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today. The sun is warm, and winter is giving way to better things. There are places to go and things to see, music to be made, and poetry to be written.
No more time for the recliner and the stale air inside the house. I have plans for a garden on the boulevard and where to to put my abundance of Brown Eyed Susans. Just a few degrees warmer and my bicycle will end its hibernation in the garage and together we will see what there is to see.
I am older now and therefore each spring is more precious, more unrepeatable. Walk while you can. Breather fresh air while you can. Make music while you can. Walk barefoot while you can.
To realize that your cares are earthly, and that they will not and cannot accompany you into eternity is already a revelation. “Dust you are, and to dust you return” the priest will pronounce at your burial. All that is earthly shall remain in the earth. That includes cares you consider so momentous that your entire focus is on them. But like everything on earth, they will change, dry up and disintegrate in time. They are not of paramount importance—salvation is. Let your cares go the way of the world. You are among the people of God reaching upward to be with the Lord in the air. Your soul wants to rise like a helium-filled balloon; but your cares are weighing you down—all around you are ascending, but you are still on the ground. Why is that?
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I remember, as a child in my particular sect, wondering why I would still sin and struggle after I was “saved.” There were times when my ponderings brought me to the conclusion I might not be saved, that the various sins I was challenged by were an indication I was without grace. That can be a terrifying thought and I think more than a few us secretly kept asking Jesus into our hearts on multiple occasions, always seeking a fresh start after we had fallen. Certainly these issues were a driving force behind many, even long term church members, coming down for the “Altar Calls” that would often close our services when I was a Baptist pastor.
In coming to Orthodox Faith, though, among the gifts given to me, interestingly enough, was the gift of being a sinner. I should explain.
It’s not that being a sinner or committing sin is a good thing in and of itself. In truth Orthodoxy has a very high standard for conduct and while, unfortunately, many Christian communities have officially redefined or even sanctioned certain kinds of sin, Orthodoxy still has the basic original list.
Even while unambiguously maintaining that list, though, Orthodoxy understands sin and struggle are part of the Christian’s life here on Earth and it freely admits it with no illusions that it could, would, or should be any different. You will fall, you will rise, and you will do it over and over again through all your life. By admitting this freely the Orthodox Faith also doesn’t require us to lie about what we face and who we sometimes are in order to belong and it has no need to redefine sin as a way to soothe a guilty soul. You also need not struggle and spiritually torture yourself trying to maintain an illusion of righteousness while hiding the burden of sin.
You are a sinner, saved, and being saved, by God’s grace. You are a traveler on a journey towards God and the path will sometimes not be as direct as it should. Despite your highest aspirations you will sometimes, or often, fall short and we’re not about to change the rules to make that challenge any less. Yet, it’s also in realizing this that we can begin the path to becoming better just like knowing what an illness is can often be the first step to recovery. This is Orthodox Faith.
Along that journey towards God, towards wholeness, towards authenticity the Church, in Christ, has provided us with gifts, sacraments, graces, and methods of healing that assist us not just in the realization of our status as sinners and strugglers, but also in the healing process. This isn’t a license, of course, to sin but rather a hope that our sins and struggles will not be the final definition of who we are and the realization of being a sinner, far from being a sign that we are without grace, is actually the place where grace comes into our lives with all of its benefits.
And therein lies the gift.
She was a nurse of the “Old School” even back in the 1970’s when I first started working in nursing homes. White dress, white stockings, white shoes, and something you basically never see any more, the nurses cap.
She ran her floor tight, her wing of the White Bear Lake Care Center. Cares had to be done. No lolligagging around. Beds made with hospital corners and no sheet or blanket showing and the pillow in the right place. At the time I think most of us thought she was kind of a pain and we dreaded be assigned to her floor.
But she was right.
Her formality and precision I think, looking back, came from a place of wanting to do the best for people who often were in great need. Then and now, perhaps even more now, a nursing home is a place of last resort. Out of money, out of options, it’s the place you must go if you need too much care for home and too little care for a hospital. If there’s a pecking order in health care this is about as bottom as one can get.
So what can you give to people who’ve lost their home and almost everything of what they own except for a few pictures on the wall and a small closet of clothes? Beds made neatly. Rooms that are clean and smell that way. People treated like humans and not cargo. All of those things are love in deeds.
Dottie Morken, white dress, white hose, white shoes, and nursing cap in just the right place on her head was, in her own way, giving gifts of care to people who had virtually nothing left. She understood that even if you’re poor and sick and old that you still should have a well made bed, a clean place to sleep, and people caring for you who do it right the first time and every time. Perhaps some times we thought she was a witch when we wanted to get through things the quick and easy way but in truth she was an angel who watched out for people who couldn’t watch out for themselves.
Forty years later and I’ve returned to work in a nursing home. As I walk through the door to face whatever comes that day I realize she trained me well. Presuming she has passed from this life I hope she knows that a little part of her is still with me every time I try to make things “just so”. And I hope she’s pleased.
should not be the place where ethnic and racial differences and rivalries are celebrated so much as it should be the place where they are resolved in a new community, a new people, a new nation, a new race, rooted in Christ. In the Church we are not called to baptize the old but to be baptized in order to become new and that newness means that the earthly things that identify us, even if they are pleasant, are not the final definition of who we are either as people or as a Church but rather we are called to be a new nation, a new people, as a way of bearing witness in the present to the world which is to come.