#59.6, Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. farm in the Vosges Mts.

         Vizsla came into our house in the middle of my prayer just in time to hear my spoken prayer asking God to be with Vizsla in his time of grief in the passing of his mother. So, he holds onto me now, as his brother in grief.  Maybe I am that, but only by holy happenstance; I didn’t choose it. And especially, I don’t want it. There is nothing about Vizsla that makes me want to be a brother in anything with him, particularly in grief.

         Now, through all this loud wailing and tears a theological question rises up about the nature of God. Is my God different than his God? I don’t really have God, God has me. Does Vizsla even notice God? I know nothing of these Avars at all, except they fight Christians in East and they wander the Persian desserts then leave their families to starve in the lands by the Danube!

         I know God is God. I don’t pray aimlessly into a void. I recognize Earth and all Creation as the great metaphor, the wondrous poetry, the art of the first and always Creator, the Spirit of all that is.  God is love, and love is the …  

         But I would rather argue theology with Vizsla than share with him in grief.

         I argue, “It isn’t my God or your God, it is just God. It doesn’t matter if you are Greek or Roman, Jewish, Ishmaelite, or Zoroastrian, God is God. If God is God religion doesn’t forge new gods. We just come around to finding that same God each in our own way. The one religion blames another for its different ways.”

         Vizsla observes, “Pagans call other tribes Pagan. Christians sever their own Jewish root. In the name of God’s love religion slaughters religion.  And you wonder why I don’t own your God?”

         “Vizsla, it is God, not me, who answered your need for compassion no matter what oddities of coincidence made you think my prayer was for you.  Just, leave me out of it.”

         Simply and truthfully, without frills, I actually do know that Love is demanding me to share this odd man’s tears of grief just now. He seems to think that my duty-prayer brought God in affirming to him that he is beloved despite the hole in his spirit called grief.

         We clearly don’t share all these human contingencies to God called religion, but maybe we do share in grief and in need.

(Continues tomorrow)

#59.5, Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. farm in the Vosges Mts.

         Regardless of the humanly derived and practiced separations of religions, in the universal nature of God’s love, we both share in grief and we are both a part of the same love of God.

         Really, I would much rather argue theology, or bible, or even how a musical tune should be sung. I would much rather take a stand on any issue. But he sees me as a partner in our own terror of emptiness just now. He claims me with his hug for brotherhood and his tears are for our common lot. I really don’t want him to grieve a woman’s death just now because I don’t want to imagine myself in grief also.  I just want someone to fix Ana.

         I know I don’t get to choose my grief but I push him away from me.

         He apologizes, “Sorry, Papa Lazarus, you just seem so much like Brandell, who knows me so well, I guess I just assumed you would understand too.”

         “Of course, I understand grief. I guess I was just thinking only of my own sorrow just now and not feeling very welcoming.”

         And he argues, “Of course, but my grief is more profound than yours since my mother is actually dead and your wife is yet alive. And besides, Brandell lets me cry with him.  And furthermore, your God answered your prayer to bring me comfort immediately by sending you. I know, I know.” he says, holding his hands up as a shield between us. “I will be careful not to overstep my welcome with you.”

         Arguing with Vizsla would be so much more gratifying right now than is sharing empathy with his grief. On one hand he is brilliant and clear thinking, but on the other hand he is an emotional rag basket.

          “You want to be rid of me too, don’t you Papa Lazarus.” And he leaves.       

         And now Hannah comes in. “Papa, what did you say to Vizsla?”

         I would have added my defense here, except Ana calls Hannah to her bedside, and whispers something to her. Now Hannah leaves with the same huffy attitude as Vizsla.

         Ana calls me to her bedside. I could only apologize for becoming so visibly annoyed with Vizsla right in front of her and all that over a prayer? I know there was no excuse for showing off my worst nature to this near stranger.

          I can only apologize to Ana now. I wish I was the loving person others expect me to be.

(Continues tomorrow)

#59.4, Thursday, August 8, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. farm in the Vosges Mts.

