4 Epiphany, Year B 2021 Mark 1:21-28 The Rev. Mary Caucutt

Dear Friends. What a year it has been. Can you think for a minute where you were this time last year? I know, it was eons ago! I was near the end of a 30 day silent retreat- thank you all. I was hearing about some virus from China and wondering if and how it might impact us. I was discerning a call to the diocese of Oregon as if the spirit’s inner movings were the only thing that needed heeding before unfurling future plans. Many, if not all, things seemed possible.

Then COVID, then the shut down, plans moved from being mapped in years to being mapped in days.

Then the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis and Breonna Taylor in Louisville, and my home state erupted in flames, for weeks the only law and governance for friends were hastily gathered neighborhood groups formed in the local city park. Neighbors looting neighbors, other neighbors tear-gassing neighbors.

And still trapped in isolation due to the pandemic.

Then the lead-up to the election and divisive rhetoric growing ever more demonizing. Creative debate over ideas replaced by loyalty tests to leaders and pre-fabricated ideologies. Gaslightling propaganda laid to rest in this country 70 years ago.

And fear and anger erupting. And violent sedition violates our nation’s sanctuary. And still, COVID. Unimaginable death toll, more than the Americans who died in WWII, hovers just beyond reach for those of us who live in Cody.

Loss of expectations, loss of trust in leaders, loss of health, loss of embodied love, loss of community, loss of dreams, loss of ideals, loss of jobs, loss of a beloved. Though we practice the yearly cycle of life, death, resurrection in Holy Week; when the cycle comes knocking in new attire, we forget what we knew.

Each wave that hits us, we are initially numb. When I broke my leg in 2014, I experienced the blessed physical numbness of shock, wiggling so my head was down hill, remaining conscious to cry for help my only goal. Crunching bones were nauseating, but it was not until later that the pain was unbearable. The first grief gift God gives is shock. Shock allows us to make dinner and change diapers until we are strong enough to feel the pain.

Each wave that hits us, we are drenched in pain anew. Pain reminds us we are alive, leads us to experience the depth of the loss, points us to the truth of our situation. Feeling emotional pain, accompanied by the release of tears, or even of dry-eyed cries, does two miraculous things that lead to resurrection. Pain moors us in the present, the reality of now; and pain activates our imagination for new life. The second grief gift God gives is pain. Pain invites us to both experience and to release our loss.

Each wave that hits us, anger stirs. Loss and death are like losing a limb or an eye. Part of our identity is gone, we are confused, we are fearful, we feel under threat. We get anxious and we get angry. Anger is a gift that supplies energy to rebuild our identity. But anger misplaced can shift our loss and impose its burden on others. Anger inwardly directed can cause us to harm rather than heal ourselves. Expressing anxiety and anger in truth channeled ways allows them to be the gifts of life re-creating energy that God desires for us.

Each wave that hits us stirs memories. While sharing stories about the loss do not bring back the past, the provide a foundation on which to build new life. Replaying our memories and sharing them repeatedly help humanize the size of our loss – all the pain and ragged emotions are a tsunami, remembering absorbs the flood waters. Our memories of life’s losses are God’s gift to moderate the pain and boost us toward new life.

Loss inevitably produces guilt. Guilt is the natural result of an unfulfilled task. Each wave of loss carries snips the connection between desires and commitments and our now inability to fulfill them. We name the unfulfilled tasks, grieve even the guilt, accept our finite nature anew and are gifted with forgiveness. God gives us grace to forgive ourselves for things left undone. As we grow in inner forgiveness, our heart expands to share that forgiveness with others. It is here that we begin to look back on what we lost with gratitude for the past, and perhaps even gratitude for the gifts of the grief journey.

Each wave that hits us invites us to playfully surf. Religion often feels heavy, spirituality the stuff of serious business. A vital step in moving through death to resurrection is play. Loss takes a bite out of who we are, to move into new life God promises we must try on new roles and new habits, to play with a different way of being in the world. We cannot force the spirit of play to return, as with every turn in our journey, resurrection is a gift from God.

In this pattern, do find yourself? Christ Church? Cody? Our Country?

We cannot be constant, good, and faithful companions to our neighbors through shock, pain, anxiety, anger, remembering, guilt-forgiveness, gratitude, and play. We are also swimming in loss. The journey we are on is windy and complex. The good news is that most of us can be good and faithful companions to ourselves and our neighbors for at least one stop along the way. Where does God call you this day to rest with someone in grief on their resurrection journey?