I mentioned during the readings that grief and gratitude can often be seen as opposing. I came upon something just this week that reminded me of otherwise.
It was a gift that was given to me from our own Marcia Hirst.
This is called a God’s Eye, and is made from Bindweed, the most tenacious and hard-to-control native weed. Marcia says that she made it to remind me, to remind us, to be strong! The Huichol people would place God’s Eyes for protection from the uncertainties of the future. Sounds like something good to have these days, right?
So lovely an object. If you touch the reed of the woven weed you’d think for sure that it’s synthetic, such is its strength. Such a pain it would be in your garden, causing many a gardener like Marcia grief.
What we are called to do these days, especially these days of thanksgiving, is to find the beauty in the grief…to cultivate things for which to be grateful out of the ashes of grief.
This little piece of art is an example of what embodying that looks like.
Rev. Janet Parsons said something that was very relevant to the present day, and the tenor of things. She said…
As difficult as it may be, we cannot wait until everything is going well to practice gratitude. We cannot wait until there is no war, no poverty, no injustice, and no terrorism. In other words, we cannot wait until all is well, until we are content and safe and secure. In fact, gratitude can be an act of defiance, a conscious decision to accept what is taking place in our lives and in the world as they are, and to choose to say ‘thank you’ anyway.
The irony about gratitude is that sometimes we need to be able to summon it the most when we have the least reason for it. Think for a moment about the origins of the Thanksgiving holiday as we know it today. It was created by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863, in the depths of the Civil War. It is considered by some to possibly be the worst year in American history. A half million people had been killed already during the course of the war – 15% of the population. No one knew where this destruction of life and of the nation itself would lead.
The irony about gratitude is that sometimes we need to be able to summon it the most when we have the least reason for it.
When there’s pain and suffering, because you’re mourning the loss of an election or of a loved one – loss of any kind – the challenge is to not mindfully avoid suffering, but instead to full acknowledge it.
One might say that true thanksgiving cultivates awareness, looks at life in its fullness and finds reason for gratitude.
Cultivate. I like that word. Does anyone know what a cultivator is? Any farmers here? A cultivator is a piece of big farm equipment that prepares soil for the new life of plants by:
loosening the soil to allow the penetration of air and water and light (otherwise known as life), breaking up clumps by crushing clods, and uproots weeds that can choke life out.
I’ll speak for myself to say that I know when my spirit is clod-like, not letting in life and light, not working at any weeding out of the bad stuff.
I agree with the experts who say time and time again, be intentional in cultivating your gratitude.
Create gratitude rituals for yourself, with your family at holiday time.
Write a letter to someone expressing your gratitude. Here’s an example from this very week. Arriving in our mailbox was this note to Lisa:
Lisa, I am grateful for the many ways you contribute your kind energy at NCC, and worship set up! I hope you have a restful and warm thanksgiving! Kathryn
So simple. Note one blessing a day. There are myriads there. Bring just one to mind today, and then the next day.
And finally, allow your heart to hurt when it needs to hurt. Don’t sugar coat your grief with slathered on gratitude when there’s pain to feel. Give it the space it needs too.
We’re talking about grief because, as mentioned earlier, there’s been plenty to grieve about lately.
Grief arrived from the political spectrum, and then hit far closer to home when later this month we came to learn of the unexpected death of our friend and long-time part of our Community, Barb Barthelemy (barth-el-mee).
Let’s turn our attention now to our dear friend Barb.
As many of us know, Barb was among us for years, and most of us enjoyed her in the context of church-related gatherings or at the symphony. Although many of us didn’t know a lot about Barb personally, we were grateful to have her in our midst.
Here’s a snapshot of Barb’s life and loves. Listen to discover how many things you might not have known about our friend.
Barbara was born here in Normal on September 11, 88 years ago. Along with her parents Carl and Mable and younger brother Eugene, Barb moved to Harvey, Illinois where she graduated from high school, prior to then graduating from Miami University in Ohio, where she majored in French.