         Ana asked for a prayer aloud for this stranger, Vizsla, who is grieving his mother’s passing even though my mind and my heart are all only on Ana at this time. She wants me to speak the prayer words aloud, so together she and I can pray this. I take her hand, we close our eyes and…

         I whisper to God, “Dear God, sometimes the prayers in our hearts are our deepest worries — what we care for most. I know you hear what is in our hearts. But if you were distant and different from us then we could just pray with words that sound right but don’t really touch deeply, so please dear God, listen also to my unspoken prayers when I speak words aloud.” (There is a sound at the door, and yet I continue to speak the prayer.  Now it is silent at the door, probably the intruder realized it was not something to interrupt. So, I continue the prayer aloud.) “And together, Ana and I ask for you to be with Hannah’s Vizsla, as he has to face this time of deepest grief. And help me to nurture the empathy for him that I know is felt by those who love him. Amen.”

         And here he is this awkward fellow Vizsla who just burst into the door while we were in prayer.  He was listening at the ending of the prayer, and now he thinks … whatever he thinks … he missed the part where I said it was Ana who told me to say it, so I was only speaking the part of the prayer about this strange misfit fellow in order to please Ana. And now he has thrown his arms around me, and is sobbing on my shoulder. Of course, I know God loves him and Hannah loves him. 

         Now, he says he was so moved that I took my empathetic plea to “my God.” And he is thanking me for caring. 

         What does he even mean, “my God?” Are these Avars not Christian? Even Arians who don’t follow the Creed, worship the one God of Abraham and Jesus.

         “Is your God different than my God?” I ask him.

         “If it is the religion that makes the God, then all our fighting against the Christians surely would require all of us who are Persians to have a different God,” Through his blubbering he adds, “But…”

(Continues Tuesday, August 13, 2024)

#59.3, Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. farm in the Vosges Mts.

         Here at Ana’s bedside, I just want to know she will be strong and well soon.  I want to hear Hannah say her mother is fine and the surgery was minor revealing nothing more than a miss-placed pebble. But that isn’t what they’re saying.  All I can think of is this shadow of dread and all we are talking about is this socially awkward intruder, Vizsla.

         “Laz, he was an Avar soldier, and left his mother with their tribe to travel with the other soldiers to fight with the Persians against the emperor. But when he saw the horrors of battle, he chose to learn healing. So, of course, he was perceived as awkward and misfit among the soldiers. And maybe he lives up to that perception. But then, Hannah has some rough edges herself.

         “He studied medicine and went back to the wars as a pacifist. Now, ten years later he traveled with the Avars and the Jews, on that same journey with Brandell and Gaia. The caravan passed through his own land where he found that all of his family had died in the plague that swept their homeland while the Avar soldiers were away. He is grieving, Laz. Surely you can understand.

         “He is a brilliant and fine physician. It is a blessing from God that he and Hannah have found one another.”

         “I will try to be grateful, Ana. It’s hard to think of anything now but how you are doing.  Do you need anything?  What can I do for you?”

         “You know the unspoken as well as I do, Laz. There is nothing I would rather do than wake up from this fearsome thing strong and well again. But maybe it is just something we have to work through.”

         “Ana, in this most sensitive time, I’m so sorry you have to deal with that stranger who is following Hannah.”

         “Maybe it is a woman thing, Laz. Multi-tasking – sharing thoughts for another to lighten my own worries.  So, I wish to listen to you say a prayer aloud before I doze off just now. I want to hear your beautiful, gentle voice of man who will speak gratitude for Vizsla. And I want to hear your voice ask for God to be with him too in his own grief. I mean, God already knows your plea to stay close by us in this troubling time. I want to overhear your prayers spoken deep and wide for this man.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#59.2, Tuesday, August 6, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. farm in the Vosges Mts.
 

