Birthing Hope

As a bi-vocational priest, it sometimes seems like opportunities to act in the "official" capacity are few and far between. Yet, when those opportunities arise, there is a joy that bubbles up inside me that cannot be described other than to say, I feel blessed. The month of October brought me two weddings this year, both of which took place outdoors. One was held in the White Mountains on a rainy day in the woods; the other, just a week later, took place at the foot of the Superstition Mountains in the center of a labyrinth. While one of these weddings was completely secular, the other included references to the Divine; yet both couples held Handfasting Ribbons and bound one another to promises. Both ceremonies were glorious. Both couples look forward to long, happy relationships. I am thrilled to have been a part of their big days.

I am preparing to print out a brochure with descriptions and pricing for services I provide in the capacity of priest. It's a little discomfiting, to think of these things from a business perspective. I am a person who deals in human compassion, empathy, and love. You really cannot put a price tag on these things. However, one must also make a living, and our time and effort are worth something. The "day job" provides income and insurance, but being in a social services position is not particularly financially lucrative. It's taken me a long time to bring myself to being able to set a cost to the ministerial services I provide. Now that I've done it, I've procrastinated on printing it out. By rights, it should have been delivered to the local wedding venues and other places before this "snowbird" season in the Southwest began last month. This is how I sabotage myself, isn't it. One of a million ways...

Brigid in the Desert hosted an in-person gathering every month for the first 2/3 of this year. When there were two or more of us sitting together at a table in discussion, it was awesome. Unfortunately, we are a small group of individuals with a variety of challenges. Toward the end of summer, some of our physical challenges made it difficult to meet in person. Instead, we have been chatting on the Facebook page and in the Facebook group, Brigid in the Desert Discussions. We have talked about everything from pain and spiritual experience to our interactions with those who have crossed beyond the veil from this world into the next. We are a diverse, fun, and hopeful group. Feel free to join us!

Now it's November. The Wheel of the Year has taken us past Samhain and the beginning of new life after the death of summer. We head into a time of deliberate thanksgiving, at least here in the United States, as well as a conversation around the meaning of that "First Thanksgiving" and our relationships with the Indigenous people of this land. There is much to wrestle with.

The nights are darkening earlier and we notice a chill in the air, even here in the Sonoran Desert. In the mountains and across the northern parts of the globe, the scent of ice and snow reinvigorates our senses and reminds us of cozy childhood evenings and Yuletide dreams. No matter our religious or spiritual heritage, there are memories of gifts and light and new hope that is born at the end of the calendar year. The Wheel turns. We grow older. Sometimes we forget the power of that innocent hope. At this time of year, we can be reminded of it; it can be reborn in us, if we let it.

If there is anything Americans -- and many others around the world -- can use right now, it's a newborn hope. Let's let it be born in us!

Let us birth a new hope.

So it’s Thanksgiving!

When I was a child, this holiday meant coloring pictures of pilgrims and “Indians.”  It meant singing Over the River and Through the Woods* at the top of my lungs with 25 other children.  We heard stories of settlers, Native Americans, and a hard, cold winter.  We were taught that the First Thanksgiving was a celebration of survival in rough conditions, shared between aboriginal peoples and the first Euro-Americans.  We know now that this is a candy-coated fairy tale, and the true story is not as beautiful as the common table I envisioned when I was a little girl.  As the true history reveals itself, the arrival of Thanksgiving becomes a time to challenge the status quo.  For many, this day is a reminder of the cultural genocide that started with the arrival of that first group of European settlers.  For others, it is a time to put on blinders and pretend the lovely little fairy tale is an accurate description of history.  Between these extremes, Thanksgiving happens.

As time passed, Thanksgiving became a day to celebrate family and our closest friends.  For many, it’s a time to celebrate football and food.  For others, it’s a way to open the door on a new season.  This is what Thanksgiving has come to mean to me.  It is a time for family to gather, large or small, to break bread together and enjoy one another's company.  I enjoy waking up early, preparing the meal and watching the traditional Thanksgiving Day Parade on television.  When Santa passes on the screen, the secular “Christmas Season” is official for me.  I like to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, the original Miracle on 34^th Street, or the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol.

Once into the season, I enjoy saturating myself with holiday music, watching the cartoon specials I grew up with or watched with my children as they grew.  One year, I introduced them to Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (which I watched from the time I was about 4), and we have watched it ever since.  These past few years, I have sometimes watched these shows alone.  I don’t mind.  The love that I feel and the energy that is released when I watch them makes the time worthwhile.  Thanksgiving is the beginning of a season that fills me – and thousands of others – with joy.

I support those who choose to make this day a time of remembrance for ancestors lost to cultural and real genocide; to blankets infused with smallpox, forced movement across the country, and being corralled into reservations.  I am not blind to the history of this day.  I do not ignore the truth, and will always acknowledge and educate whenever I have the opportunity.

On the other hand, I wish to declare this day as something new and separate from its history.  I wish to declare this day a day of thankfulness for our own good things and the good things we can find in our history and in our current times.  I do not wish to deny the happenings of our times; the racism, the sexism, the ageism, the hatred, the fear, and the frustrations that are so clearly evident in current events.  I do not insist that we forget the dead children of Ferguson, of Cleveland, of America.  I do not insist that we ignore the terrors of soldiers and civilians in the Middle-East, or of veterans shattered and lost in the system, or existing in the streets.  I do not ask that we turn our backs on those who need, who hunger, or who mourn.  I simply ask that in all the darkness, we look for the light; for there is light.

There is Light.  I look for it and find it in the relationships I have with my family and my friends.  When I find that Light I want to share it.  I cannot march, I cannot give money, I cannot pull individuals, cities, or societies out of their darkness.  What I can do is turn on my own light, and with that find the great Light that I can share with others.  I can share it in my writing, in my actions, in the way that I interact with others I touch along my path.  Yet I cannot share it if I do not find it.  To find it, I need the nourishment of family, friends, and the coming season.  My body, my mind, my heart, and my soul are fed by the rituals of my life.

Thanksgiving is one of these rituals.  Allow me this, and I will have the strength to shine the Light and to share the burdens of darkness with those who carry it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

*For an excellent history of this song, actually a poem called "A Boy's Thanksgiving Day" and its impressive author, Lydia Maria Child, just click on her name!