A noteworthy job that Barb had following school was being a Montessori teacher, a role that requires an open-minded, tuned-in soul, because the rules of education are loosened, but the imperative for learning remains the same. I can imagine Barb thriving in such a position.
Barb fell in love and married Thomas Barthelemy (barth-el-mee) in 1960. They had one child, who is with us today…Amy, along with her husband Bruce and their daughter Kathleen.
Barb was an avid reader, loving mysteries most. She was also a crossword puzzle solver, as well as a devoted watcher of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She herself could’ve been a contestant, such was her fund of general knowledge.
Barb was a worldly woman. This was evident by the many places she traveled, in addition to living abroad for many years in Poland, Canada, and Germany.
She came back home to central Illinois to stay in 1989 where she provided care and comfort to her aging widowed father.
In addition to travel, books and puzzles, Barb also loved music. Amy reports that her mother enjoyed playing the piano, although her skills never reached professional strength.
Amy tells the story that, as a child her first exposure to profanity was listening as her mother practiced piano.
Barb attended any and all performances of Amy’s and Kathleen’s, as will as being a season ticket holder of the Bloomington Symphony.
After 88 years of a robust life, Barb was laid to rest alongside other family members at Park Hill Cemetery.
I’m sure she is and will be missed deeply by her family, as she will be here at NCC.
Here are remembrances that some of you have shared with me.
I so liked the surprising treats in her personality and spirit. Two examples, mentioned by numerous people, were her fabulous berets and red shoes. Several mentioned her obvious love of music, enjoying seeing her regularly at the local symphony.
Devon shared this memory:
My favorite memory of Barb involves Carys, who always enjoyed Barb’s fashion choices: her jewel-toned tops and jackets, her berets and her colorful socks. I always got a kick out of Carys, with her teen’s-eyed-lens on fashion, being impressed by Barb’s outfits.
The Hirsts chimed in too.
David loved that Barb had a clear alto voice. He said, “I loved singing next to her because we could sing parts!” Because of her love of puzzles and word games, they shared words from the New York Times crossword puzzles with each other.
Not surprisingly, Marcia’s focus was more on the artsy stuff.
She said, “I remember the special Eastern European Easter eggs, carefully wrapped, that she would bring every Easter. Also, I loved her berets…a red and turquoise wool. She looked so cultured when she wore them.
Marcia recalls when Barb brought in some books she was ready to part with, for anyone to take. “One book I took was heavily underlined and notated, giving me the impression she was a thinker, a questioner. A woman rich with many experiences and beliefs, a lover of the old hymns who loved to sing.” She once said she remembered her mother when she sang.
Others spoke of the fun to hear her contribute some obscure tidbits of information, which was both fascinating as a data point, and even more fascinating that she would possess knowledge of it (should’ve been a Jeopardy contestant!).
Several of you mentioned Barb’s rich voice, both in the context of worship leading and in choir.
Karen Rousy shared, “I loved her smile and twinkling eyes and her delightful laugh. I’m going to miss that gal!”
Indeed, we are.
Russ tells me that another favorite of Barb’s was an Irish song called The Winds of Morning. He surmised that she might’ve liked it because of her travel and residence abroad, especially resonating with the stanza:
There’s a ship stands in the harbor,
All prepared to cross the foam;
Far off hills are fair and friendly,
Softly blow, ye winds of morning
Sing ye winds your mournful sound.
Blow ye from the earth’s four corners;
Guide this traveler where she’s bound.
Barb has crossed the great foam now, already in the far-off hills beyond earth’s four corners. There will nonetheless always be a ship of memory that remains in the harbor here, bearing a legacy of a life well-lived.
You might remember some months ago I invited you to let me know what your favorite hymns are. Numerous ones of you responded, with Barb’s being the first, Barb’s list being the most robust.
One of those listed was “On Eagle’s Wings.” A beautiful song to celebrate the gift of Barb’s life and her transition.
You need not fear the terror of the night
He will raise you up on eagles’ wings
Bear you on the breath of a new dawn
Making you shine like the sun
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