Processing Culture Shock

Okay, that picture has little or nothing to do with the content of this post, except at the end of it, I tell about him being a joyful thing to come home to. His name is Yeshua – he yelled so loud for food that I thought the walls of Jericho could fall down. I eyedropper fed him from 12 days old until I got him onto a bottle, then started on solid food three days before I left, just before he was six weeks old. I couldn’t bring him home, but I’d have liked to.

This post is a letter I wrote to some friends while I was away on my trip. I was gone for a month, staying in northeast Texas. About a 25-minute drive from Tyler, which is closer to Shreveport than to Dallas. I was staying with a friend who builds knives, and there was a gun and knife show in Tyler the weekend after I got there. The timing was important. He’d never tried to sell his knives like this before, and I went to help get things polished and sharpened, and tagged, and make business cards, and mind the table.

Lots of times, I felt like an alien from outer space. I’m posting this with a few updates – it was written on the 5^th of October, to people I know well. There’s language in here I use, but not on the blog, and there’s language in here that I’d never use, except I’m directly quoting other people, ones I’m glad I don’t know. Now you know – here be dragons. The rest of this was written within 24 hours of it happening, while it was fresh. Oh, and it’s long, too.

If I'd grown up in the country, my life experience would be different, but I grew up in the city, mostly. Just outside the city -- lots of forest around, but owned by the Conservation Authority, so you could walk in it, but you weren't supposed to change it in any way. And Dad had a cottage in Muskoka and went fishing, and I'm used to that, but never hunting. My life experience with firearms is this: Grampa owned a shotgun and kept it at The Lake (summer home on Lake Ontario at Niagara-on-the-Lake) and once, when I was maybe eight, he shot it over the lake for effect. And then I guess it went back to the house when they sold the summer home, and the next time I saw it was after he died, when Dad had inherited it. He was giving it to Uncle Jerry, who did hunt, and it was standing in the dining room the day Jerry came to get it. Dad had put it there and that was fine, and Jerry picked it up to take it to the car, and MacDuff, our German Shepherd (who'd never seen a gun before either, and was unfailingly gentle, unless someone was gonna hurt the kids) was ready to take his arm off. So Dad carried it to Jerry's car, and Jerry drove away with it. That's it. My whole life experience with guns.

In Canada, firearms are restricted and registered, and you can't carry them around in public. If you're driving to the shooting range or going hunting, they're in the trunk of your car. Cops have 'em, but even those are discreet. People have shotguns and rifles for hunting, and hand guns are pretty much illegal unless you’re a cop.

So, just being at Bob's was already, different. I got in the truck one day after we'd been in the supermarket and moved the kleenex box on the seat and there was his handgun under it. I was looking for beeswax to do knife handles in the cupboards and there's boxes of ammunition in the kitchen cupboards, and I've seen long guns in the house, and dunno how to tell the difference between a rifle and a shotgun, so I dunno what I saw. The other night coming home, we hit a little armadillo in the driveway somehow -- neither of us felt anything, and he saw it when we were getting out of the truck, before I did. You could see how badly it was injured, and I said, 'You can't leave him like that,' but the little thing had died before he came back outside. And that was the first time I really understood why I had to know how to shoot if I'm to be able to live up north. There was no other kind option.

The gun and knife show was so out of my realm of experience; it was like a fantasy novel and I just found myself transported to another world, and hated a lot of it. There were handguns and automatic weapons tied to the tables, and signs up saying they had to be unloaded and tied so they couldn't be fired. What they were for -- handguns are only for shooting at people -- just kind of radiated at me, and I was, I couldn't even walk past the tables and look at them. I got to be able to spot those tables, and take a different route through the hall. The guy at the table behind us had a handgun in the back of his belt; there were people walking around with long guns in their hands and over their shoulders, and I found the people walking around holding handguns in the palms of their hands really scary. Some guys had multiple holsters and guns, and ammo belts. Sunday there was a guy who looked military to me, with a padded vest and just tons of pockets and weapons on his belt. It bothered me a lot, seeing women with handguns and short automatic guns. There were people carrying around plastic boxes, that I am familiar and comfortable with -- my husband had several of them for carrying cordless drills and things like that in -- and then I realized what people were carrying in them at the gun and knife show.

