Healing: Self and Mother Love

                           St Brigid, with crystals and fresh lavender in my authentic Prayer Bowl made by the hands of a Cherokee elder. Photo by The Pensacola Hippie

It is Spring { Eastertide for Christians} and around us healing is taking place. People are getting vaccinated, and the Center For Disease Control has relaxed mandates for people who, like me, are fully vaccinated.  People I know who were previously ' on the fence' regarding vaccination are making the wise, caring-person choices to roll up their sleeves. 

  Some, including Brian and me, are making plans to travel within the continental United States. 

   After a long, sad, lonely "Lentiest Lent"-- Easter is here. 

   And the people say : ALLELUIA. ALLELUIA ALLELUIA! 

   Healing is starting to occur. Granted, we still need to be careful engaging with others on whom we are not sure of their vaccination status. 

  For me, a lot of personal healing occurred last weekend . I was blessed to be among the parish women who had an opportunity to pray, play, laugh, cry  and BE with several women I love & whose FACES I'd not seen in over 14 months. 

                                                   Retreat Attendees. Photo by Brian

 There is room for healing during a retreat, and I came back home feeling as if a hundred-pound weight were lifted from my shoulders.  For the first time in over 20 years, I am not dreading Mothers' Day. 

  I'll say that again : I am NOT DREADING Mothers' Day. 

  I spent a lot of quiet time at the retreat meditating on these words from St Julian of Norwich { Who knows a bit about Pandemic Life} 

 Dame Julian says: " God feels great delight in being our Mother. "

For me, knowing that humankind is made in the Image of a God who is Mother and  Father made me look at my own life with a fresh perspective. 

 I never had children. Therefore, I'll never know the joys of grandparenthood. But, as Julian explained, and I witnessed in the lives of the women on the retreat with me: there are so many ways to be that authentic Mother. . 

  According to Julian, an " authentic Mother" has these qualities--- regardless of child-rearing status. 

~ Compassion.  Compassion leads to love in action. An authentic Mother puts compassion into loving action. She seeks to ease the suffering of others. 

~ Service. God the Mother tends to the needs of her world. So shall we. Service can be towards anything in this world, from tending to sick people to lovingly caring for plants in a garden. Service can also include serving the most needy  in society. 

~Protection.  I think of a she-bear: gentle until something { or someone} threatens her cubs. 

As I spent some quality " quiet time" with God during the retreat, I've realized that I-- a woman who is not  what society considers ' a mother'  in fact DOES a lot of  authentic motherhood'. 

 Realizing my own motherhood is a big step for my healing. I cannot change society's insisting on a narrow definition that restricts  motherhood to child-rearing , but I can change how I see myself.  I can recognize the compassion, service & protective qualities in others. 

Mother God is near us and shows Herself in many ways. I am grateful that She showed me ways to tap into my own Divine Feminine and realize the broad definition of " Mother". 

Amen

Sarah Elizabeth McCarren

30 April 2021

 

 

Sacred, Mothering Hands

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                                                Women's Retreat 2018 Saturday worship. Photo By The Pensacola Hippie 

                                  " God delights in being our Mother." ~ St Julian of Norwich. 

 Normally I HATE May and " Mother's Day" As a childless, middle-aged women , the entire month of May finds me avoiding stores that want to sell me stuff . I love my Mom, and do honor her on that allotted Sunday, but I cannot help but feel left out of the Mom's Club . Now that some of my age-peers are becoming grandmothers, I'm left with staring at my approaching " Crone" stage of life differently than the women in my circle who are mothers. 

However, my attitude is adjusted regarding this Mothering Season, thanks to the works of St Julian of Norwich { who insists that God is both Mother & Father ) and --- much more importantly-- the sisterhood of women who were on the retreat with me this year. We were smaller in number, but the Mothering God was there in all Her glory. 

I am reminded of a photograph that I snapped three years ago at this same retreat. It is a photo of my hand, alongside the hands of two other women. Our fingers gently touch as we gathered around the altar at Beckwith as we blessed the Affirmation Bracelets that we had created earlier that afternoon. 

This photo is one that I printed and keep in a memory book -- among other photos and mementos from that weekend-- and return to often.  

When this photo appeared in today's Facebook Memories, I knew I had to save a hard copy to my phone. 

If we think about it, the human hand is one of Creator God's miracles. We-- who are made in the Image of this God's Self-- have hands with opposable thumbs.  Among all the creatures of the Earth-- only humans have such appendages . Our opposable thumbs allow for us to better grasp and maneuver tools. Throughout the ages, human hands have evolved from merely survival into partnering with our huge, complex brains to create things of beauty. 

