A Few Thoughts on Turning Thirty

Thirty. "Club 3.0," as my friends who have already reached it refer to it.

This year my birthday falls on a Tuesday, and that night I am in class as well. So we began celebrating on Friday, modestly each time, but something each day to mark the occasion. Mostly wine and good chocolate. An excellent, perfectly gooey chocolate cake from my brother and sister-in-law. Quiet parties and gatherings here at the co-op and around. More cake at church. Chocolate chip cookies at class on Monday. Tonight, watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail on the new computer that arrived, nibbling pistachios and a beer for St. Patty's Day. Moments of gratitude I didn't have to eat fake green frosting on anything this year. Mint is one thing; spray paint is another.

Thirty for me is counting each new gray hair on my head with glee. I'm up to about ten now; I wish I had more and would like to speed their arrival if I could. My folks would not; I have to guard my head when I'm home so that they don't pull them out when I am sleeping. After all, if I'm old enough for gray hair, what does that say about them? I also enjoy my wrinkles, most of which are laugh lines. I am less fond of still having acne.

These days I am often given some deference by others as being older and wiser than they. I can't quite get used to this. I feel like I still don't know anything yet, am still not nearly thick-skinned as I should be for this tough world, or for ministry; am still not as self-assured as I think I ought to be by now. Occasionally, I think I've actually regressed. I still feel wierd putting on grown-up clothes. On the other hand, I no longer worry about makeup, or even that much about hair.

I imagine I'll come back and edit this again later, as the age settles in this year. I've actually been calling myself thirty for the past six months, since no one believes you when you say you're twenty-nine.

Today I spent a nice walk listening to relationship advice from an eight-year-old girl, my professor's daughter, as we went to pick up lunch. She suggested thirty to thirty-five was a good age to have a baby, you're not too old or too young. But first I should find a husband and get married. I replied that I thought this was a wise plan, but that I wasn't interested in getting married; and perhaps there are enough children in the world without parents I should care for them instead. She liked that idea, and announced she hadn't didn't want to get married either, and it was nicer to adopt, preferably one who was older and didn't cry at night. I hope I didn't put these ideas in her head, but this girl is independent enough that I shouldn't worry.

What I do worry about, however, is that I've become an insomniac again, waking up after only a catnap's worth of sleep and unable to doze off again for a few more hours. I think this is the combined stress of seminary politics and preparing for jail, and hoping that my work is progressing well with the peace center. So much happening now, so much of it good, and yet enough of it that must simply be endured. Not so many illusions about the difficulty of realizing one's dreams anymore. But still a dose or two of good hope. May it be also with you.

Going to Jail, Part I

Greetings friends,

I received the letter this evening with orders to report to jail for my 30-day sentence for civil disobedience at the U.S. Army School of the Americas. I will need to arrive at the McHenry County Jail in Woodstock, IL on Thursday, April 3rd, at 2pm. Oddly enough, the jail is located at 2200 N. Seminary Ave. Someone in the Bureau of Prisons may have a good sense of humor. Details about the jail: http://www.co.mchenry.il.us/Common/CountyDpt/Sheriff/ShrCorrections.asp

Woodstock, IL is 60 miles Northwest of Chicago. I know that this will come as a great disappointment to the many of you who have hoped to come visit me while I was serving my sentence. I also need to tell you that the visiting policy at this jail is quite restrictive. The details are listed on the website above; if any of you feel that you would still like to come, please let me know and we will see what can be arranged.

There is a third restriction that I will find intensely difficult: I will not be allowed to have any books, magazines, newspapers, or other media (including clippings or internet copies of the same) while I am in jail. In addition to class books, I had hoped to have my Bible and my closest companions of Bonhoeffer, Berrigan(s), and Dorothy Day to see me through the month. I will however be allowed to send and receive mail on plain paper/envelopes. You may not send any packages or gifts in the letters, including extra stamps or envelopes. I had been previously advised that the conditions in a county jail are more restrictive than in a federal prison camp; and that there was a chance they could send me somewhere outside Chicago and/or my hometown in Mason City, IA.

There are male and female prisoners in this facility, including one floor dedicated to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement; as well as violent and non-violent offendors; and people awaiting trial as well as people serving sentences and/or awaiting transfer to other prisons for longer sentences. County jails receive funds from the federal government to take federal prisoners due to overcrowding. I am not exactly sure how prisoners are separated; I imagine I'll get to make quite a few new friends. I confess that I am far more afraid of the isolation than the conditions, though. I will look forward to your letters.

Some classmates have asked about the possibility of arranging a farewell event or service before I go in, and I would welcome this also, as it's quite possible I may not see many of you again until at least the fall. I see though that I will be leaving just after Reading Week and the Ministerial Institute, which may be a pretty crowded week already. When I return, it will be the middle of finals, another chaotic time. I would welcome the efforts of any friends who would like to think on this and arrange a time; and meanwhile, I'll start getting my bills and other things in order.

Finally, there are other things that would be helpful in support of my civil disobedience and to further the cause of closing down the SOA. First on the list is contacting your Representative to support House Resolution 1217, cutting funding to the SOA and thereby ending its continuing contributions to human rights violations in Central and South America. The SOA Watch website, www.soaw.org, has all the details. Second is learning more about the SOA, and if desired, I am able to provide several videos that could be played between classes on campus about the history of the School while I am away. [Susan Sarandon's in some of these, too, as one of her main causes, and I hear we like her a lot around here!] Third, if you would like to drive out to the jail on April 3rd to see me off, I believe there will be a caravan from among the peace community in Chicago and Northern Illinois. They'd love to meet you, and I hope you will enjoy their company.

