Sunday, May 12, 2013
A Community Mother, and I remember Momma....
The young man who died accused of setting off the Boston Marathon bombs with his brother was not finding a place for his remains to rest until the Last Day. A mental health counselor sitting in a Virginia Starbucks heard of his insensate plight, sent out an email to the "faith community", and connected with a Muslim group. Arrangements were (legally) made, and the body was buried in a community that is unhappy with it having happened at all, including the local Muslim community.
But it's OK, because Starbucks lady invoked Jesus! She said "Jesus taught to love our enemies". Apparently this means going behind the local community to bury a person who is, based upon the news, loathed because of his murderous actions. (Insert "Godwin's Law" reference here.) Because she felt good about the idea, she has forced this on the community, with her United Methodist pastor's full support.
Jesus said I am to love my enemies. He said nothing of my forcing Rigel, or Michael, or Warren to love my (or even their) enemies. That is between each of them, Jesus, and the enemies. This woman has practiced Federalized faith, forcing what she believes to be right on an entire community, even (and especially) those who do not share her particular sensibilities.
But it's OK. She is happy with her decision.
My mother died half a century ago. Momma suffered (I choose the word precisely) a cerebral hemorrhage and left us. I was more angry than sad at the time, and within a week my living arrangements were changed, going from my stepfather (whom I adored, but who had not yet adopted me) to my father and his parents' household.
Fast forward fifty years. A month or so ago, we were having the kids over for fajitas or somesuch, and the Dread Dormomoo and I were in the kitchen talking. Something was said, about what I do not remember and suddenly, there it was. I missed Momma. Half a century later, I missed Momma, and I began to cry like a five-year-old. My sweet wife came over from the sink, enfolded me in her arms, and...was a comfort. I wept...not for long, but enough. I finally was able to grieve for the loss of my Momma, after fifty years. I have no idea what triggered it, and I had no revelations or deep experiences beyond finally grieving. No lessons, just a very strange experience.
For those who have their Mothers, a happy Mothers Day to them and to you. To those without Mothers, remember the good times and the joys, and have a happy Mothers day.