The long guns didn't bother me so much, esp. if they had a lot of wood in the stock. In fact, there was one guy who had some that were just beautiful. I went back to look at one in particular three times yesterday, and then this morning I told Bob it had dropped a hundred bucks in price overnight. It was still $1,300. But I didn't even know what it was -- rifle or shotgun, exc. it said 12 gauge on the card, and I thought that was a shotgun -- just googled the maker's name and that's what they make. I guess when it's time for me to need one, I 'druther have one that I liked aesthetically. And these aren't intended for killing people, and that made it easier.

I've stopped being scared of knives, because I've stopped thinking of them in terms of weapons, but there were lots there that were intended as personal weapons against people. Bob's got those little bearclaw knives, and they're pretty as jewellery. Saturday there was a woman who was looking at a lot of the knives, and she said of the bearclaws, 'It's a good personal defence weapon for a woman -- no-one could take it away from you.' Well, sure they could, if they had a gun, or were prepared to bust up your fingers for it, and I guess if he was okay with raping you, he'd be okay with that too. And I said to Bob after -- it reminded me of being told, 'When you're worried about what other people are thinking of you, remember that mostly they aren't.' There was a lot more fear, an assumption that someone would want to hurt you and you need to be able to, not just defend yourself, but make a pre-emptive strike, than I'd understood there'd be. I don't understand that kind of fear, and fear's been one of my best things most of my life. She'd said she didn't have enough money and would be back today and took his card -- but she didn't like that the one knife was called a Mill Bastard cuz it was made of that kind of file and he left the mark on it, and we think she looked at the website last night. Believes in Jesus in a way neither of us does, and Jesus doesn’t like people who use the word “bastard,” even about a metal file. Bob said he thought she'd see the prices were lower than on the website and not fuss about 'em again, and then we saw her a few times and she never came down our aisle the next day -- he said she'd seen the website and decided we were communists, and I said, "Yeah, it says so on the website, but it's prolly us likely being perverts that bothers her more." It was funny -- she was so friendly yesterday, and avoided us like we were Democrats today. He is, of course, and I would be if I lived here.

And then, there was racism. I'm not telling you there's none in Canada -- there is. But I haven't encountered anything like this. The man who was to have the table next to us got sick, and the organizers didn't want empty space, so we spread out, and the guy behind us, who sold holsters and gun belts he makes, did too. He had a shipment of 'Nobama '08' teeshirts, with an underneath line about stopping the change, or something. Takeoff on the Obama campaign line. So, they were right beside us, on a table with Bob's knives, and people thought we were selling the shirts, and overwhelmingly, they approved. There was a federal election going on at home too, and I'm used to politics -- this stuff woulda been okay if it was just politics.

But in about a 10-minute space I was walking around and there was a guy with miliary memorabilia, he had uniform patches and things, and there was, front and centre in his display case, and big, a Swastika. Nazi memorabilia. Then I came back to the table, and there was a guy wearing a 'Beat the Hell out of Obama' teeshirt, buying one of the other guy's, and they were telling each other a joke they both already knew, about St. Peter greeting Obama at the Pearly Gates, and asking what he'd done in his life and he said, 'For the last 15 minutes I got to be President of the United States.' And they laughed.

And then another guy came along, and was talking to Bob, mostly, but me too, about the election campaign, and well, if anyone said he was prejudiced he was, and he was too old to do it, but if Obama's elected, someone's gonna assassinate that nigger bastard ... Bob was being a lot more polite than I wanted to be, but I'm so far out of my element I kept my mouth shut. Bob got him switched onto the handgun on his belt instead, then, thank God, someone came along who really wanted to look at knives, and I could interrupt that conversation and the guy went away. We were kinda afraid he was headed back in our direction later. For the next morning, I'd decided what I COULD say, if anyone started it again, but another vendor near us got sick last night, and the guy behind us moved his fucking teeshirts farther away from us and no-one said political or racist shit directly to us again. Maybe, I just needed to be prepared with an answer -- I can use it again while I'm here, if I need to. I’da simply said, “I’m not from around here and where I’m from a man wouldn’t use language like that talking to a lady. Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy looking at the guns for the rest of the day.” We didn’t have any guns at our place. And if that hadn’t been good enough, I’da said, “That was in Canadian. It translates to, ‘Shut your filthy mouth and get it the fuck away from my table.’” I was glad it didn’t come to that.

