The In-Between of Easter

Today I identified with the handful of Canada geese I saw when I went for my morning walk. They stood at the edge of the partially frozen lake, their slender necks stretched to capacity over their barrel chests, their wings shivering slightly in the chilly wind. Tentatively two of them began to walk across the slushy surface. After some time they turned around and began calling the two younger ones (their grown children from last year's lovemaking?) to join them. Their tracks formed a pattern on the snow. I could hear them squawking and I imagined they were telling their offspring that this is not how it is supposed to be! How much more pleasant it would be to sink down into tepid water, feet paddling furiously, head dipping in and pulling up a tasty morsel! Instead, they had to walk gingerly and carefully on an icy surface.

Life isn't always as it should be and as much as we would rather not, we have to learn to adjust. I think the geese are doing a pretty good job, better than I am! Hardy and I have found ourselves in a season that Julie Ellison White calls the "in-between of Easter" (Rejoice! March-May 2015, p.34). We have always enjoyed good health. In fact we have taken it for granted, just like we took our youth for granted. We are not used to getting old and suddenly we are in an immersion course we didn't apply for!

It began with hearing loss for Hardy. For a communicator like him, this was definitely a test of his patience until he was able to get appropriate hearing aids. A few months later, after a long  wait, he had to have cataract surgery in both eyes and I was the designated driver (I hate driving in Winnipeg, especially downtown!). Just as we got that all sorted out, something happened to my left knee over which I had no control. Without warning it seemed to turn out of its socket, rendering it immobile. When I tried to move, the pain was excruciating. Like the geese who arrived too soon, I walked very carefully and slowly. Just as I began contemplating what it would be like to walk with a cane, Hardy developed intense pain in his wrists. We are in the process of figuring out if it is rheumatoid arthritis or gout.

Perhaps you are rolling your eyes by now and will soon stop reading, bored by my litany of petty woes! Just hang in there for a bit so I can tell you something good. Just as suddenly as my knee refused to cooperate, it returned to normal. I call it a miracle, but it is the nature of osteoarthritis my doctor says! However, I no longer take my mobility and agility for granted and I have much more empathy for people who suffer. The expression, "I feel your pain," has taken on greater significance for me.

There are so many different kinds of suffering to which people are exposed. Physical pain due to illness, disease and accidents, like we are experiencing, is inevitable and thus easier to accept as part of living. The other kind, inflicted on us by people we love or people with evil intent, is more difficult to deal with.

I am in the process of reading two novels by authors who have experienced the death of a beloved family member through suicide.

Rudy Wiebe's Come Back describes the intense emotional pain of a father whose young adult son has found life so unbearable that for him it is not worth keeping. Like King David in the Bible, weeping over the death of his beloved son Absalom, the father cries out "O Gabriel my son, O my son, Gabriel!" The father's grief is so heartrending that it's going to be difficult for me to read another book about a suicide.
Miriam Toews' All my Puny Sorrows is the story of two sisters, one of whom is suicidal. The other sister tries to convince her to stay, but is not successful. It will be interesting to compare the work of these two award-winning authors on such a dark theme.

Some people are caught up in what Hannah Arendt calls "the banality of systemic evil." They are deemed not worthy to live by others who need to assert their dominance. I recently came across a review in the Winnipeg Free Press (Saturday, March 28, 2015) of a book that describes the horrors of the Nazi concentration camp at Ravensbrück, near Berlin. It was the only camp exclusively for women. In If this is a Woman, Sarah Helm describes the atrocities endured by the women and children at the hands of Hitler's henchmen. The Nazis tried to destroy all evidence of the camp and it was almost unknown to the Western world until Helm undertook to expose it through her research and resulting historical account.
This book will be difficult to read and I'm not sure I'm brave enough to tackle it. The book reviewer, Barry Craig, ends his review with the following words: "Any scholarship that strips naked the tyranny of extremism -- from Hitler's Nazi creed to today's Islamic State and Boko Haram -- is worthwhile."

I used to read Bible stories to my children when they were little, but thought the crucifixion was too much to handle for three- and four-year-olds and they might have nightmares, so I tried to skip those pages. I couldn't get away with it, however. "Mom, you missed those pages, we want that story," they demanded. And so we read that story and there were tears until we read the Easter story and they discovered the glory of the Resurrection. They understood perfectly both the sorrow and the joy of this momentous event and I too experienced it anew through the receptive hearts of my children.

                                           My Lord, you wore no royal crown;

                                           you did not wield the powers of state,

                                           nor did you need a scholar's gown

                                           or priestly robe, to make you great.

                                            You never used a killer's sword

                                            to end an unjust tyranny;

                                            your only weapon as your word,

                                            for truth alone could set us free.

                                             You made no mean or cunning move,

                                             chose no unworthy compromise,

                                             but carved a track of burning love

                                             through tangles of deceit and lies.

                                             You came unequaled, undeserved,

                                              to be what we were meant to be;

                                              to serve, instead of being served,

                                              a light for all the world to see.

                                                        -- Christopher Idle