         Vizsla? He came along when Hannah was called to her mother’s bedside.  He was at the wedding wearing the colors of a ruthless, militaristic wandering tribe though he brought no weapon to the wedding. He came alone on horseback down from Trier and stayed to himself all through the feasting and the dancing. Why would I trust him now?  He just starred at Hannah, all through the evening then he took her away with him after the morning clean-up and we had to send Hannah’s brother on horseback yesterday to bring her back again. And here Vizsla came along, too.

         Hannah is in with her mother and I am waiting out here for Ana to call me. Vizsla is out here with me. He really isn’t very personable. He seems to have nothing to say to me.

         “I’m going in to check on my wife.”

         “No. You have to stay out here! Hannah said so.”

         Now Vizsla is standing between me and the door.

         “I’m Hannah’s father. She can’t tell me to stay out.”

         “Obviously she can and she did.”

         “Ana is my wife. I have to see her now.”

         “Wouldn’t it be lovely if pain and sorrow would yield to all of our wishes just because we are strong men. Strength doesn’t always get its way.”

         What a ridiculous thing to say. I just nudge him out of my way, and here I am in my own cottage with my wife and my daughter where I need to be.

         Thank you, God.

         Ana is awake and smiling and talking softly with Hannah. There is none of the terror just now that I feared they were hiding from me.

         “Papa, where is Vizsla? I sent him out to be with you.”

         “And I needed to come and see my wife.”

         Hannah abruptly leaves. But now I can be here with Ana. And she tells me, not about her own pain and fears, but about Hannah and Vizsla.

         “He’s like a stray puppy, following after Hannah. She is in love with him, Laz. And that is a beautiful blessing for both of them.”

         “He seems awkward in inappropriate to me. Maybe for him he is a good match for Hannah, but she should have so much more. She is a fine physician, brilliant and beautiful.”

         “You should get to know Vizsla. She really wants to keep this stray puppy.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#59.1, Thursday, August 1, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Herb Garden at the farm

         Ana, a fine physician herself, has been with Hannah and Vizsla, closed behind our cottage door for the fearful surgery to her breast. I’ve been sent away to the herb garden to gather wound wart and violet leaves.

         I was hoping all that is needed are flowers and some tea, but here I am again in this herb garden where the white geese keep the weeds at bay.  The gander declares me an intruder and comes at me clicking and honking, tall and arched necked, so now all the geese are chasing me around the garden. I hold my hand out to them in a gifting manner and it gets a raw pecking. I try speaking in a soothing tone, but hearing my own voice through my empathetic goose ears, I must sound like a snarling bear. It is no wonder they whip the stems I’ve gathered and fling them hither and thither.

         It’s true, I rarely come here and they don’t know me as a human caregiver who checks on them and fills their grain bin all through the winter freezes and summer droughts. They don’t know my voice.

         It is only the women and children who come here to gather the fragrances and collect the leaves for tinctures and teas. So, I’m already feeling humiliated by the medical people overseeing my wife, then, even the geese want me out of their garden but I have managed to gather a good bundle of wound wart.

         I know it’s late in the season for gathering violet leaves, torn and frail after the spring bloom. The violet leaves are laced with holes from beetles. Most of the useful violet leaves I can find are outside the herb garden, growing wild, hugging the earth in the tender woods and graciously out of range of the dutiful weed-pulling geese.  Now, it’s good to have a quiet moment in this tender, fragrant wood.

         Dear God, Thank you for all these critters that care for your gardens, and particularly for staying near us in our own human time of dread. I know you hear each of us calling for you to stay close now, so that Ana may feel your loving Spirit as she has to handle her own fears and pain in the midst of Hannah’s tears and my intrusions. And only you know what this fellow Vizsla might bring… 

(Continues Tuesday, August 6, 2024)

#58.14, Wednesday, July 31, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. The Farm in the Vosges Mts. 

         Not two days have passed, when Brandell and Gaia return and with them Hannah, sharing a horse with that Avar, Vizsla. On one hand it is such a good thing to see how Hannah is joyful. She is always so measured in her observations but now she is in love. Never has her happiness been exposed for all to see. But now we’ve been depending on her stoic detachment in dealing with our fears. Ana is in need of a medical fix not more tears from her children.