The same hands that chop roots and herbs for food can also help humans become co-creators. My hands are my avenue for birthing art in the form of either words or images. As a writer, painter and photographer, my hands are an essential physical part of me. I'm able to use my hands to bring images in my imagination to life with acrylic paints and stretched canvas. Each painting is a labor of love-- hours of collaboration between my brain and hands. My work-- the fruit of my mind and hands-- is often given as gifts. 

                                            "Brigid of Ireland in Clergy Collar and Chasuble " By Sarah Elizabeth McCarren Acrylic on Canvas 2020. 

Liturgically -- before COVID-- my hands were used to hold the Cup and offer it to loved ones at Communion. With God's help, I'll eventually be able to serve inn this way again soon. 

My hands have engaged in playing basketball and tossing a football with my nephew.  I depend on my hands to pull my niece's long hair away from her face and into a secure ponytail so that we can safely ride bikes together. 

I use my hands to lovingly bake home-made bread for people I love. I delight in the kneading of the dough, and in the stickiness of doughy hands. 

I think that as women, we often overlook all the ways that we-- and others--use our hands to create, nurture,  heal and sustain others. Our hands allow for us to be extensions of Creator Mother God in concrete ways. All of us are called into service as part of our authentic Mother. Our hands -- hands of each and every one of us is called to create, nurture, heal and sustain. 

Copy that, Hallmark? But in all seriousness, my goal for the next 45 years of my life is to live into my own sacred femininity. 

Amen. 

Sarah McCarren

Feast Of St Catherine of Siena

29 April 2021

 

Those Three Words: A Law & Order: SVU Fan Fiction

 

                                                      Those Three Words

                                    { I own NONE of the characters or story canon }

                                                    By: The Pensacola Hippie

The buzzing of a cell phone woke Olivia Benson from a fitful slumber.

Rolling over, she glanced at the phone’s face.  Stabler .

“ Shit! “

 She silenced the phone and groaned. It has been a hell of a night. Kathleen and Maureen, Eliot’s two oldest children , has asked her to be present at a scheduled intervention  after their father had been in a car accident with their youngest brother. Both Stabler and Eli sustained only minor injuries, but the two oldest children were worried.

Liv told Maureen earlier that she doubts her presence at the intervention would make Eliot listen.  After all, he had told her to back off. When she told his daughter as much, she replied. “ But you are the only one who can talk sense into Dad. He needs you. We need you. “

The phone buzzed again.  Stabler’s name popped up and again Liv did not take the call.

Olivia sat up and rubbed her hands through her messy brown hair.

“ Eliot, tell us what you need.”

“ I love you…”

He’s said the words she had longed to hear throughout their long partnership. She loved him, but she knew his loyalty was to Kathy and the children.

She flipped on the nightstand lamp and saw that a voicemail was waiting .

“ Damn you Stabler. “ she said

Carefully she held the phone in her right hand   as she felt her eyes moisten.

“ You mean the world to me, Liv. Now back off. “

He did not want her help with whatever demons lurked in his head.

There was a time when she could read him—that he could not  keep secrets from her. But that was ten years ago.

She traced her phone with a finger.

“ Damnit, El, I barely know you now.

 Yet she DID know him. She  understood the pain in his eyes that showed how much he missed Kathy.

“ I love you… I love ALL of you. “ he amended after an awkward silence.

She shook her head. Did he really expect her to expose her heart to him in front of all his children?  As much as her heart wanted to rush into his arms, she refused to add more trauma for his grieving children. Also, she felt wary about totally opening  her personal life to him—she and Noah existed together as a happy little family unit. She didn’t want Eliot Stabler to mess up her life by leaving both her and her son.

She did not want Eliot Stabler--- not after his sudden departure and radio silence ten years ago.

“ Eliot’s not coming back, Liv. Let him go. “  Cragan had  said.

Carefully , she picked up a framed photo that sat on her nightstand. It was an old photo of Stabler & her, taken when they worked undercover at the swingers’ club. This one photo was her reminder of what she lost when Stabler left. She’d rescued it from the garbage pile after Cragan insisted that she clean out Stabler’s squad room desk.

Did she want Eliot Stabler? Hell no. She—of all people—knows how toxic he can become. She needed Eliot Stabler. Kathy’s deathbed observation was correct: the two of them are connected in a powerful, metaphysical way that in inexplicable. He’s the other half of her soul.

She needed him, and she loved him.

