Dear people of Christ Church,
This morning, I'm back at work after having spent the last week with my family in Sweden. I cried when I read the piece I wrote in this space last week; what I didn't know, writing that on Tuesday night, was that, contrary to my comment about her living "six days or six weeks," it turned out to be more like six hours. Meanwhile, I was stranded in Toronto after my flight was cancelled so I got the news of her death in an anonymous hotel room near the airport. It was, as they say, a "good death," with her daughter and sister each holding a hand, but given that I would have made it if my flight had not been cancelled, there was, along with my own grief, a level of very mundane fury at Air Canada for not having its planes in order.
The writer Elaine Scarry, I think, said somewhere that pain takes away our words. In some ways, grief does this, too, because there's such a wide net of loss when someone dies. When we grieve, we don't just grieve the person who has died, but the whole constellation of realities and associations that that person held for us. In our meeting with the pastor who would do the service for Barbro, we all talked about how she had always been "in charge," that she was the big sister, the mother, the one who could do anything. From a leaking washing machine hose to a piece of broken jewelry, she was a fixer. "So who takes that role now?" Pastor Olaf asked. As if anyone could!
It's easy to trust in God's providence for her. I can paint beautiful and sentimental pictures of the wholeness and grace that envelops her in death, the clarity of a sunset on the Angerman river in Northern Sweden where we always went on vacation. Trusting God's providence for *myself* is quite a bit more difficult, and I find myself back in the wordless space (or, when there are words, the ones that come to mind are not printable here!). So there is a certain silence at the center of the experience, but being home, the work of living marches on.
That was the other strange, but wonderful, thing about my trip; in addition to bursts of tears, there was also some very pleasant tourism, beautiful weather, and yummy Swedish food (yes, it actually IS a lot like the cafeteria at Ikea). My cousin and my mother and I did not only sit around crying: there was the startling blue of the Baltic Sea, the spinning of wind turbines (eat your heart out, Cape Wind), and the brilliant yellow of rapeseed fields. I can't imagine it, but I think the kingdom of God must be in color, too.
So thanks for reading--what a wonder to come home to such an inviting space for reflection and prayer.
Blessings,
Sara+
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