A marathon

Tim and I have had many excellent adventures during our years together - an Ohio State-Michigan game at the Big House in Ann Arbor, a hot air balloon ride, and travels around the globe. One thing we never would have expected to find ourselves doing is standing along Kelly Drive on a chilly November day cheering on thousands of people we don't even know as they ran in the Philadelphia Marathon. That is just where we found ourselves today, waiting for one runner in particular: our girl, Rachel. Funny thing is, she's never been a runner. When she wasn't swimming long distances, she could always be found with the more physical sports pursuits like water polo, heaving a shot put, or throwing a javelin. But last spring, she decided that she would take up running and followed a plan that would train her for a marathon. Through persistence and long hours running in San Diego and every other city in which she found herself for work (including New Haven), she was ready. She finished in a very respectable 4:37:21, not that her time really mattered. It was the running and finishing that were the point.

What made this marathon day even more special is that it would have been Seth's 26th birthday. Rachel ran 26 miles, one for every year since his birth, even if he only made it to 24. These significant dates and milestones are difficult for us, but today was a day to celebrate Rachel and her life while remembering Seth through her big day and her accomplishment. Such a bittersweet day it was. Our grieving will continue to be a marathon of its own, but for today, we are grateful for a wonderful daughter and are so proud of her.

And what of all those thousands of runners for whom we cheered today? It was such a wonderful experience! Their running bibs had their names in big letters, so we could call them out by name as they went by and encourage them. I was particularly enthusiastic for the runners at and past middle age, marvelling at their courage and fortitude! Many of the runners thanked us as they passed, and many looked like they'd never make it. One guy was carrying a Yeungling to enjoy at the end, one was dressed as a gorilla. There was someone dressed as a can of Spam and a young man in a red dress and red shoes. There were two turkeys and one Wonder Woman. I saw one Yalie and two Oregon Ducks. Mostly, the runners looked like plain old people from all walks of life who, for whatever reason, somehow set on a goal of running a marathon. To us, it didn't matter who they were or what they looked like. This was a very egalitarian event - we cheered for everyone: fast, slow, tall, short, thin and not-so-thin, a host of ethnicities, constumed or not. For all of our excellent adventures, I've decided that I think the world would be a better place if everyone had a marathon experience, running or spectating.

Remembrance Day

I know that in this country, we refer to November 11th as Veteran's Day. I actually like the Commonwealth designation of 'remembrance,' though. Today we remember the wars and the dead soldiers and the lives immutably altered. It's also Armistice Day which is a day when peace was achieved. No, not permanent peace, but peace for 1918, such as it was. There are many ways to observe this day: fly a flag, wear a poppy, say prayers. I'm going to give you and update on Jay.
You may remember that Jay was my son's best friend growing up. He lost three limbs in Afghanistan back in August and, when last I wrote, he was in Bethesda Naval Hospital, destined for a long stint at Walter Reed for physical therapy. I, and many others, have been praying for him and his family everyday, sickened by what the war did to him and so many others, but loving him for his courage and for doing what he thought was right.

Today, just over three months later, Jay is not even in the hospital. He's in a hotel on the grounds of Walter Reed getting outpatient physical therapy twice a day. He walks on what they call 'shorty legs' for now until he gets used to them. Then he'll get regular length legs. He has a prosthetic left arm and manages pretty well with the thumb and forefinger on his right hand that survived the blast.

The pictures I've seen of him look just like the Jay I've known for over 20 years, but he's missing body parts that he used to have. That breaks my heart. But you know what he says? He says that he's thankful for the injuries he didn't receive - no head trauma, no internal injuries, no death. And now he's getting himself around on his own, refusing to let this beat him. It's an amazing act of courage. No one, and I mean no one, could have expected him to be doing so well so soon.

I hate what this war did to Jay, but I can honor him because I love him, just as we can honor all of those who fought for what they believed even if it meant death or dismemberment. I hate war and long for peace. That is my deepest prayer on this Remembrance Day.

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At our community worship this morning, we also observed Armistice Day (it was led by a British professor). As part of it, students from various countries seriously affected by past wars spoke of the impact on their countries - a Pole on the invasion on two fronts in WWII, a Greek telling of the 86% of Greek Jews that were exterminated, a Korean lamenting the invasion, the deaths and the subsequent division of her country. This, too, is why remembrance is so needed not just on this day but on all days. We remember the sacrifices of life, but we also need to remember the toll that it takes on our global community. Remember so that we can all work for peace and reconciliation in our world.

While there were no poppies to hand out today, we were given poppy-colored slips of paper with the name of someone lost in Iraq or Afghanistan so that we could pray for them throughout the day. So today, I am praying for Capt. Ryan A. Beaupre from Bloomington, IL and his family.

And I will remember.

On common prayer and other things

At Berkeley morning prayer and Eucharist this morning, our Dean, Joe Britton, spoke about 'common' prayer, pointing out that the beauty of this book that we Episcopalians use and read and love allows us to sit in a gathering with others whether we feel like praying or not, or sit in a cozy chair at home reading the daily office whether we feel like it or not, yet someone, somewhere is also praying those very words, and maybe that person feels like it and is able to sort of carry us along and lift us up when we are too tired or too sad or too worn out to feel like doing it ourselves. Then on those days when we are in a better place, our more in-tune prayer can similarly lift up someone else who just doesn't feel very connected at that time and in that place.

There's a real comfort in Dean Britton's words for everyone, I think, but especially for those of us to whom he actually spoke them. This time of year is stress-filled. Even with successful mid-terms behind me, there is no time to rest on those laurels because, with three weeks of class remaining (not counting reading week), there are 4 papers and 5 final exams looming on the not-too-distant horizon. Supposedly I'm doing all of this for God, but bringing myself to prayer with all the craziness of the seminary life is not always the easiest thing in the world. It's good to know that I don't have to be the one carrying the praying on any given day, but on those days that I can, it's also good to know that there might just be someone there who needs me to pray for us both.

Interestingly, in the Old Testament lesson from Haggai yesterday, God encourages the people to get to the work of rebuilding the temple. "Work," God says, "for I am with you" (Hag. 2:4). God promises to "shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land, and I will shake all the nations" so that the temple can be rebuilt. God is not asking anything of the Israelites except to work. God will take care of everything else.

So I will continue to work, trusting that God is taking care of everything else - Tim and Rachel and Yohann and the pups and friends and all the other people and things that I love. My job is to work at building this vocation, equipping myself for the life of an ordained person. I think this also means that God is taking care of the prayer part, too, as I pray in common with others in my immediate community as well as across the globe. That part isn't always up to me, either. Thanks be to God.