Some of it was kinda fun, and there were some people who were just a joy to meet, and had helpful information for Bob. Saturday I had a jar of beeswax and polished every handle except the antler and bone ones, and a bottle of Turtle Wax and polished all the blades except the Damascus ones after that. There were men, usually in their 70’s and 80’s, who'd make remarks to me about being careful around a woman with a blade like that, and I’d say, “Yeah, all the men have been real polite to me this morning.” They didn't want to look at knives, mostly. People had never seen the brass cable Damascus before and stopped to look at it and ask about it, and people who know knives said very pretty things to Bob and gave him ideas about places to go to sell his knives. There were some really sweet moments with little kids -- one was looking at one of Bob's knives, one with a wooden sheath, and his eyes got all big when he opened it and Bob just gave it to him. And there was a little boy, four or five, yesterday, with his Daddy, and he saw a knife in a pearwood stand, like the sword in the stone, and said, Daddy, what is it, twice, but Daddy didn't hear him, so I reached across and pulled it out and he looked like he got a puppy for Christmas. A couple of teenaged girls, who were clearly interested in the knives as ways to hurt someone, but generic someones, they weren't looking to do it today, and I wasn't above telling them what the other woman said about the bearclaws.

I walked around Sunday, mostly to go say hello to another knifemaker who'd talked to Bob and brought him a little block of bloodwood, to be neighbourly. There were some people there with a jewellery display -- pretty bracelets, like little cuffs, with the sides made out of the ends of matching silver spoons, bent, and in between a coin or a concho or something else. Mostly bracelets spin around so whatever's the prettiest part sits against the inside of my wrist and no-one sees it -- this can't do that -- I'd never seen anything like it and I liked one with a Statue of Liberty dollar in the centre. I went back to get money, and the man put an extra couple of chain links underneath where it fastened so it'd fit better. Later his wife walked past our table and we talked -- they're from Palestine, and they know who Bob's sister and her husband are, but don't know them. That was kinda nice -- to be able to introduce someone I knew first to Bob.

It was exhausting, and when we left after it was all done I felt like I'd escaped. I'd been singing, "We gotta get out of this place if it's the last thing we ever do ..." We came home, used all the really bad language we couldn't in a place like that with family standards for the vendors, and I fed the kitten again – he was just getting interested in more than just getting fed and cuddled -- he'd look around when he heard noises and just spent ten minutes rolling around upside down in my lap, wrestling and nibbling my fingers like he would his littermates, if he was with them. And he'd been grooming his paws a little. Good signs.

He was three weeks old when I wrote that. This picture was taken Thursday night this week – he’ll be eight weeks old tomorrow. I miss him and it hurts like a sonuvabitch. There'll be more about the trip -- I did really good things and there were other kinds of culture shock. This afternoon, my son's taking me to see Passchendaele -- I've gotta go get showered now.

Ontario Supreme Court Ruling in Diocese of Niagara

On Monday, the Diocese of Niagara released the following document:

May 5th, 2008

Hamilton, Ontario

The Anglican Church of Canada’s Diocese of Niagara today responded to the decision of the Ontario Superior Court of Justice. Madam Justice Jane A. Milanetti found that three Anglican parishes, St. Hilda’s in Oakville and St. George’s in Lowville, and The Church of the Good Shepherd, St. Catharine’s should be shared by both the departing congregants and the members loyal to The Diocese of Niagara. The Diocese was pleased in the decision, and is now anxious to move forward.

Spokesperson for the Diocese, Archdeacon Michael D. Patterson, stated: “We are obviously very pleased with the decision, Madame Justice Milanetti accepted our proposal for sharing and joint administration as a logical interim solution. We feel that we were completely justified in resorting to the courts after negotiations failed. We can now provide ministry for loyal members of the Diocese and move forward to safeguard the physical heritage of the Churches, which were built by and have served generations of Anglicans.”

It is continued here.

