Anglican Rogation Day by mom’s priest

We’re moving (at some point). Not sure when or exactly where, but we are definitely in new life mode– that is, sowing the seeds for a new ‘field’ or future.

My mom’s priest emails his homilies out most weeks. They are almost always just precious. They’re short– ah, the beauty of a really awesome Episcopalian priest’s homily! True thoughtful meaning,  no time wasted!

He’s an undiscovered jewel of humility, study, kindness put straight into serious good works large and small, and comfort with human fears and pettiness– including making fun of his own (this attitude is kind of typical of the few priests I’ve known and may explain my willingness to be so, er, human, so publicly).

And he doesn’t hold back his sweet words–  he sends ‘em out ahead of time to whoever wants ‘em instead of trying to entice folks to actually show up to hear what he’s going to say this time. He doesn’t play games– and has the small but devoted attendance and impoverished church pocketbook to show for it I guess. But it’s important to be a straight shooter.

Today he sent out the Anglican history of Rogation Day. I really liked it.

I had a yard sale yesterday, spent HOURS on it and it wasn’t even enough time, and of course after paying for ads in the paper I about broke even and made about ten cents an hour.

And that is *not* counting the money I had to give my child to convince her to get rid of a few token extra toys– some for a friend whose house flooded, and a very few just to put in the trash (where a lot more of them really need to go!!!).

Yesterday was a day of people doing sweet things for me. One BFF came over and watched the stuff for me while I ran upstairs and pulled from the attic a bunch of clothes I’ve been hoarding, some for 20 years, out to go through in hopes I could bring myself to weed those too. We went through the grownup clothes, and, well, I found about six things I can definitively say I am glad to throw away.

My other clothes from the 80’s and 90’s? No way. Keeping. Can’t let go. Heck, we’re going to a place where we’ll actually need wool sweaters. And the baby clothes? I think I opened one rubbermaid tub– couldn’t even reach in and look at the stuff!– before I turned away. I can’t do this!

I have the stuff on mothballs and lots off ‘em for which I take serious ribbing from the BFFs. But here’s the point of those mothballs. I am in it for the long haul, I tell you. If someone needs a sweater, if a baby needs clothes 40 years from now, I got ‘em!

Last night as I brought in the yardsale clothes and put them in the ‘yard sale closet’ I thought, what am I *even* (as Napoleon Dynamite would say) doing? Why am I bringing these back in the house? Why aren’t they going straight to the Mission Thrift down the road from my workplace– a huge symbolic gesture to accompany my last 8 days at my current job?

What is the best use of my time? Spending hours making a few bucks here and there, organizing and storing this crap, a breeding ground for bugs, dustmites, and psychological burden? Getting my house completely cleared out to the essentials (and the spiritual fortitude it takes to actually let go)?

Some things I do that take more time have payoffs that make them worth it. When I cook a vegan meal or make pancakes or muffins or bake a cake, the appetizing (usually!) food, the removal of additives and other yuckies that will aggravate autoimmune disorders or cancer genes or heart disease down the road, and the nutrition are their own reward. With vegan cooking we also get a side of saving the earth– meat agriculture is harder on our environment than our cars.

When I hang clothes on the line (convert your clothes dryer to solar power for two bucks!) we save about 50 cents and the sun bleaches out stains. We also get another side of saving the earth, since reducing consumption is one of the keys to moving away from fossil fuels and toward renewable energy.

So. Rogation Day (Welcome to workingmommykimworld, where a million things are always going on at the same time).

I think Father Richard’s sermon is  my answer. I proceed to shorten and bastardize it greatly for the sake of my point.

Rogation Day like most Christian holidays was imposed upon a pagan/druid sacred day and ritual.  Joseph of Arimathea was no fool– he didn’t reinvent the wheel. When in Rome, that is Glastonbury…

Wealthy ‘counselor’ and Jew, maternal uncle Joseph of Arimathaea, supposedly a disciple in secret, requests Christ’s body after the crucifixion so that it may be honorably buried in accordance with Jewish custom. Then he has to hightail it so he hits the friendly godless shores of the British Isles (has much changed?) where they don’t like to write stuff down (no paper trail) but preferred to tell stories to keep the spirit alive.

H’m. As a librarian and student of indigenous culture and given my belief in the importance of human connection, this in many contexts sounds good to me. Though now that the written word is so fluid… it has a spirit of its own, it’s not such a threat as it must have been then.

But anyhoo.

The pagan feast of Rogation involved cleansing the fields of demons with switches, or praying for protection from mold, or walking the boundaries of the parish, depending on where and when you were.

In Britain they ‘beat the bounds’ with switches and then burned the switches (with their demons, presumably). The practice was outlawed in 1547 but in a strange twist Queen Elizabeth I re instituted it but ordered that the boundaries of the parish be walked. What was she thinking? That’s a sincere question.

