Food For Thought

November 20, 2012

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ:

I greet you in and through the precious name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

First and foremost, let me express my sincere thanks and appreciation for the significant response and the generous contributions you have made in response to the devastating effects of Super Storm “Sandy.”  In fact a team from the New England Annual Conference is already in ministry in Crisfield, Maryland.  Once again, the connection of our Church is a wonderful gift in the midst of tragedy and loss. Your contributions are truly appreciated.

On behalf of the Northeastern College of Bishops, I am writing to provide you with an update and to make an additional appeal for your consideration.  Our United Methodist Committee on Relief (UMCOR) has done their initial assessment of the situation and has determined that the recovery from this disaster will take approximately 3-4 years to complete.  This means that our response will be ongoing as we provide a helping hand to those in need.

At a recent meeting of the Northeastern Jurisdictional College of Bishops, we determined that the focus of our efforts will be centered on the Greater New Jersey Annual Conference.  The devastation there is significant and, after nearly a month, is still being assessed.  We know already that there are critical needs that must be addressed.

For that reason, we are initiating a special offering for the Greater New Jersey Annual Conference from their sister Annual Conferences in the Northeastern Jurisdiction.  This offering will be put together into one gift from the Annual Conferences of the Northeastern Jurisdiction and presented directly to the Greater New Jersey Annual Conference.  When a disaster of this magnitude strikes, UMCOR suggests that an Annual Conference set up their own special fund in addition to gifts provided to the ADVANCE.  This offering will be sent from the NEJ Annual Conferences to that fund.

May I request you consider taking a special offering on either December 2 or 9, earmarked for “Greater New Jersey Hurricane Relief.”  These offerings are to be sent directly to the New England Annual Conference Office.

Thank you once again for your spirit and your willingness to respond to our sisters and brothers in need.  My prayer is that we will come together to provide a truly significant offering as a demonstration of our support.

I look forward to partnering with you in the months ahead to provide a significant and compassionate response.

With Great Appreciation for Your Ministry and In Christ’s Love,

Bishop Sudarshana Devadhar

He added, in another email, the following:

Some may question why, if we just collected offerings for the victims of Sandy, we are sending a second offering, specifically for the Greater New Jersey Annual Conference.  Personally, as your Episcopal leader, it is a sensitive issue for me since I just came to serve among you and with you, the Saints of the New England Annual Conference, after serving among and with the Saints of the Greater New Jersey Annual Conference for eight years.  While it is true that we are giving through UMCOR, we also need to realize that there are restrictions on the use of UMCOR funds.  Only limited UMCOR funds can be used for repairs of the church buildings, parsonages and replacement of clergy personal belongings and many of the churches do not have flood insurance coverage.

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This is an email from Helen sent when her power came on Friday.

Not sure when i will be able to send this to you, as i have no internet service – nor telephone reception, nor electricity for that matter.  If you have watched the news, which, trust me, none of those most affected by the hurricane have been able to do, you may have taken note that lower manhattan was severely handicapped by the surges associated with the recent weather system…The east river, which is a few blocks away, overflowed its banks – and a five foot wall of water flooded con edison, causing one of its transformers to blow up.  The explosion was deafening, and rattled and reverberated throughout the area, knocking out power…Everything has been closed down and the east village has been transformed into a ghost town.  Nothing is open, no street lights, no flower vendors, no stores, no coffee stands.  Nothing.  It is very eerie and desolate – and dark…There is also no cell phone reception or internet so it is impossible to reach anyone – or go anywhere.  There is no subways service and although busses have started running, they are so  dangerously overcrowded and delayed, that it is very crude – and – sorry to say this – rattling.  I would easily compare it to India…And keep in mind there are no traffic lights and hundreds, if not thousands, of people strung along a ten block distance, hoping to cram into a bus…a lot of jabbing and jostling and jeers.  its definitely hardcore…