This is the outcome the Diocese had wished for -- that in the parishes where the clergy and congregation had voted to secede from the Anglican Church of Canada and the Diocese, both the seceding congregation and the Diocese could hold Sunday services. This also appears on the diocesan website:

Diocesan Services to resume this Sunday at St. George’s Lowville, St. Hilda’s, Oakville and The Church of the Good Shepherd, St. Catharines.

We are grateful and give thanks that Anglican Church of Canada, Diocese of Niagara, services will resume at the parish churches of St. George’s, Lowville, St. Hilda’s, Oakville, and The Church of the Good Shepherd, St. Catharines. These services will all be held at 8:30 a.m. The services will be taken by the Reverend Susan Wells at St. George’s, Canon Dr. Brian Ruttan at St. Hilda’s and the Venerable Bruce McPetrie at The Church of the Good Shepherd. These are services of healing and rebuilding and we hope will be attended by returning and continuing parishioners. We are able to return to our buildings for these services because of the May 5th court ruling of Madame Justice J. Milanetti which states in part, “The Diocese will have full access to and use of each of the three parish properties every Sunday between 7 a.m. and 10 a.m. for Sunday service…”

For more information:
Archdeacon Michael Patterson

It’s a blessing and a sign of God’s grace, that we are being given the opportunity to live the Anglican tradition, and hold common ground even where we disagree. My thanks to all of you who have prayed for the Diocese and its members, and who continue to do so.

I did check the Anglican Network’s website – they haven’t updated since the court’s decision was announced.

I'm Going to Have to Change My Profile

It says I’m half-way through an M.Div, at Trinity College in Toronto. That’s no longer true.

I e-mailed the Dean this afternoon. The pressure of not e-mailing him was getting to be more than I could stand. I told him I’m withdrawing from the program.

It also says in my profile – I have doubts. I’ve been a volunteer in the Anglican Church for over 20 years, at a pretty local level. There is much that’s wonderful. And it seems to me, there’s always a fight. There are fights in the parish, and everyone thinks the Rector should get involved. So they try to involve her. Or him. There are fights at the diocesan level; at the national church level; at the level of the world-wide Anglican Communion.

We don’t call them fights; there are more polite names for them.

I’ve also been employed, at the parish level, for 15 years. I started as a church secretary and wound up as the parish administrator. Well, the job changed while I was in it, and that was partly because of me. What that meant was, I got to watch a lot of the in-fighting in the parish close up. I’ve actually been the administrator, part-time, in two different parishes for the last year. In-fighting in both.

The nature of the job is, I know a lot of clergy. Some did their internships in my parish. I’d felt called to ordained priesthood for several years before I enrolled in school five years ago. Scared. I’ve been going part-time, so I’m half-way through a three-year program. Many of my classmates have graduated and are in parishes now. It’s much the same, in-fighting all over, seems to me.

There have been a lot of changes in my life in the last two years, some I engineered and some just happened. As a result, I changed. I stopped doing what I felt was necessary to maintain peace all the time, started setting boundaries. (I hate that phrase, but what else am I going to say?) Even more important, I started holding my boundaries. This past six or eight months, I’ve set the boundaries, and when someone violated them, I’ve walked away from the fight. That’s VERY powerful. And peaceful. I like not being in the fights, and I don’t want to be in any more.

This fall and winter, I've been doing my pre-internship placement. The parish is different than I’m used to. They expect a sermon based on a very literal interpretation of the Gospel for the day. I’m next scheduled to preach on Easter 3, Good Shepherd Sunday. I can’t preach on that gospel – I don’t believe Jesus is the only way for the sheep to enter the fold. On Good Friday, I was helping to say the Solemn Intercessions, one of which says something like, we pray that everyone, everywhere, hears the Gospel preached and comes to Jesus. I had to read that one, and I was silently apologizing to God for telling lies in church.

There are so many good things about the Anglican Church, its people. I haven’t left the church. And, I have come to recognize my gifts: I’d have been a good priest. But I’m not the same person I was when I started this process. I’ve prayed a lot, and discussed it with the person I go to for guidance. I no longer believe this is what God’s calling me to do – there’s a different path ahead of me. I haven’t told the parish priest who’s supervising my placement yet. I haven't told anyone in the church yet, except the Dean of the College. This is public, but it’s not that public – I’m not aware of anyone in the Diocese who reads the Chronicles.

