Intercession and Time Travel

I have come to believe that sometimes we “stand in the breach” when we do the simple tasks of our daily life. To me, standing in the breach is the work of intercession, and like Meg and her brothers in the Madeleine L’Engle Time series books, I have faith that we can change eternal circumstances simply by being where we’re supposed to be at the right time. In A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Charles Wallace changed a pivotal situation which turned out a whole lot better than it might otherwise have turned out. Sometimes all we have to do is show up.

A few years ago, I was teaching at a middle school in the foothills of South Carolina. I loved the school, the students, their culture, and my colleagues. It was a happy place to be, and a family kind of atmosphere was prominent. Each year, I would assign a project to my 8th graders called Family Stories. The mountain folk know how to tell stories, and I wanted my students to learn how to be ethnographers of their region. Each student had to collect one family story, relay it to class, and create a visual of family photos and quotes to share. On the due date, parents, grandparents, and other guests would come to school and bring wonderful home-cooked dishes to share while their children told the stories they had collected for their project.

One bright, but under-motivated student named Kamdon decided to interview his grandmother on his father’s side, but when he asked her permission, his grandmother told him that he actually had a famous great-grandmother who would be a much more interesting subject. As it turned out, Kamdon was unaware that this great-grandmother even lived, but once he had an inkling of her existence, he would not let the subject die.

You see, it turned out that Kamdon’s mom and her dad were estranged—had not spoken to each other in years, and Kamdon’s mom would have to have contact with her dad in order to see her grandmother.

Hope Caler Brown is a wood carver. She and her husband Glenn carved with John C. Campbell Folk School instructor Murrial Martin in the 1940s. In 1942, Hope Brown made more than $250 from carving, more than any other woman carver. Her sales were topped by only a handful of male carvers. Having raised eight children, Hope Brown has said that carving kept the family off welfare. Unlike many carvers who worked from patterns or drawings, Brown designed her own patterns and shared them with other carvers.1 Hope Caler Brown is Kamdon’s great-grandmother.

The outcome of this story is quite sweet. Kamdon got his interview with his great-grandmother. His presentation received an A+, and something akin to a miracle happened for Kamdon’s family. I received the following note a few weeks later:

Ms. Atkins,

Being that it is “Teacher Appreciation Week” Kamdon & I would like to give you this carving in appreciation of the interest you have shown in Kamdon and our family. A few weeks ago I wrote to my grandmother and told her that you had mentioned to me that you would like to have a piece of her work, so she made this piece for you.

I also wanted to thank you again for assigning the family stories project to your students. You have no idea what it has meant to our family. To make a long story short, this project has bridged a gap in mine and my father’s relationship that I had thought could never be bridged. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

I did nothing overt in that situation. I was and am a teacher, and as a teacher, intercession for my students is an important part of who I am as a follower of the Christ. I stood in the breach and offered Kamdon (and his mother) an opportunity to explore their real family story—a story of reconciliation and passion. The lovely carved hummingbird sits atop my bureau reminding me each time I see it that we are all, indeed, part of the universe and that we belong to each other.

1 For more information on Hope Caler Brown’s carvings see The Hunter Library Digital Collections at Western Carolina University (http://www.wcu.edu/404.asp) and The John C. Campbell Folk Art School (https://www.folkschool.org/).

A Reflecton on Amos 7

When I was in my 20’s and teaching school in the South Carolina Low County, I often visited my aunt and uncle when I would travel to Charleston for the weekend. They lived near enough to the city and on the way to the beach, so it was convenient to run by their house or even stay overnight with them when I wanted to do more than I could accomplish in an afternoon. Once, I went into their house, and I came face-to-face with a plumb line suspended from the ceiling in the family room. Of course, I asked my aunt and uncle what it was—after all, most people don’t usually hang strings with a weight on the end from their interior ceilings. My uncle explained that it had no function except to remind him of the teaching in Amos 7.

I realized that my uncle, who has had a love/hate affair with religion, was grasping for anything that would help him understand what he had been taught about a judgmental God. I longed to tell him, in my youthful arrogance, that it really wasn’t that way at all. I wanted to say that, yes, God gives us standards to live by, but God also shows mercy and relents of harsh judgments—even in the very same passage that God shows Amos the plumb line.

In Amos I see a conflicted God, one who so loves his people—even the people who go astray and worship idols—that God is willing to relent of the harsh punishments that Amos hears of the Lord sending to Israel. This God is a merciful God. I have somewhat irreverently imagined this passage in terms of a New Yorker Magazine cartoon where God, as a county extension agent dressed in khakis and a white shirt accented with a Bolo tie, is leaning against a fence conversing with Amos who is dressed in overalls and a John Deere cap, and absent-mindedly puncturing those mulberry figs on the sycomore tree.* God and Amos are chatting about God’s decision to send locusts and then fire as punishment on the idolatrous people of Judah. I can hear Amos’ whining voice respond, “But Lord, how can Jacob stand what you plan to do? We are so small!” I can also see the thought cloud above Amos’ head that says something like, “And if you stick to your plan, I’m going to shoot you in the eye with fig juice.”

