The last two times I’ve planned a trip to Iceland, my home has flooded.

Which is why, when I begin my Harvey mini-Sabbatical this weekend, I am not traveling to Iceland.  I will fly through Iceland and visit islands off the coast of Iceland.  However, the Faroe Islands belong to Denmark.  Not Iceland.   My mini-sabbatical is to Denmark.  Let me make that perfectly clear.

Right after I became a priest, I learned that vacations needed to be really away or they weren’t vacations.   My first big trip as a priest was to a place that I had always wanted to visit since I’d read One Morning in Maine as a little girl.  I was so  excited to finally visit Maine.  I went to Laura Ashley in the Galleria and bought a new wardrobe.  I packed a huge suitcase, nicknamed the monster bag, full of an array of coordinated outfits including scarves, hats and shoes.

That was twenty five years ago.  As I’ve traveled from places as close as Camp Allen to as faraway as Turkey, my bags have gotten smaller and smaller.  It’s easier to travel with less stuff.

The suitcase I will be taking on my trip Not to Iceland is a carry on bag.  In fact, the only time I check my bag now is when I’m traveling with my grandsons.  I definitely need two free hands to make sure I get us all to where we are supposed to be going.  And, oh yes,  I have had a checked bag my last two trips home from Iceland because I had so much yarn to bring back (after all, I’d lost most of my yarn in the Tax Day Flood and the Harvey Flood).

It’s not lost on me that I will return home near the anniversary of the Harvey Flood.  Truth is that the Tax Day Flood and Harvey Flood washed away so much of my stuff that my life is lighter than it’s ever been.

More space for God to fill those empty drawers, shelves, and smaller suitcases.

 

 

Several years ago, a private Christian school that served special needs children was looking for a larger space.  One of our parishioner’s children attended school there, and so we began a conversation about offering space for the school.  This was about the same time that the Episcopal Church approved marriage of same sex couples, and the private school had a strong policy about homosexuality that was inconsistent with the Episcopal Church.  The headmaster and I met for a conversation that, although we approached our Christian faith from different perspectives, was one of the most holy that I have ever had–two Christians listening to each other, respecting each other, praying for and with each other.

As we talked, the headmaster mentioned that it was their policy not to accept children whose parents were in a same sex union.   I told him that this would be a deal breaker for St. Mary’s because no matter what our view on same sex marriage, the children had done nothing “wrong” and should not be denied access or punished because of what their parents had done.   The headmaster had an aha moment–he had never thought of their policy in that way.  Why should the children be hurt because of what their parents chose to do?

I’ve been thoughtful lately about the burdens we have our children carry.  During the early days of desegregation, we bused children of color into places they were often not welcome in order to fulfill the law.  We didn’t do this to adults who had a choice–we did this to children,  the most powerless in our society.  Now, of course, I am not saying that desegregation was wrong, but we put the burden on the most powerless of the powerless.  We didn’t make adults do this–we forced children to do this.

I’ve seen this happen too many times–children who are punished because of choices their parents have made.  The children whose lives are made more difficult in order to force their parents and other adults to change their behavior.  Children who are compelled to be brave in a way that we adults are not willing.

I see the situation with the young immigrants along our border as yet one more time we’ve put our moral and political disagreements on the backs of our children–children who have nothing to do with their parents’ decisions, except, perhaps, wanting better lives for them.

When I came to St. Mary’s twenty years ago, because of limited space, portable classrooms had been set up and the children met there. Over the years those building had become musty and moldy. Some of us became concerned about placing children in a place that was so unattractive and most likely unhealthy. It would cost money to replace these buildings, and it was easier to set other priorities.

Until one night the Vestry had to meet in one of these portable buildings. They began to cough and sneeze–just like our children did every Sunday. Finally, when the adults had experienced what we’d been allowing our children to experience, we were ready to gather the resources to build what we now call the Holy Family Center.

It’s time.   To provide the very most basic needs to all of our children:  In education.  In health care.  In safety.  In emotional support.  In food and water.  We can do better.  Certainly, as Americans.  Without a doubt, as Christians.  If we won’t do this as Americans, please, can’t we do better as Christians?

Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40, 45)

 

I never thought I’d say this, but this past week in the Dominican Republic has been a kind of retreat for me. Last night the mission team gathered outside on a patio at Casa Pastorale for communion. We blessed the bread and wine by remembering other communions we had had on our trip and each sharing one moment we had seen Christ.

Thursday had been our last day, for now, serving in a batey. As we completed our mission work, we celebrated by worshipping with our friends in Batey 105 in the church built by another mission group.

The children gathered first, and Estela, an interpreter with our team, led the children’s worship including lively music. Then our team continued with Adelle reading the Gospel in Spanish, and I preached using an interpreter.

We talked about Jesus’s last act with his disciples before his arrest was to share a meal. He wanted us to know that he was always with us, especially when we ate together. Remembering that Jesus called himself the Bread of Life, we took the bread that had been set aside for our lunch and broke it and shared a piece with each person.

It was Jesus, and all were welcomed.

Yesterday was our Sabbath and we rode a boat out to a beautiful Caribbean beach. We were struck by the extravagance of all the shades of blue painting the sea and the sky. The boat ride back included dancing.

As I prepared to return to Houston this morning, I sat in the Casa’s dining room a final time with my coffee and prayed for each member of St. Mary. I do not know what God has in store, but I am still listening, Lord.

Today was another medical mission to yet another batey.

This day had its own gifts.

Starting with our first patient of the day, Adelle.

The batey was more primitive than the one yesterday, and the ground was uneven and littered with trash. Preparing to walk into the house that was to be our clinic, Adelle fell and injured her knee and ankle. She was in a great deal of pain and dizzy and nauseous.

Adelle spent the day with her feet propped on a chair, ice packs placed to keep swelling down. If you have to be injured, doing it on a medical mission is handy. On the other hand, being injured on an medical mission miles from anywhere in stifling tropical heat is not so good.

However, here is the gift. Adelle, a Spanish speaker, spent the day on the porch unable to leave her chair, surrounded by children as she created her own impromptu VBS with only a box of crayons and paper airplanes and a heart for Jesus.

No tshirts. No schedule. No Bible except what Adelle had in her heart. She taught them St. Mary’s Good Morning, God prayer in Spanish, and it was the batey children’s prayer that blessed our food at lunch.

We had lunch of sandwiches and juice to share with the children. As I looked into each child’s eyes, and handed him and her a sandwich, in my mind I said, the body of Christ, the bread of heaven. As the cup of juice was given, in my prayer heart I said, the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.

It was the Lord’s meal. All were welcome there.

After my time of praying with the patients before their clinic visit, I once again walked the dirt streets of the batey. Everyone welcomed me into their very simple home for a blessing. Everyone said yes to a prayer. Folks had visited the clinic earlier and children who had been blessed by Adelle were met again in their homes.

It was truly The Body of Christ. All were fed the true Bread of Jesus’ love. All were welcome. So very welcome. Christians from America. Haitians living in the Dominican Republic. Everyone.