So, at 52 years old, I’m becoming a university dropout. I let go of a burden when I wrote the Dean this afternoon. I’m trying to get ready to tell people in my life. So many people have been supportive, expressed such confidence and hope in me. This will disappoint some of them, and I would rather not do that, but I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing, and lying about it.

Thanks for listening, everyone. And thanks for the prayers you’ve been offering on behalf of my family and me.

From The (Canadian) Anglican Journal

Judge reserves decision in dispute over Niagara parishes

Solange De Santis
staff writer

Mar 20, 2008

Canon Charlie Masters

Hamilton, Ont.

The diocese of Niagara returned to Ontario Superior Court on March 20, seeking access to three parishes that voted to leave the Anglican Church of Canada; however, after a full day of arguments, the judge reserved a decision until a later, unspecified date.

Saying “you are not getting an answer today,” Judge Jane Milanetti let stand an interim Feb. 29 ruling from another Superior Court judge that barred the diocese from sending clergy into the three churches and holding services for the minority that is loyal to the diocese and the Canadian church. The diocese was seeking an order that would stand until the question of who owns the churches is decided, a process that could take years if it comes to a trial.

In the absence of a ruling on Mar. 20, Maundy Thursday in the church calendar, members of the three congregations at odds with the Canadian church can celebrate Good Friday and Easter services in their buildings. The three churches are St. George, Lowville; St. Hilda, Oakville and Good Shepherd, St. Catharines, all in southern Ontario.

Rev. Susan Wells, whom the diocese appointed to manage St. George, said those loyal to the diocese will meet for Easter Sunday services at a United church. Kay Mighton, a member of St. George’s, said the situation “makes me feel very sad. My husband and I will likely go to Grace (another Niagara church) for Good Friday.” Lawyers for both sides said about 25 to 30 people at St. George remain loyal to the diocese, but that virtually all parishioners at St. Hilda and Good Shepherd agreed with the decision to leave. The diocese includes 98 parishes.

Canon Charles Masters, who has been rector of St. George for 27 years, said the lack of a decision produced an “empty feeling,” but said he and the congregation are glad to “preach the good news of Jesus” this Easter weekend.

The Anglican Network in Canada, which includes parishes that have broken away from the national church over theological differences including homosexuality, released a statement saying it regretted that “it was necessary to defend the right of these congregations to maintain their ministries in the buildings where they have always worshipped.” The network had hoped “we could resolve all issues through amicable discussions but at this point, we are at the mercy of the courts and we await this decision,” said Cheryl Chang, a lawyer and director of the network.

The diocese had asked Judge Milanetti to allow it to administer the three churches jointly with the current membership (which it called “the withdrawing members”) and allow it access for a Sunday morning service, feast day services and weddings and funerals.

Diocesan lawyer John Page alleged that the three churches, by voting to join the South American Anglican Province of the Southern Cone and seek oversight from its archbishop, have violated the canons, or laws, of the diocese. Individuals may choose to leave the Canadian church, he said, “but a parish cannot. It remains in trust for the Anglican Church of Canada.” He also said those who wish to remain part of the Canadian church are long-time worshippers and have family and emotional ties to their churches.

Peter Jervis, counsel for the three churches, said they contend it is the diocese that has contravened the basic tenets of traditional Anglicanism by voting last fall to allow the blessing of same-sex unions. Clergy maintain that those who disagree with the votes to leave are welcome to continue worshipping, he said. “This is about the diocese wanting to come in and plant its flag,” he said.

http://www.anglicanjournal.com/nc/100/article/judge-reserves-decision-in-dispute-over-niagara-parishes/

Prayers for Niagara Diocese, please

I’m in Niagara Diocese, Anglican Church of Canada. Confusingly, that’s also called ACC, at least here. In November, members of our Diocesan Synod voted overwhelmingly to ask the Bishop to allow clergy to perform blessings of legal civil marriages of same-gendered couples, where their conscience allows it, and once there’s a rite to do so. The Bishop gave his assent to the vote this time – the assent to hold the services still hasn’t been given. Our Bishop, the Rt. Rev. D. Ralph Spence, retired on February 29^th, and the new one, the Rt. Rev. Michael Bird was installed in early March.