God does, in fact, deliver judgment on Judah and Israel in the form of exile, and I think it is instructive in this Advent season to understand why God exacted such a huge price on the people of Judah and Israel. God warns the people that they will no longer hear the word of the Lord because they have refused to listen to the Word of the Lord. Perhaps when we, a people of God, make up our minds that we know what God’s concerns and interests are all about, we’ve effectively stopped listening to the Word of God. When we deliver dictates addressing how others should behave, delivering the judgment that only God should deliver (and chooses to step back from), then we have stopped listening to the Word of God. And perhaps we have failed to measure up to God’s expectations to be a people of hope carrying a message of good will to all.

For more information about mulberry figs and sycomore trees, see http://www.plantanswers.com/bible_fruit.htm.

Trying to slow down in Advent

Today, I had a revelation about being busy. Sometimes, maybe all the time, I take on tasks that take me away from reality. I actually already knew this fact about myself, and I've dealt with it in varying ways throughout my life. But today, I stopped and asked myself, "Is the busyness of my life reality, or is reality what I leave behind because I am too busy?"

Let me try to clarify. My father is dying. He has been bed-ridden for over nine months, and hospice has been helping my mother care for him for almost that long. He has lost weight and has reached the point where he is choosing not to eat. My mother thinks she should somehow be able to get him to eat, and she desperately wants to keep him alive. It is so sad watching this drama unfold--a drama that has reached its climax and is now waiting for the denouement.

My father and I love each other, but there were times when it was hard to feel loving toward him. First, I am a female, and I never really felt like I was the prize among the children. I was the only girl, and I played sports, but it was the boys who caught my father's attention when we were all young. Other factors came into play as well so that I was into my 40's before I came to terms with how his past had affected our relationship. Generationally, the family system is still being healed, but I hold out much hope for the future.

There are several other stressors in my life right now--major life challenges--and so what do I do? I take on more and more not really thinking that I'll hide from the reality, but certainly making it more difficult to face what I can think about tomorrow.

While staying home today with my daughter who is suffering from mono, I realized I can let some things go. I don't need to always be busy. I can just lie on the sofa and watch a movie with her. Sometimes it takes a little angel sitting on my shoulder to remind me that I just need to slow down, spend the money, and let someone else take care of things.

Maybe this lesson is one others can learn as well.

Poustinia

I'm waiting for the days to get so short that my drive to work will begin in the dark and my drive home in the evening will also be in the dark. It's coming. It always comes in Advent. Like my Grandmother used to say, “I can feel it in my bones.” It takes me about twenty-five minutes to drive to work, so leaving at 7:20 is not out of the question--especially when I have copies to make or materials to gather before the students come to class. It only happens during Advent. The darkness grows longer. The natural cycle of dawn to dusk is soft and settled and even speculative and slower—such a great contrast to my daily schedule which is sometimes stressful and filled with all manner of "busyness."

At the end of Advent, I will travel to a small retreat center nestled in the North Carolina mountains and hollows and surrounded by fir trees. I’ll move into a poustinia for four days of intense prayer and fasting. The word poustinia comes from the Russian Orthodox tradition, and it has become part of the Catholic and Anglican tradition in large part thanks to the writing of Catherine Doherty. She describes a poustinia as "an entry into the desert, a lonely place, a silent place, where one can lift the two arms of prayer and penance to God.” While I’m in the poustinia, I will see no other person, nor will I speak to another person. I will be alone with God and with myself.

I’ve been on this kind of retreat several times, so let me reassure you before you begin wonder if I am taking this retreat business too seriously! Actually, one of my favorite memories comes from a trip to this same poustinia during Holy Week some years past. I was sitting on the deck and the sun had gone down. I was listening to the sounds of the woods and the early evening. It was a truly peace-filled moment which suddenly became a little chilly. I stood up and walked around the corner of the poustinia to reach inside and grab my wrap. When I did I was face to face with the very large and (almost) full Paschal moon. That large orb was rising above the field of fir trees and as she climbed higher, she lit the entire field with the silvery glow that is moon light.

I look forward to the time I will have the last week in Advent. Try as I might, I do not often find that same quality of attentiveness in my day to day existence. I begin my morning with prayer and I rely on God to give me guidance throughout the day. Yet, there is something profound about the intense, deep prayer of solitude. The coffee tastes better, the air smells crisper, and the words I read seem to be clearer. I always come home full of the silence that surrounds me while I’m in that sacred space, and I’m renewed in a way that helps me live in community with a deeper and more profound commitment.

I pray that your Advent experience is one that enfolds you and supports you in your walk with God and with people. As the darkness swells and surrounds our days, may you find that God is there inviting you to deeper relationship and the joy that comes when the light returns.

Doherty, Catherine de Hueck. Poustinia: Christian Spirituality of the East for Western Man.
Notre Dame, IN: Ave Maria Press, 1975. Revised edition with new subtitle:
Encountering God in Silence, Solitude, and Prayer. Combermere, ONT: Madonna House, 2000.