         I’m waiting outside the creek cottage now where Hannah is with Ana. As is his nature, Vizsla is also uncomfortably present inside the cottage.  I’m pretty sure Ana doesn’t want him in there for this mother/daughter, doctor/doctor moment. I suggest he wait outside with me. Hannah says he is needed in there. I ask Ana. She sends me to bring some herbs to get me out of the way. Vizsla refuses to come along with me so I am going alone up to the herb garden on the hill.

         In the herb garden I gather up what I can from sweet smelling lavender. And I know the chamomile makes a soothing tea.  I add to it some yellow flowers, and pink flowers to make a nice bouquet.  My hopes and my silent prayer is for Hannah to find that our fear is only a little pebble, easily removed.

         I tap on the door of our cottage like a young lover with a bouquet in hand, hoping she will come smiling to me and open the door.  I wait here for someone to answer the door to my own house. It’s Hannah who finally comes.

         Looking into the room, there is Ana laying on our bed and Vizsla is using a needle and thread to end the surgery. Some rags with blood are carefully laid around Ana’s exposed breast. The three traditional bowls for cleansing are on the hearth, still steaming. I think the surgery is completed.

         Hannah slams the door closed, pulling me outside with her.  She takes the bouquet. She is angry.  I’ve never known her to be angry. Hannah, whose very nature is control is snarling at me.

         “Papa, how could you be so stupid to bring this from the herb garden!

Did you learn nothing in your long life? We need an abundance of violet leaves and wound wart.” Footnote

         Hannah is grieving. In my defense, “Hannah, herbs and their uses change with time.”

Footnote: The 17th century ”Culpepper’s Color Herbal edited by David Potterton, with recent Pharmacognostical oversight, (London, New York: Sterling Publishing Co. 1983) p 48 and p 169

(Continues Thursday, August 1, 2024)

#58.13, Tuesday, July 30, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. The thatched house behind Annegray

         We’ve learned that Hannah didn’t just leave without telling anyone.  She just didn’t tell her parents.

         “Should we go on to the inn on the river and find them?” I suggest.

         “They’ll be home in their own good time,” answers anyone who gives it a second thought, except Ana. She leaves the table abruptly, and goes outdoors in tears. I follow her, knowing that she has a particular need to find Hannah very soon. I share her urgency to have Hannah’s blade put to Ana’s breast and relieve this amorphous shadow of unknowing.

         Ana can tell us of the lump, but she isn’t telling us of her own ever-throbbing fear.  Right now, this worry seems a little thing that could be gone quickly with a surgeon’s blade. Or it could be a seed growing into a fearsome death.

         The nuns sent her to Hannah, knowing Hannah is most skilled in this. Mater Doe confides to Ana that it is right to have Hannah do this because what seems to us who are in good health and good spirits, the annoying imposition of order Hannah brings, she also brings an honesty, though often awkward; it leaves no worry hidden.

         But now with the whole family at the table together Mater Doe affirms someone should ride up there and get Hannah, but, “It will be much better if it is Gaia and Brandell, who take that little ride up to the inn and tell Hannah she is needed at home.” 

         “Papa, I know you keep your prayers silent in your heart. But just now, as we are leaving soon to get Hannah, could you speak your silent prayer aloud for us all?”

         Very well, “Dear God, in your wide eye of universe you must already know the gapping gulping emptiness of every oldness. When Haberd and Brandell, and Will are at the heads of their own family tables now, assigning the prayer and serving the soup let us feel the unity of the larger belonging. Let our own elder neediness become our empathy as we are one in your love. Amen.

         “That was your prayer?” Brandell is miffed. “You just prayed about oldness? What about asking God to have Hannah fix Momma?”

         “Go now, find Hannah.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#58.12, Thursday, July 25, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. The thatched house behind Annegray

         This is the prayer of our priest intended for blessing this meal.