i have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow – and since there was no way anyone could get in touch with me – nor could i call the hospital, i took the bus up today – just to find out if indeed the appointment was still to be honored. NYU medical center, just a few blocks away, had massive flooding the night of the storm, its generator failed, and all the patients had to be evacuated (without elevators, mind you…)  When i arrived at Bellevue, the scenario was not much different.  The hospital was in the dark, and though there was some generator capacity, they were not sure how much longer it would last, and there was a convoy of ambulances, and the national guard, assisting in moving the patients.  No telephones there, no electricity, and no way for much of the staff to get there.  Pretty grim.  Needless to say all appointments have been cancelled…I am hoping that a few important upcoming procedures will not have to be rescheduled, and that things will be back to normal…I am hoping that the flooding did not do irreparable damage – as things are already shoddy in terms of medical care – the wait involved and then the bureaucracy…its a bit dour.

i also went further uptown to recharge my cell phone – though i was unable to get enough reception to make calls or receive whatever messages have accumulated. uptown is totally normal.  all the businesses are open, all the traffic lights are working, and women are walking around with shopping bags.  i found a whole foods with a cafe and plugged my phone in.  most every one there was from down town, doing the same thing.  we all look a little weathered, as its been impossible to shower or bathe…

i am happy i don’t live in a high rise.  i can’t imagine what it would be like to have to walk up eleven or twenty one flights of stairs.

fortunately the temperatures are descending – so whatever food stuffs i bought can go out on the fire escape.

the trip on the bus to stop at the hospital and then to whole foods required six hours of my day.  only to return to the east village to find that i can’t really make any calls anyway.

strange because there are no news stands, no bars, no televisions so we have no idea what is going on…or what the rest of the eastern seaboard experienced.

its halloween and its a little spooky…once darkness descends, no one is out on the street.   it just feels too dangerous.

i am not sure where to go or what to do about getting “on line.”  i need to make some inquiries.  perhaps since i don’t have to go to the doctor’s tomorrow i will brave the decrepit bus service again and find a way to get this email off.

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Early last Sunday,  while Arlene was busy preparing for the service at Chilmark,  (one which would feature the Jim Thoma Spirituals Choir), I was boarding the seven a.m.  ferry to Woods Hole.  It was a beautiful morning.  The heat that had assaulted the preceding days with ninety degree temperatures had broken.  When the boat began to pull out of the slip,  I stood against against the rails of the outer-deck, grateful for the sense of tranquility that graced my departure. Leaving this island is never easy.   As i gazed fondly at the wooden boats moored in the harbor, and then lifted my eyes to behold  the steeples rising above the treetops, I could not help but think about how much my life has been transformed by this mystical and enchanted landscape. How many gifts it has to offer.  How many secrets it is waiting to disclose.  Secrets that are necessary for our personal evolution.     (And to think i only came here for a weekend – twenty five years ago – to see a fellow i had a crush on  perform in a Shakespeare play. It was a production of Twelfth Night in the ampitheater.  i had never been to the island before, and arrived in black fishnets and a black sequin beret, expecting to hail a cab to the ampitheater, which i presumed to be a large colleseum like construct with vendors selling penants, bags of granola, and theatrical souvenirs… i never got the guy.  In fact, he never even noticed me among the six or seven in the audience.   But I was offered an even more remarkable  relationship with the island itself.  With Martha.  What a romance.  As we all know, she is a temptress, a narcissist, bewitching, beguiling, and capable of casting spells.   If Martha  wants you, she doesn’t let you go.  As long as you worship and adore her, she will always find you a couch to sleep on, and a reason for you to stay on).    With that in mind,  i must now have Faith, and Trust,  that even the ostensibly bad things that happen on the Vineyard  - such as this recent mishap – are likewise part of a greater plan – one designed for the ultimate benefit of all, however that might make itself manifest  - and despite the need for massive dosages of ibuprophin.   The island seems to dispatch many fairies, woodland nymphs, and benevolent spirits, to bless our lives and perform its magic,  but it likewise seems to have an inexhaustible supply at its command of various nebishes, jinksters and pranksters to execute its more fiendish mischief.

