous, uncomfortable, fidgety, and very brave. They gave voice to their sorrow and to their friendship. They were a living testimonial to love--deep caring, deep loss--altogether not what they usually think about or talk about, not what one usually hears from lads their age. They were warriors and they were shattered children all at once. I am so glad they spoke because the rest of us needed to hear the truth of who he was for his friends.

All the stories were moving.

I was startled to find myself carried back to when I was seventeen. One of my classmates, a really nice guy, took his own life. Suddenly he was not in the desk in front of me. He did not show up and then we heard about the gun and the note. None of us knew why. In later life I have my guesses but his death remains a mystery, and with an ending like that his life remains a great mystery as well. None of us knew how to make it better--too young to know yet that we couldn't. But we thronged to his service because we had to do something to say we cared.

The kids yesterday were far closer to Frogger than I was to Frank. But I found myself choked up for both of them and for all youths whose lives are cut off, so soon, too soon. So I spoke of the truth I know, broken human hearts.

I urged those present not to rush to close over the cracks in their broken hearts. It is our defensive tendency to wish to be invulnerable but we aren't and we can't be. We try to ward off the hurt and prevent the pain. Hearts that are walled off, however, are cut off from community. It is precisely through the cracks that light, and life, and love can flow into and out of our hearts. The raw spots are where we can be real, can feel, can know the truth.

Well, I wasn't nearly that eloquent because I was speaking impromptu. It comes out more polished a day later at a keyboard. I just wanted those who were hurting to know that it was all right to hurt, to feel, and be vulnerable. I wanted the youths especially not to try to build up defensive walls. The world will lead them down that deadly path soon enough.

As for the Anglican Communion and my beloved Episcopal Church, that's pretty shattered at the moment too. I wish we could let our brokenness be a means for God's light, and life, and love to pour into us and through us and out of us. I do trust the Holy Spirit. And, in the long run, I trust the People of God. Clergy, especially bishops, and even more so primates--not so much. You might think funny collars just suddenly make us all stupid and headstrong. But, as Baptism is indissoluble, we clergy are still part of the People of God. So I will trust that God's purposes will be realized even through our brokenness. After all, that is how God has always operated and I don't think the Holy One is about to change methodologies all of a sudden.

Yes, we're cracked. Broken vessels. Cracked pots, indeed. May the Uncreated Light flow among our cracks with all manner of healing grace.

And to Frank and Frogger I say, may you and all souls rest in peace and rise with Christ in glory.
--the BB