         “Holy One, invisible but present, notice in our hearts the love that bonds family, while we also become aware of our ever-new places within these generations. Bless this food, shared, that it may be an earthly sign of spiritual strengthening as we are always reaching wider arms for love. As one of us at this table walked with the man, Jesus, let us all walk in the Jesus love. Amen.”

         After the “amen” and the silence following it, Mater Doe starts the conversation.  “Ana, it is so nice you and Laz could take this time to visit all your children.”

         “It was nice of Greg to loan us the horses.”

         I know what is really on Ana’s mind. I mention, “We are thinking of Hannah, the only one we haven’t seen since the wedding. That fellow who was eyeing her…”

         Gaia answers, “Vizsla!  Yes!  He was very close to us as we journeyed here.”

         Brandell explains, “Close to us is exactly the right way to say it. He was the third person assigned to our two-person tent. And I have to say, Hannah and Vizsla are a holy match for one another – both because they are intensely devoted to the healing arts – and both are brilliant, but maybe not wise and not the least concerned with blending into the social fabric. His obsessive health projects ostracized him from his own, the Avar Guard, so we ended up with him in our tent.”

         I ask, “And how did that work out, Brandell?”   

         “Yes, not well, it stifled our passion. With all that oversight I might have married a virgin.”

         Gaia is concerned, “What? Who?”

         Ana rescues the awkward chatter, “Gaia, Brandell just said that rudely. We don’t need an explanation.”

         “Yes, Brandell, there are some things you don’t have to explain, poet that you are.” I added.

         “Sorry Gaia,” Brandell says, “But how does one talk about social awkwardness without being socially awkward?  And Vizsla is awkward, always the wrong place at the wrong time.”

         “Unless you are a wounded soldier, then he is a hero.”

         As a father worries, my concern is for Hannah. “So why is Hannah missing after his focus of attention on her at your wedding?”

         “Why do you suppose, Papa?” asks Brandell.

         Gaia adds, “Not to worry, they went to the vintner’s inn on the river for a little chance to find some quiet time together.”

         “Oh.”

(Continues Tuesday, July 30, 2024)

#58.11, Wednesday, July 24, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. The thatched house behind Annegray

         Brandell and Gaia aren’t staying at the monastery. With horses, they can easily go back and forth from their little house to this place where Brandell paints.  And with these borrowed horses we can ride back to their house with them now as Brandell finishes his day’s work.

         So, we end up at the little thatched house by the secular church. Ana and I are something like uninvited guests, as Brandell goes next door and invites Mater Doe to join us too, then he goes out to wash up from his day of painting.  Ana, a guest in the home of her daughter-in-law, makes herself totally at home, maybe too much at home for a new in-law, but Gaia is gracious while Ana makes us a meal.

         I know that Ana finds doing things for her children fills her emptiness, but I’m not so sure Gaia, with the cooking tools organized by touch, not sight, is pleased with so much help and reorganizing.  And Gaia hasn’t had a mother of her own long enough to establish a norm for this. 

         “Momma Ana, you remind me of the mothers of the Jewish families on our journey. For them, the traditionally assigned mother’s tasks were the most important thing. And it didn’t matter so much where the spoon was kept because they all knew where everything was, even when they traveled.  Everything had its same place for a thousand years.  But just now, I would stir the pot for us. It smells as though it has cooked all through and needs stirring, but I don’t know where the stirring spoon was put.”

         “Oh, I forgot to hang it back on the hook.” Ana realizes what she is doing, invading a blind woman’s kitchen and moving things around. Gaia only offered a gentle lecture and then she issues orders for me.  “Papa Laz, while Brandell is still out at the well trying to clean up his painted fingers, would you be so kind as to lift the cooking kettle off the fire?”

         Mater Doe might understand all of this, but she says nothing. She is very wise. I move the pot. Brandell joins us and we pull the benches to the table. I start to take my seat, then I realize it is Brandell who assigns us our places here. He and Gaia are at the head, and Ana and I have our backs to the door. Brandell calls on Mater Doe to say the prayer.

(Continues tomorrow)