This last week at Arlenes was really restorative.  In many ways – like the love and concern i received from various parisioners at the church, it defies my ability to articulate – and truly remains one of the gifts disclosed by the disastor.  Sometimes things need to be cracked – if not broken – for the light to get in.  And i am humbled, for,  despite  whatever intelligence i might portend, i am utterly mystified by the power of the love, the understand and the compassion i was given – which helped heal and transform my body and spirit, on a cellular level.   The nurturing, acceptance, and support i received still stupified and causes me to stop in my tracks.

I do know that i am no longer the battered, bedraggled and bruised scruff muffin that relocated to Arlene’s a week ago.  i was shaken and rattled – both on a physical and emotional level – which many of you bore witness to, and helped me through.  God has a remarkable sense of synchronicity – and it seemed as if you were dispatched into my life at various junctures throughout this debacle.  Running into Ann Dietrich at the Post Office, or Julie at The Chilmark Community Center, for example, at times when i was “on the verge” of breaking.  Or Ted and Judy while I endeavoring to pound out the notes to a song I had orginally intended to play at the service – though the accident prevented me. “In the Arms of The Angel.”

Now, enriched by the acceptance, love, and support I received,  I must dwell in the hope that my body continues to heal and mend so that i am as good as new.  I am not sure if that’s how it can be at my age,  but let’s see…let’s hope…let’s pray.  With God, all things are possible.  And may I continue to remember the healing love from Laurie and Don and Pam and Clark and Judy and Ted and Julie and Arlene and Dr. Lorna, and Ann and Virginia,  when i return to the city – May the memory provide as much of a sanctuary that heals and gives strength,  as was lavished upon me since the accident occurred.

I am especially grateful for this last weekend.  I had only intended to stay “a few days”  at Arlene’s and certainly did not want to violate any boundaries in that regard, or overstay my welcome.  At the outset i thought i would leave midweek, though as Wednesday, then Thursday approached, I was still a wreck inside,  frazzled.  i was afraid that a if i head back to New York and something  bad happpened,  anything – the slightest inconvenience, it could make me snap. lose it.  go beserk –  in a way that would only hurt myself.  That’s what people who are by themselves do in the city:  they hurl themselves in front of garbage trucks, or busses, or on the tracks of an oncoming subway train. Sometimes it just gets to be too much.   I guess the word for me mid week was fragile.  i never really left Arlene’s side; i was like a baby duck, in that regard.  Despite my vehement independence, I guess can sometimes be very self adhesive.  Or let’s say i made pretend to leave her side,  but was always on the radar screen.  i seldom ventured out, and don’t know that i have ever spent that much time in doors.  i guess its what i needed. Arlene’s place offers a home for the intellect, for the artist, for the stomach, and for the weary.   The heat wave – proved a blessing, for it not only dissuaded me from leaving at the end of the week (tempertatures in the city hovered around one hundred and ten degrees), but it  aslo persuaded me during these final days, to get into the water.   I took the bus to ocean park,  both friday and again saturday.  While elsewhere others sweltered,  i stood in the cool turquoise waters of the Nantucket Sound.    The water is shallow so the sun beats down and heats it to a merciful temperature.  It felt good,  and once my body was tempered, i sat down, near waters edge so that I was submerged. i did hand exercizes in hope of improving mobitlity and range of motion.   i was grateful to have found my way back to the gifts of the island – in terms of the sky, the sea, the sands, the sun.  I have to be reminded that what the island offers (and what i return for) has a far greater power than whatever destructive forces were at work when the accident occurred – and it is that relationship – the one with the island, that i must take care of and hold central.  That is the one that nurtures. enkindles.  affirms the existence of the soul and its need for a relationship with God –  an unspoken trust demonstrated, likewise in the relationships i have developed with the parishioners at the church.  It is not about class, politics, economic standing, or some imaginary – illusory stratasphere of importance.  The transluscent aqua waters of Ocean Park were there for me – much more so than Lucy Vincent.  Those things are always tricky.  Especially in the summer.