Father Richard invites the congregation to a symbolic beating of the bounds, including burning the switches in a cookout (ya gots to have food if you’re Episcopalian) after the service.  He says, in part– why are we doing this?  Because it’s fun, because it’s history, because it’s our history, and because it is important to bless our church yard. The church yard is consecrated ground, and a precious part of our ministry. People rest and read in the church yard. Children play in it. It holds the ashes of our beloved dead.
Our homes and yards are a precious part of our daily ministry, even if we don’t call it that or subscribe to a codified system of beliefs from an organized religion or other source — Flylady.net for example. Flylady says to simply bless the world with your stuff, don’t hold on to it and don’t yard sale it, have courage to let it go and make room for more blessings to come back your way.

And home staging wisdom is that you must get rid of all your clutter to show your home.

We all make our houses and yards as comfortable as we can for our families, in accordance with our values, schedules, abilities, aesthetics, budgets, and our families’ needs.

When I was growing up my family’s homes were sometimes almost formal and sometimes clean but centered not around neatness but around people and activities– grandchildren. Visitors. Cocktails. Work space for woodworking or sewing or home office or home business. The almost too big supper table right in the middle of the kitchen.

No matter who or where they were, my grownups were diligent in making their homes presentable and comfortable, and tended their yards and gardens– whether a small suburban lawn or a long acre in West Virginia– with passion and devotion.

Now, my grandmas stayed home, my mother in law stayed home, my sister in law Kim seems to be able to keep her house lovely even though she works– she doesn’t have any little ones yet, but I suspect that if as a working lady she can find time for her arts and her home, she’ll still manage it as a parent. That’s just who she is.

My parents had slave labor (myself and my brother) to help. I haven’t got to those points yet– not staying home, not slave labor– and maybe never will, so while I and my husband don’t lack passion for or devotion to home and garden, I don’t know when or if we’ll ever get to their level of home.

But I take the thought processes and ministry and blessing of everyday housework, home hearth and garden, seriously as often as I can given how freaking tired I usually am after a day or week of work. Cooking and cleaning and yardwork are three of my favorite things, and I love to do them for my family and I love to invite people over. This is the first time I’ve had a house worth inviting folks to in many years, and my first own house ever.
So… back to my original question. Where should all those  yard sale clothes go? And what’s the best use of my time? What do I do? I know I need to dump the stuff. Holding on to it is indicative of a mindset  holding me, holding us, back, spiritually and financially and geographically.  But can I really do it?

Like Father Richard I’m not much worried about demons. At least not literally. But extra crap creates an inviting place for dust, molds and bugs to live and grow. It makes it harder to keep the house neat, adds a huge psychological burden, makes the house less attractive, both in terms of how it looks and how it feels at a gut or energy level, to potential renters or buyers. It makes us a lot less nimble when it’s time to move into what I am almost sure will be a *much* smaller house –but it will be in a place close to heavenly in many ways, which is why we’re willing to make the leap.

And I hear tell it’s not legal to set fires within these here city limits.  So setting fire to it, while it would be a gorgeous spiritual gesture (and I still have BFF’s flamethrower! forgot to give it back!), probably isn’t an option.

So. Absent processions and switches and fires, what do I do?

Rogation day. Cleansing the fields. Walking the borders of my little parish ministry. Praying for protection from mold (which loves to accumulate in extra stuff!).

pumpkin pumpkin everywhere

Every time I make and offer my child my AWESOME fudgy delixous bananna muffins my little girl says you mean *pumpkin* muffins?

Is she trying to tell me something?

My husband bought me a gigantic can of pumpkin, far exceeding expectations. Alas, I haven’t been able to grow a single pumpkin in my gardens, EVER.

Vegan with a Vengeance has a to die for pumpkin muffin.

Vegan with A Vengeance by Isa Chandra Moskowitz

Vegan Cupcakes take Over the World has a pumpkin chocolate chip cupcake recipe I haven’t had a chance to try yet.

Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World by Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero

So baby and I are off to see the pumpkin wizard. If I– okay if we– make ‘em she better damn well eat ‘em.

Yippee! We get to KILL SOMEBODY!

From my facebook, Monday, April 13, 2009 at 2:06pm

Yeah, I was just reading in the Bible where Jesus said he absolutely loved it when he could kiss his wife and kids goodbye not knowing if he as husband and daddy would return, sling his automatic weapon over his shoulder, walk into the jaws of death, and have a GREAT REASON to KILL SOMEBODY, WOOO HOOO!!!

I know I’m supposed to be being kinder, not stronger, not righter. So I’ve suppressed the urge to say this directly to people… I almost forgot I wanted to say it yesterday, but today I hopped on facebook and… I’ll just say it here.

I wholeheartedly agree: Captain Richard Phillips is a national hero. What a horrifying situation. His poor family! What a brave man. He left his ship with the pirates to ransom his passengers, crew and ship. If he’d lost his life it would have been a horrible tragedy– but it would have also been a loving and honorable sacrifice.