Finally, I will welcome and lean on the help of my classmates in Dr. Terrell's, Rev. Karen's, Dr. Speller's, and Dr. Haldeman's classes for good notes. I will also need some friends to type my handwritten replies and forward them to others by email or share in class. Who knows? Perhaps I will find something of Community Transformation in McHenry County Jail. Can there be Worship that is/ as Transformative Art in jail? Perhaps being housed with so many other women, white and black, in jail, they will have things important to say to Womanist and Feminist Christologies, or on Religion in America. I hope the time can be of the greatest benefit to the most. I will let you know if I find out anything more.

peace to you,

Le Anne

Reviving the Bones

Sermon for March 9, 2008
Hyde Park United Church

Ez. 37:1-14, Ps. 130, Rm 8:6-11, Jn 11:1-45

[Introduction to a new congregation]
Good morning everyone,

You may be wondering, who is this new student we’ve ended up with? Where did she come from? What’s she going to be like? And how long is she here?

Well, my name is Le Anne, I’m turning 30 next week, I study at Chicago Theological Seminary, this is my fourth year in Hyde Park and on the South Side of Chicago. Places in the path to here included growing up in Iowa, heading to Israel and Palestine and Iraq; Syria and Lebanon, Iran and Afghanistan, and a few places in Central America. You could say I saw a few wars in those years. I came back to start seminary and work in the church; some days, as you might know that feels like a “war zone” too. But not always J In as much as I am able, I try to work for peace. Sometimes peace work will put a person in jail; I will be spending some time there in a few weeks for civil disobedience at the U.S. Army School of the Americas this past fall. Then I’ll be back again. That’s me. If I haven’t met you yet, I look forward to meeting with you in the weeks to come.

--

Last week in the lectionary, we heard the words of the 23rd Psalm,
‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.’

And this week, here is that valley.

There is death in this valley, more than a shadow; here these people lie not just dead but slain.

Slain, like so many schoolchildren in Chicago and school campuses in our nation. You’ve seen the news and you know what I’m talking about. Slain, like Baghdad. Slain, like Rwanda.

Slain, like El Mozote, where SOA graduates slaughtered 900 people in one village, only one woman to survive….a woman who until her death this year, remembered at the SOA vigils ‘that was my daughter, that was my neighbor,’ as we read their names and called, "Presente! We remember'" them, these slain, like all the places and all the ones we hold with pain in our hearts.

Now let’s think about the claim, ‘I will fear no Evil, for you are with me.’ Huh? Is this for real?

This week in the Psalm [130], we hear what sounds like a more realistic response to the violence which we see and which we know: “Out of the depths I cry to you, o Lord, hear my voice!”

Skeptics would say that those bones were abandoned. They’re dead! What good does it do them to hope? What a silly story! Who comes back to life?

Who indeed. As Christians we wonder, who indeed comes back to life? In whom do we place our hope, even in the face of so much pain and death?

--

I had not before in my life until this week thought of Ezekiel as a Resurrection story. And it is, it is. Here is death, but not just death; here also is the framework upon which the Holy Spirit is about to move. In this valley, and in Lazarus’ tomb, and only a few weeks later in our Savior’s tomb. We have these stories, and they comprise a history of a God who does not let death stand in God’s way.

And here comes Ezekiel, brought here to this lonely place by the Lord. Maybe they’re even people Ezekiel once knew, and misses, and mourns, and remembers. Maybe he is struck by despair. There were so very many in the valley. And they were so very dry.

Can these bones live?

Can’t you just hear him saying, crying, I don’t know Lord, only you know?”

--

How many times have you found yourself saying, 'I don't know, Lord?" Or even, “my bones are dried up?” How many times have you been too tired to go on? Whether it’s falling down into the chair at the end of too many too-long days of work, or waiting at the bedside of a loved one whose life barely lingers, or because you’ve been hurt one too many times. Maybe it's this winter that just won’t quit and your health hasn’t gotten any better, or you still can’t seem to get a job and you don’t know how you’ll make it. Maybe you want to say,

"Our hope is lost, we are cut off completely!"

I know that I have been to that dark place, many times, and it is lonely. It is a deep valley, and the shadows are heavy, and like the Psalmist, my soul cannot wait any longer for a sign of comfort that troubles will not last forever.

I hope that you have not been to that dark place, but if you have, or when you are, remember this: When you want to lie down in your grave and not get up, when even your friends are ready to let you stay in that grave because you stink like Lazarus, you're so far gone, this is where God comes to us, commands the stones to be rolled away, and calls us out:

"Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, O my people, and I will bring you back to the land of Israel and you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from your graves, O my people, I will put my spirit within you and you shall live and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I the Lord have spoken and I will act,” says the Lord.

--

All this, and yet Mary and Martha grieved at least four days for their brother Lazarus.

And they had hard questions for the Lord. The families of these who lay slain, of course they grieved, and of course they had hard questions for God. None of this means we won’t have grief, or hard questions, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. It only means that grief and death will not win. If God has to go to ends of the earth, or even to the grave , to restore any one of these children that She loves so much, God will.

And in those moments, have you known them? There comes an inexplicable new strength in our bones, new breath to revive our souls, in those moments we are finally un-bound and let go, on that day we are reunited with those whom we have loved. Death and grief will not win. God has not yet quit.

May this hope rest firmly in you and with you, and may it give you strength to live your days and respond to God's calling to be prophetic in your lives. May it be with all of us. Amen.