As I remained leaning against the ferry’s railings, felt the breeze through my hair,  and beheld the island, growing further in the distance, i was grateful for having been able to see the island in its greenery, so lush and verdant.   It was just enough.  Too much, and you have to deal with the summer people.  Clam bakes on the beach that I am not invited to.  Raw oysters.  Not that i ever liked clams, or oysters, for that matter.  The most they ever offered was the opportunity to use the word “unctuous.”  But the idea of not being invited…

Somehow being with arlene also refunded my sense of self respect.  she somehow recalibrated the barometer by which i measure my own self worth.   this morning when i boarded the ferry, i did not feel like a ruffian, or a waif, or a wayward derelict who once might have shown promise but somehow missed the mark.  i  went out on the deck, glanced at the white clapboard houses sprinkled along the starboard shores,  and  thought, “oh its chilly.  let me put on a my sweater.”  so clean.  so simple.  so lovely.

I am not sure why exposure to certain elements can make me feel so substandard.  ( Sometimes i get confused to see where others are in life and how they are living at my  age.  I can easily feel less than.  As if i missed the boat somewhere along the way.  Like i should run out this minute and get a pedicure and a designer dog).   Somehow, Arlene sets a good standard, a good meridian. It is not about occupying  some exalted realm of  superlatives, if that makes any sense.   It is about  Good.  Its  not about  the best.  It does not imply some vertically inclined hierarchy where the unfortunate are consigned to occupy some low level synonomous with shame.  It is not determining one’s sense of self worth and importance according to how many pair of Ugg boots one has or the type of cheese preferred with whatever sort of cracker. (Even though we all know extra sharp cheddar by far exceeds any competitor…) In Arlene’s world it is simply about goodness, which in itself is an absolute.   Like many of those i have encountered at the church,  who seem to appreciate who i am, (and don’t rub in what i am not), Arlene sees whatever inherent goodness there is – and seems to believe that  i am priceless “as is.”

Good is good enough…

i am in awe of the congregation that attends the white clapboard chapel at nine Menemsha Crossing.   Everyone figured so predominately in what was a very difficult and challenging experience, physically and emotionally.  Looking back, how much transpired in a few short weeks.   We lost phyllis.  The organ was delivered.  Billy arrived.  Helen hurt her hand.  Lobster rolls.  Ian helps with the blessing of the fleet.

We are the fleet.

I know that at the outset of this last visit had intended to play “In The Arms Of The Angel” at the worship service.  Instead, I feel like the accident delivered me into the arms of them.

God Bless…

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Helen wrote a poem/hymn verse for the day.

Helen sang the song below at the service this morning explaining, first explaining how she believed her music was a gift from God made evident first here on Martha’s  Vineyard.

In Yonder Meadows

In these fields I’ve wandered, I’ve pondered,  I have grown

And my heart grows fonder, with each pasture I have known

And in yonder woods, I have followed the mossy banks

Of a trickling brook where I’ve knelt down to give thanks

These fields taught me compassion They taught me to forgive

And with mercy unrationed They taught me how to live

As a soul that’s fallen I’ve pounded my fists and wept

God must have heard me calling – For something in my spirit leapt

There’s a fog rolls in Each evening from the coast

It creeps across the landscapes like a phantom or ghost

It rolls across the meadow, the sorrells and the dales

Continues to drift even as dawn lifts Like a burka or veil

Through the mist I’m running  Heart pounding against my chest

To the spirit that is coming In whose presence I feel blessed

Yes Each moment hastens toward me  Impatient to impart

All that my soul craves  All that saves the wounded heart

With their verdant splendor

These fields taught me to believe

And persuaded me to surrender

In order that I might receive

No matter how far I wander

Or the qualities I lack

Or the years I have squandered

These fields, they always take me back

Helen Stratford

Chilmark 2011

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We asked Ann for her recipe after Tues night’s soup supper.  It was so good.

PUMPKIN APPLE SOUP

1 Tbsp. oil

1 med.onion, finely chopped

3 Granny Smith or tart apples, peeled and sliced

4 cups Libby’s complete pumpkin pie mix with seasonings,

(not plain canned pumpkin)

½ tsp. mace

6 cups chicken broth

Cook onion in oil until wilted. Add apples; cover and cook until tender. Stir in pumpkin pie mix, mace and chicken broth.

Cook for ten minutes, stirring to blend.

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