This weekend our parish will plant the vegetables in our Garden of Eatin’ – a Grow to Give Garden that will feed our neighbors in need. As we prepare for the day, I am overwhelmed with emotion – pride, satisfaction, joy, and hope. A garden to feed others may seem simple enough, but this project has been a bit of a microcosm of what our parish is facing in general. We are a tough parish that has survived some hard times. The tenor of our parish has been transformed in the last couple of years into a place of hopefulness and joy, but our history has not left us unscarred. Out of our history, and perhaps with a little human nature sprinkled in, change has become something to dread rather than to eagerly anticipate. Of course every church, and probably every individual, does not actually like change, but I believe our tenacious will to survive has resulted in a deeper desire to control, and therefore a fear of change.
From that perspective then, you can see why I am so excited about this garden. This garden represents the best and the worst of us. At our worst, we worry about using our property in an alternative and perhaps detrimental way. If there is to be change, we want to make sure every single detail has been considered by every single person. We fear the long-term impact of taking on a project that will need long-term care. But at our best, we see the wealth of our eleven acres and want to share that wealth in a new way. We see neighbors who need food that we can grow. We know we will get to know each other a lot better with dirty hands and sweaty brow than we might in our Sunday best. And we dream that our labor might be a tangible witness to the power of God’s love in our community.
So for me, digging into that dirt, and planting those seeds and seedlings this weekend, is a proclamation that we will be the best version of ourselves. We will take the uncertain road, we will submit to change, and we will open our hands to our God who will use those hands for good. A garden may not seem like a big deal to others, but to me, this garden is a bold statement about who we have been, who we are, and who we want to be.
Tonight our actions mirror the actions of our gospel lesson. Like the disciples, we gather around the table. I imagine our potluck meal was not unlike the meal the disciples had with Jesus that night – an intimate meal with friends who feel like family, sharing stories, laughter, and woes. We too are a ragtag team of followers, gathered at a meal, who seek to know our Savior better, and who lean on a community of faith to join us in the journey. As the disciples did that night, we will also have our feet washed. I imagine our discomfort in having our feet washed, and even our wondering what the foot washing means, are not that different from Peter’s struggles. Finally, we too will come to the Eucharistic table. This night was the night that Jesus instituted the sacrament of Eucharist. Like Jesus shared his last meal with the disciples that night, we too receive the sacred body and blood of Christ for the last time until the Easter Vigil.
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.
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.
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 