I have been pondering for the last ten days what to say about the experience of Hurricane Sandy. I think I felt overwhelmed because I knew that my experience was not as bad as thousands of others in our area. My experience felt superficial somehow, as if I did not earn enough credit to have something to say about all of this. But what I realized these last couple of days is that although I cannot speak for places that were utterly devastated by this horrible storm, I can speak for what life has been life for the rest of us, tied to those who are suffering more while suffering ourselves.
As background, we lost power for seven days. We have a fireplace (although it took us several days to secure wood) and we had hot water. But we did not have heat, the ability to cook, or the other conveniences of electricity. We had filled our cars with gas before the storm, but we knew we had to be careful about the number of trips out of the house. We also have a three year old daughter. We had several trees fall on the property, one damaging the church, but mostly we were spared significant damage.
Over the last ten days, several reflections have occurred to me. First, I used to work with Habitat for Humanity, and in our work there, we told personal stories of homeowners to potential volunteers and funders. I remember telling stories of families whose only heat source was their gas oven, who could not afford their electric bill and just went without power, or whose children suffered in school because of poor heat, comfort, and nutrition at home. I told those stories and my heart broke as I imagined the faces of each of those homeowners. But I had never experienced those realities, especially as a parent. As we struggled this past week to warm our child by bringing her into our bed; as I slept by the dying fire (making sure to avoid accidents), realizing that although my body was warm, the frigid air around my head was keeping me awake; or as I found that despite my two layers of clothes, long robe, and a blanket, I still could not keep warm during the day, I began to see those Habitat stories in a whole new way. There are neighbors who suffer this pain everyday, and yet we are blind because they are hidden in homes we do not notice, in sections of town we do not frequent, or in coworkers whom we do not know well. Despite our suffering for seven days, or the continued suffering for people up to ten days so far, there are people who live this suffering everyday.
Second, there is a way in which the varied experiences of a disaster make you feel like that if you do not suffer in a particular way, your experience of suffering is not valid. You feel shallow or weak or insensitive for complaining if your experience is less burdensome than others. And in a way, I think that is appropriate. We should always be grateful for our blessings and recognize that there are many ways in which things could have been worse for all of us. But stifling our pain for the sake of honor others’ pain has begun to feel corrosive to me. Despite the fact that my suffering or even the suffering of my parishioners was milder compared to other areas of Long Island, our suffering is still hard. The experience of long periods of cold, of worrying about the health of yourself and your child who cannot stop coughing and wiping running noses, of worrying if the mental health benefits of getting out of the house are worth the anxiety of the uncertain gasoline situation, of feeling cut off from the rest of the world, of worrying about those whose suffering is worse, of being frustrated about not being able to reach those without power to see if they are okay – all of that takes a toll on the psyche. And even when we got power a week later, about half of my parishioners were still without power. So any sense that things just go back to normal is false. The frustration of just wanting to get back to work without the ability to get back to work can be overwhelming. It was not until the snow hit and the schools closed yet again that I realized how much of this emotion and anxiety I have been stuffing.
Finally, I have been struck by the overwhelming ways in which this storm has brought out the goodness in others. My parishioners have been running extension cords across the street to share power with others. I observed all of us talking to one another more – learning more of each others’ stories – caring more about the welfare of each other. People without power themselves have bent over backwards to make sure my family was okay. Friends and parishioners have taken us in for hot meals and for washing laundry or for simple camaraderie. People long to help others even when they are suffering. There is a sense of abundance in the face of devastation. There is joy watching a toddler find creative ways to entertain herself. And the outpouring of love from all over the region is even more overwhelming. I have felt like that wall that keeps us from sharing Christ with one another has been decimated, and Christ is found all around us as we love and care for one another.
This last week and a half has been an emotional rollercoaster, and the end is not necessarily in sight. I ask that you pray for one another. I ask that you seek and serve Christ in all persons. I ask that you love and give yourself grace the same way that you are loving and giving grace to others. And I ask that you remember the ways in which you are opening yourself to others and not to forget that new way of being when we finally do get back to “normal.”
Despite the fact that we have had a bit of hiatus with posts due to Hurricane Sandy, we are still wrapping up our Stewardship campaign. Last week was our Stewardship In-Gathering. I had imagined a full and joyful church, a procession with music, and warmth inside and out. Instead, we worried about those who were missing, we sang without accompaniment, and we processed in the frigid, unheated church. But somehow, that simplified offering of our pledges spoke volumes for me. There was a sense that life goes on in the midst of chaos, and that the things that are good here at St. Margaret’s are still very, very good.
As we journey into our stewardship season, we continue to reflect as a community about how we have been blessed. This week, Fal Gibson offers a reflection on her own gratitude to God for the many blessings in her life. I hope you will enjoy the blessing of Fal in her words as much as we enjoy the blessing of her presence every week!
Blessed to be a blessing. This is the theme that the stewardship team has adopted this year as we begin to reflect on the abundant blessings in our lives and discern how we might use those blessings to be a blessing to others. I have had the great pleasure of working with six other parishioners from St. Margaret’s since this summer, and we have all been discerning how our relationship with God and money are connected. We have debated and discussed whether and how our faithful financial stewardship impacts our relationship with God. We have helped one another draw the connections between our relationship with money and our relationship with God. This work is on-going among us, as we continue to pray through this issue as we discern our own pledges this year. Some of us have already witnessed how sacrificial giving can be life giving. Others of us wonder how our attitude toward money can impact our relationship with God. And so we continue to pray – for our own discernment, for each other’s discernment, and for St. Margaret’s. We know that St. Margaret’s has been a blessing to us, and so we both want to be a blessing to St. Margaret’s, and we want St. Margaret’s to be a blessing to our community. We invite you into this circle of blessing!
On of my new favorite places is the prayer candle station at St. Margaret’s. I was first introduced to prayer candles at my field education parish in Alexandria, VA. I always marveled at the beauty of the candles burning, but never understood the practice fully. Then, a year and a half ago, I went on pilgrimage with my parish in Delaware. A colleague shared with me her practice of lighting candles and praying for people throughout the pilgrimage, and I became an immediate convert. I started carrying coins and small bills just so that I had something to put in the donation box at each church as I lit candles along the way.
One of the most common ways that St. Margaret’s parishioners describe ourselves is that we are a family. When parishioners say that, I think they mean it in a good way. But “family” is a loaded word to me. When you hear the word “family” you might think of a Norman Rockwell painting where everyone is happily and peaceably eating a family meal – maybe even a meal on Sunday afternoon, like the good ol’ days. You may imagine happy times with your biological family – times of laughter, playing games, celebrating life milestones, and times of love and support. Family can be a place where you are truly yourself and accepted fully.
Seeking and Serving 