Late in February, three parishes of the Diocese voted to secede from the Diocese and the Anglican Church of Canada, and receive Episcopal oversight from the Province of the Southern Cone. They intend to take the real property of the parishes with them. Ownership of the property has gone to court, and the court granted temporary, sole occupancy of the premises to the parishes, which belong to something called the Anglican Network of Canada. The issue is scheduled to go back to court tomorrow, Maundy Thursday. We don’t know what time. The Diocese holds the position that the Diocese owns all parish property, and that the people who gave money for their purchase in the first place intended for the parishes to be part of the ACC.

Please, hold us in your prayers tomorrow: the Diocese of Niagara, Bishop Michael Bird, Executive Archdeacon Michael Patterson, and Secretary of Synod, the Rev. Canon Dr. Rick Jones. I’m a secretary in an Anglican parish, and doing a pre-internship M. Div. student placement in the same parish. I’ll be putting in at least an 11-hour day tomorrow. Also, I’ve got the flu, and may not have energy to make a blog entry. Please, keep the diocese in your prayers, and you can check for updates at this link:

http://www.niagara.anglican.ca/NewBulletins/

Ezekiel's Dry Bones and Lazarus

This is a sermon, prepared, but not given, for Lent V. There was a heavy winter storm last night; we were expecting a foot of snow. At suppertime on Saturday, the phone tree went to work: service for Sunday morning is canceled; we're not inviting people to risk themselves on the roads, when the police have asked people to stay off them. This is an Anglican parish, in a diocese where several parishes have voted to leave the Anglican Church of Canada and the diocese, and accept episcopal oversight from an archbishop in the Anglican Province of the Southern Cone. The question of who owns the real property of the parishes is in court. That's the local situation I talk about in the sermon.

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These are very strange stories, the story of Ezekiel prophesying over the Valley of Dry Bones, and the story of Lazarus. They are stories just packed full of things someone could preach about – a really diligent theology student could probably preach every Sunday in Lent, just on this morning’s readings. It’s almost Easter – two stories this week about the dead being restored to life; next week, Palm Sunday; and the following week is Easter. It’s a good time to hear these stories. And, it’s a good time of year for us, in southern Ontario, to hear these stories. Winter hasn’t been a season of deadness this year, has it? We’re having this storm this weekend, another storm with another big load of snow … Winter is alive, and kicking hard. Last week, the snow melted for a couple of days, and we could see the empty flower beds, the dead, brown grass, the bare branches of trees. Re-birth is coming to us in the spring, too – Good Friday is the first day of spring.

Newness and rebirth. All the stories, the Gospel stories, from Lent, have been about newness of life. In Lent 1, Jesus was fasting in the desert, and tempted by Satan, at the very beginning, the newness of his public ministry. On Lent 2, we read the story of the Transfiguration, Jesus’ face transformed as he stood with Elijah and Moses, and his friends had a new understanding of what God felt for him. Two weeks ago, we heard the story of Jesus, resting alone, and asking a Samaritan woman to give him a drink when she drew water from the well. He told her, if she’d seen who he was, she would have asked HIM for water, and he’d have given her the water of new life, that she would never be thirsty again. Last week, Jesus made mud, and spread it on the eyes of the man who was born blind, and when he washed it off, he could see. All the stories of Lent have been about newness in life, something God transformed.

Both these stories are so familiar to us, and yet, they’re so strange, and full of frightening things. I’d bet all of us here could sing the Ezekiel song – “Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones! Now hear the Word of the Lord!” A valley full of dry, broken bones. How frightening is that? When I try to imagine it, I remember the photographs of the liberation of Auschwitz. And so I should. That valley full of dry bones, it symbolized the lives and hopes of the children of Israel. Ezekiel was prophesying long after they’d been taken captive by King Nebuchadnezzar, enslaved in Babylon. They were forgetting who they were, their history, their religion, what made them different than the Babylonians. God told Ezekiel to prophesy to the people of Israel, and in that story, showed them how he could restore the dry bones of their dying heritage, restore the people of Israel to new life, and send them home.

