Meditation on the Fires 11.16.08

There is an eerie cast to the day when fires are raging in southern California. A rival light, diffuse on the horizon, dilutes the intensity of the sun's rays even beyond the haze cause by the not-too-distant smoke. A surreal glow tinged a warm yellow hovers in the direction of the fires, the sunsets are ablaze with red, and the wind literally rains ash. I found my newly washed car dusted with gray flakes this morning, like some unruly cosmic dandruff, and it reminded me. Fires are burning. Lives are going up in smoke. Let us pray.

I know the fires in Santa Barbara have already almost completely destroyed a beautiful monastery perched on a hill with a view to the sea: Mt. Calvary, of the Order of the Holy Cross. I have gone there many times on retreat, both alone and with the women from my church. We would sit in the sun porch drinking tea, and looking through the books in their extensive library and wonderful bookstore. We bought cards with calligraphy beautifully crafted by one of the brothers, and walked the nearby labyrinth. We snuggled in big chairs before the fireplace, contemplating the words brought by the retreat leaders, the soul's language. We restored our souls.

Mt. Calvary will be rebuilt, reborn, I hope with even half the charm, and it will continue to nurture spiritual seekers from all over the world. But something irretrievable has been lost. When we next sojourn there it will be new, with a different taste and ambience, and in its newness and freshness it will be unfamiliar territory, turning us into strangers in an alien land, all physical traces of our past blotted out, rather than family returning to the familiar homestead. I want to honor this moment of loss, so much larger for the brothers than for me and my fellow retreatants, even as I look forward to the renewal that will come. For now, the Mt. Calvary that I have known and loved lives only in my heart.

Prayer: Dear God, I pray for your gracious mercy on all those who have lost homes, possessions and even loved ones as a result of the fires. Hold them lovingly in Your Hands, give them strength to endure and remind them of the hope of renewal even among the ashes which is Your everlasting promise. Amen.

He can't come to me

2Samuel 12:22-23

“While the child was alive,” he said, “I fasted and wept, thinking God might have mercy on me and the child would live. But now that he’s dead, why fast? Can I bring him back now? I can go to him, but he can’t come to me.”

David’s son from his illicit affair with Bathsheba has died. To the servants, his behavior seems contradictory. Why not be happy while the child is still alive, and sad after it has died? But this death is not arbitrary; it is God’s judgment on David’s sinful behavior. David knows this, and knows, therefore, that once the child has died, there is nothing more to hope for; God’s judgment has been exercised. So, he goes on with his life. He eats and drinks; he washes himself and puts on decent clothing. It doesn’t say that he is not sad. What sadder or more poignant thing can a parent say than, “I can go to him, but he can’t come to me”? There is a profound silent grief in that simple statement. But David is a practical man, and he recognizes that he has responsibilities beyond this one lost child. He is king of Israel, and has many other wives, many other children. He needs to take care of himself especially because he is suffering from grief. He knows that keeping to his routine and attending to his own physical needs will both be helpful in walking the path of mourning that lies in front of him. He also shows here a deep understanding of the acceptance of God’s will. While there was still a chance of winning God’s favor, of influencing the outcome, of knocking and knocking on God’s door like the persistent widow (Luke 18:1-8), he did everything he could. But once the deed is done, what can he do but accept it? And he does so with a sense of dignity, taking responsibility for what he has done to bring this situation about.

I want to be careful here that I do not suggest that all deaths are “God’s will”. I mean by that that I don’t believe God goes around striking people dead, willy nilly. These were very special circumstances. People die too young from illness and accidents and other things because we live in a broken world, not because God has ordained the death of a particular person in order to wreak judgment on his or her family. And acceptance of such a loss is not easy to come by, and often comes only after a difficult emotional process. Ultimately, however, acceptance is our resting point. It is a place we come to where we can trust in God’s reign over all, including our suffering and loss. It’s where I can sit and hold the memory of my loved one in my heart, feel the sadness of missing them along with the joy that they were in my life, and still see what is beautiful and wonderful in this moment as it unfolds before me.

Prayer: Dear God, I pray for all those who have suffered the loss of someone they love, that they may find comfort. I pray that they find the strength to go on and feel the grace of your enfolding love. Help them to cherish their loss, and rediscover the joy of that relationship, when they can. Let them know they are in your merciful hands. Amen