I also agree that the sharpshooters who freed him are heroes, truly brave and honorable, who waited to shoot until they felt his life was in danger.

What I do not agree with is all the high-fiving and ‘that’ll teach you to mess with us, sucka’ I am hearing and seeing everywhere regarding the rescue.

Human life was taken.

The sanctity of human life is a favored platform from which to bash political opponents, women forced to ‘choose’ and the unwarshed.

I guess life is sacred unless the sucker deserves it?

When you get down to it, whose life is less precious than another’s? And whose pain or need or sin is greater than another’s? Are we sure we can say?

There is theft of property, which is wrong, and then there is violence against human beings and other living things– double, triple, exponentially more wrong in my book. Most criminals just want property, not to hurt anyone. Many criminals want property in response to, in an attempt to get out of, insane, inhuman conditions– and that’s the kind of conditions they have in Somalia, for darn sure.

Vice Admiral Gortney of the US Navy says this incident could further destabilize this part of the world.

I am very, very proud of how the Americans involved handled this situation. They did what they had to do. Their own lives were at risk. They are heroes. They rescued a hero.

But taking a life is a horrible consequence, and further horrible consequences are possible.

Celebrate Captain Phillips’ well-deserved rescue and the rescuers– God bless them for bravery and honor!

But this is a grave situation.

Those pirates blundered into what has become an international incident and three lost their lives.

Yes, we do reap what we sow, in this world or the next… but do we as fallible human beings get to decide what others reap?

The pirates left the boat peacefully, and kept the captain alive perhaps in hopes of saving their own sorry skins.

I wonder what was going through their heads in those last hours? Were they thinking of wives, children, villages, their once innocent and hopeful childhoods left behind? What they would do if they survived? Or were they just bloodthirsty, greedy animals? Or a bit of each? We’ll never know, I guess.

There are so many people suffering in Somalia– hunger, violence against women, violence in general, corruption, lack of education… how now can we get at the root causes of this piracy, instead of just picking people off one at a time, allowing the cause, and therefore the violence, to continue?

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/04/12/AR2009041200467.html?nav%3Dhcmodule&sub=AR

P.S. Speaking of theft and harm to other human beings… is this true? What is the truth?

From Johann Hari, London Independent columnist, April 13, quoted on the Huffington Post (thanks bro)

The words of one pirate from that lost age – a young British man called William Scott – should echo into this new age of piracy. Just before he was hanged in Charleston, South Carolina, he said: “What I did was to keep me from perishing. I was forced to go a-pirating to live.” In 1991, the government of Somalia – in the Horn of Africa – collapsed. Its nine million people have been teetering on starvation ever since – and many of the ugliest forces in the Western world have seen this as a great opportunity to steal the country’s food supply and dump our nuclear waste in their seas.

Yes: nuclear waste. As soon as the government was gone, mysterious European ships started appearing off the coast of Somalia, dumping vast barrels into the ocean. The coastal population began to sicken. At first they suffered strange rashes, nausea and malformed babies. Then, after the 2005 tsunami, hundreds of the dumped and leaking barrels washed up on shore. People began to suffer from radiation sickness, and more than 300 died. Ahmedou Ould-Abdallah, the UN envoy to Somalia, tells me: “Somebody is dumping nuclear material here. There is also lead, and heavy metals such as cadmium and mercury – you name it.” Much of it can be traced back to European hospitals and factories, who seem to be passing it on to the Italian mafia to “dispose” of cheaply. When I asked Ould-Abdallah what European governments were doing about it, he said with a sigh: “Nothing. There has been no clean-up, no compensation, and no prevention.”

At the same time, other European ships have been looting Somalia’s seas of their greatest resource: seafood. We have destroyed our own fish-stocks by over-exploitation – and now we have moved on to theirs. More than $300m worth of tuna, shrimp, lobster and other sea-life is being stolen every year by vast trawlers illegally sailing into Somalia’s unprotected seas. The local fishermen have suddenly lost their livelihoods, and they are starving. Mohammed Hussein, a fisherman in the town of Marka 100km south of Mogadishu, told Reuters: “If nothing is done, there soon won’t be much fish left in our coastal waters.”

This is the context in which the men we are calling “pirates” have emerged. Everyone agrees they were ordinary Somalian fishermen who at first took speedboats to try to dissuade the dumpers and trawlers, or at least wage a ‘tax’ on them. They call themselves the Volunteer Coastguard of Somalia – and it’s not hard to see why. In a surreal telephone interview, one of the pirate leaders, Sugule Ali, said their motive was “to stop illegal fishing and dumping in our waters… We don’t consider ourselves sea bandits. We consider sea bandits [to be] those who illegally fish and dump in our seas and dump waste in our seas and carry weapons in our seas.” William Scott would understand those words.

if true…