That’s a beautiful promise, and it came to pass … But attaining the promise isn’t always beautiful or easy while we’re going through it. Think about what happened. The bones were old, and dry, very dry. “… suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. ⁸I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. ⁹Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath:^* Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath,^* and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.’ ¹⁰I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.” A miracle, yes. A horror, to watch.

Then, Lazarus. Another unbelievable story, a story of loss and horror and miracle. The loss, that could have been avoided – “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” There is great faith in that statement, and great love and trust in saying it to another person, and both sisters said it to Jesus. Jesus weeping. The unbelief, from the people of Bethany, when Jesus went to the tomb and asked them to open it. And horror, too -- Martha, the practical one, saying, “There will be a stench; he’s been dead four days.” Those villagers and mourners must have gone from unbelief to terror, when Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb, and Lazarus stood up, and walked out. What I’ve always wondered is, what was it like afterwards? What would it be like, being Lazarus? What would it be like, living next door to Lazarus? Even if I loved him, and wanted him back?

These stories – they tell us of hopeless situations. They tell us of God’s love and attention, and the miracles. In the Ezekiel story, the miracle’s to come, and in the Lazarus story, we see it. We go from the hopeless to the miracle, and we don’t see what happens in between.

We all know what it’s like, to be faced with a situation that’s hopeless. Someone is sick, or dying. Or, we’re in a relationship, a marriage maybe, that’s sick, or dying. Maybe we’re working, with a mortgage and kids and Visa bills, and the steel industry starts to fail, and we’re laid off, or the factory closes. And now, there’s all this church politics – decisions being made that we don’t understand; parishes separating; legal action between the diocese and the parishes. It’s beyond our understanding, and it looks hopeless. And, even worse, it feels hopeless.

Dry bones don’t feel anything, as far as we know. That would be a good thing. What would it feel like to have bone attach to bone, to have sinews attached, and flesh and skin cover them. They wouldn’t feel it – they stood in the valley, but there was yet no breath in them. Then God commanded Ezekiel to prophesy, “Come from the four winds, O breath,^* and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” And the breath came into them, and they lived. Did they remember? We know the people of Israel remembered their exile, after they’d been restored to their own life, to their own place. We know, because we read it. We read it, because they lived, and they celebrated, and they wrote down their miracle and told it again and again for thousands of years.

What about Lazarus? We don’t know anything about how Lazarus’ life was restored. Jesus called him, and he came out. Did his body stand first, and then the breath of life come into it? Martha had said, “There will be a stench” – there was already corruption of the body that would need to be healed for life to begin again. Did he feel it, the breath entering, and the life restored? Did he remember being dead, being restored?

We remember. We remember Ezekiel, and Lazarus. We remember the pain of our own times of hopelessness. But sometimes, the hopelessness causes us to forget. That’s why Ezekiel had to prophesy – the people had forgotten. They had forgotten their God, the God who had redeemed them exile before.

This time in the life of the church is very difficult for us. The struggle, the separations among parishes, dioceses, communions, Anglicans, Christians – they look overwhelming. We in this parish have suffered loss because of it – a family has left. It looks like it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better; and we all wonder how it can possibly get better. What could be more hopeless than the separations of the Anglican Church? Will it be death?

We are given the gift of Lent, of these stories we’ve heard in the last month, to help us not to forget. There is always newness of life. A 30-year old village carpenter, given a new life as the teacher, the healer, the Son of Man and the Son of God. Given the touch of the Spirit, the blessing, “This is my Son, in whom I am well pleased,” and a new face transfigured by God’s grace. The new water, living water, and once we have drunk it, we will never thirst. New eyes to see what we have not seen before.

We know what it looks like outside today; we had a foot of snow last night. Spring IS coming. There is no situation too hopeless for God to enter it, to love his people, and give us new life. We need not fear the death of the church, because God, through Jesus, has unbound the grip of death. Dry bones come together and God breathes life into them; Jesus calls forth Lazarus and he walks from the tomb; Jesus is hung on a cross, and three days later is alive again. We need not fear – nothing can happen, and be too hopeless for God.