Memorial Day, A Day Late

Memorial Day, A Day Late

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

—John:15:13

national Cathedral

Yesterday we celebrated Memorial Day. It is an American holiday observed to honor and remember members of our armed services who have died in battle. The observance on the last Monday of May began after the Civil War and officially became a federal holiday in 1971. As I see all the flags on graves at Arlington Cemetery, I am suddenly deeply moved. I have heard that the observance began with women putting flowers on the graves of solders on both sides of the Civil War Conflict where over 600000 men died.

Both my husband and I have had members of our family serving in both great wars, and my husband served in the Navy in Vietnam. We have not known of family members who have been injured or died.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to have a friend or a family member die during a military action. This is the great sacrifice for our country. This is a sacrifice for the one who died but also a sacrifice for those left behind who loved and needed their presence. I say prayers for those who died and those whose lives have been changed by their absence.

Sacrifice is not a word I often think about. Whenever I visit the National Cathedral, I try to find the stained-glass window remembering the Dorchester Chaplains, Lieutenants George Fox (Methodist), Alexander Goode (Jewish), Clark Poling (Reformed) and John Washington (Roman Catholic). They were chaplains aboard the U.S. transport ship Dorchester on a mission to Greenland in 1943 with 900 men when a German U-boat fired torpedoes and sank it. The chaplains organized the evacuation effort, got men into lifeboats, handed out life jackets and, when those ran out, gave their own to other soldiers. The last anyone saw of them, they had linked arms on deck to pray.

For the rest of the time I have, I hope to remember on each Memorial Day at least one person and his or her family who has died in the wars. I would love to hear your stories of those you remember that have made an impact on your lives.

We must continue to remember the great cost of war as we persist in remembering these great losses.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com

Living Paradox

Living Paradox

“The great paradox of life is that those who lose their lives will gain them. If we cling to our friends, we may lose them, but when we are non-possessive in our relationships, we will make many friends. When fame is what we seek and desire, it often vanishes as soon as we acquire it.” —Henri Nouwen, “April 30” in Bread for the Journey (HarperOne, 1997).

Nouwen again opens us up to a very real truth: that we live and work with paradox, holding tensions. One of the best books I read during my work as a physician was John R. O’Neil’s The Paradox of Success: When Winning at Work Means Losing at Life. It is subtitled: A Book of Renewal for Leaders. O’Neil starts out telling us about how our excessive pride as leaders, when combined with the seductive perks of power, can become addictive. At some point, the wielding of power itself becomes even more important than its goal.

Power and need to control our own fate can take over, and sometimes become the end rather than the means. The paradox of success is the promise of renewal as we can stand back, especially in a retreat, and see where we have gotten into trouble. There are obstacles to stepping back, such as our drive for perfection, as our path becomes a prison. Often we let our clocks tell us what we should be doing—especially as we drive toward the dead end of a substantial paycheck.

O’Neil believes that any amount of time spent away from our usual productive round of activities is renewing, as long as it is time spent in pursuit of some deep learning. For me it entails walking, being or sitting in nature, music, quiet, writing, talking and connecting with friends, visiting the sick, and some form of daily retreat, which usually involves writing. He encourages us to become healed by pursuing a different situation in which we do not run the show; as well as concentrating on relationships rather than goals or end results. Our difficulties stem from the very traits that make us winners. We will find gold in dark places.

The book includes a graph about success. We work hard to reach the top as we master our profession. We only stay there at the top briefly, since there is always someone else or many who will soon surpass us. O’Neil suggests that we stop to observe our situation as we approach the peak of a pursuit, and consider starting all over again in a new career. That can serve to keep us humble, as we are back again on a learning curve where we are not the ones with all the answers. As we get close to the top of that career or undertaking, he suggests we observe and again consider starting all over again. As Benedictines might put it, “Always we begin again.”

My summer reading this year includes David Brooks’ The Second Mountain. I think Brooks is discovering some of these same principles about life. More will be revealed.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com

Earth Day and Our Town

Earth Day

“For in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible.” —Colossians 1:16a.

The verse from Colossians is an ancient Christian hymn describing who Christ is. I also see it as a reminder of looking for the Christ in ourselves and others moment by moment. I know how difficult this is. Sometimes the Christ is so visible—and sometimes invisible.

I think of Emily in the Thornton Wilder play, Our Town, who is allowed to return to earth for one day to Grover’s Corners after her young, untimely death at age twenty-six. She chooses her twelfth birthday, and soon returns to her grave—when she can no longer bear watching as the people she loves barely interact with each other. They seem unable to appreciate the joy and wonder of each new day together, and fail to see the Christ in each other.

I am thinking about a past Earth Day when I listened to music about the earth, such as Beethoven’s Sixth Pastoral Symphony, as we traveled from a reunion in Virginia to the Gulf Coast. This symphony always reminds me of the four years we lived in Iowa City. The music was the background for a visual production of the Iowa outdoors called Iowa, A Place to Grow, which always reminded us to bloom where we were planted, and to appreciate the beauty of the earth and the people of that state.

I remember the first Earth Day in 1970. It was the day my husband of six months left for Vietnam for a year. I was pregnant with our first child and feeling very sorry for myself. I spent the day watching the Earth Day celebration on our small black and white television and stripping the wax off the floor of our kitchen. I knew I had to transform the energy generated by Robert’s leaving into something useful. I wish I could write here that I went out and planted trees; but alas, my kitchen floor was as far as I got.

I also remember that during our Earth Day trip we were driving through a gentle rain and the car radio was playing American composer Alan Hovhaness’ tribute to a beloved tree on his uncle’s farm that was struck by lightning, “Under the Ancient Maple Tree.” I wish I could say I participated in some marvelous events to care for and thank our earth, and especially its trees, on the other forty-nine Earth Days since that first one; but I honestly cannot remember another Earth Day. That day the best I could do was to enjoy the ride, give thanks for the rain, and be grateful for the bountiful green trees keeping us alive along Interstate 85.

I think of my father, a forester, who led many hundreds of expeditions to plant pine seedlings. I remember on trips how he often would point out the tall grown trees that he had planted. Now, many years later, I thank him for his plantings.

I have learned along the way that our environment, the outdoors, and especially trees keep us grounded to the present moment. It is just such a present moment that I think Emily in Our Town is talking about; one in which we learn to appreciate each precious gift of time, especially time with those we love. My experience is that I live most consciously in the present moment when I am outdoors and see the trees and plants, and realize that there is something greater going on than the past and the future with which I am so preoccupied.

C. S. Lewis and so many others, and now Emily, all remind us that the present moment—not the past or the future—is where we meet and recognize God in ourselves, in each other, and in nature. This is one of the best ways of knowing the Creator, the God of Love.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com