Yet she felt a lot of anger towards him—anger mixed with a deep love. On an intellectual “ head” level, she understood why Eliot felt he had to make a sudden departure from the unit.  What hurts the most was that he left without even a goodbye hug.

She loved him, but needs time to trust him again. She needed him to work through his grief over Kathy and agree to some therapy. She deserves Eliot Stabler at his best—not the shell of a person that he’s been since Kathy’s murder.

She unlocked her phone and texted her former partner.

El. I love you too. But right now… I can’t. You understand. Get some help, please. What about your children? What about ME?

###

Seeing parts of " Mother God" in FACES ...

 

                                  A depiction of " Earth Mother", by an unknown artist. 

Life is sl-ow-ly returning to " normal. Granted, it is not the normal that was before the worldwide pandemic, but I see signs of new community life starting to bloom. 

This past weekend a smaller number of women from my parish gathered at Beckwith Camp & Retreat center for a weekend of worship and fellowship. The theme for the weekend was " Living Faithfully Through A Pandemic" and we studied the work of St Julian of Norwich. 

 Julian knew about ' sheltering in place' as she voluntarily lived in a solitary cell for most of her life  She also understood living through a deadly pandemic, as Bubonic Plague was present in wavs throughout her lifetime. 

However my biggest  take-away from the wonderful weekend with some of my Beloveds is this: There is no greater Gift than seeing Mother God in the { unmasked} FACE of someone you love. Along with some careful protocol, about 45 women prayed, played, ate, laughed and cried together.  Seeing the smiles of people I love warmed my soul--- in each face I saw part of what St Julian calls " Mother God."

 Before anyone reports me to my Bishop for unorthodox theology, please know that the concept of a sacred feminine is NOT new. Also, there are several mentions in Holy Scriptures that refer to God as  a Divine Feminine. Furthermore, the idea of a Mother God is not unique to Abrahamic faiths. 

Anyway, as I reflect on the entire retreat experience of this past weekend, I feel a sense of renewal that comes from spending a weekend in a beautiful part of Creation with amazing women. The ability to gaze into the faces of others gave me a glimpse into an aspect of the Godhead that is often ignored in Western Christianity.  In the faces of women I know & love, I saw compassion, protection,  and safety that one might associate with a Mother Bird or Mama Bear. I was reminded that a Mother Pelican, if food for her chicks is scarce, will pierce her own breast with her bill and feed her chicks from her own blood. I remembered Mama Bear, who would do anything she could to keep her cubs safe. 

I feel gratitude for a couple of senior ladies I know who give hugs like an Grandmother and show me how to live a life in service to others. During Communion on Sunday,  I felt my priest's hands as she pressed the consecrated bread into my palm { baked by human hands } & the smiles of the cup-bearer as I took my individual cup of wine.

Most of all, I'll remember the FACES of these women. Living in this pandemic has taught me many lessons: and one of the most profound is what we lose when a pandemic forces us to live behind masks and screens. Never again will I take for granted the smiles of people I know.

This weekend gave me a taste of what post-pandemic life could be like if everyone got in line for their vaccinations. I'm not naive-- I am fully aware that we still must live with caution-- the pandemic is not over yet. There are variants. But I trust that God has the doctors in Her care and with Her wisdom, we will find ways to combat this threat. 

Brian and I had to go to the store this morning, and again, the sight of masked faces in the stores both made me feel relief & sadness. Relief because people at least follow the masking rules at our local Walgreens'  The sadness came from the fact that I'd just arrived home from a weekend of vaccinated, unmasked faces. 

My hope/prayer/mission right now is to convince people to do their part and line up for the vaccinations. The Face of God is in all of us, and she/he/they want us to see Them in others' faces. 

Amen. Alleluia

In the Name of The Mother, Son & Holy Wisdom,

Sarah McCarren 

As Madonna says: " Express Yourself"

                                       Self-portrait of the author with her wild, curly, reddish-blonde hair and PURPLE temporary highlights. 

    Much to the chagrin of both my hairdresser and my spouse, I decided to adorn my crazy , curly, shoulder length  blonde-reddish hair with purple highlights. 

   Don't worry, its temporary hair dye. 

   Anyone who knows me is aware of my fondness for the color purple. My Mom will even say that I've " taken to" all shades of purple since my toddler days. 

   Purple, in ancient times, was known as a color meant for rich people & royalty. Apparently procuring purple dye was hard work  in pre-industrial societies. 

  Since I am a nerd, I did some Google research on my favorite color. Here is what I discovered: 

   Positive associations of purple: 

"Purple is cheerful–whimsical and playful. It’s associated with an escape from reality and magical images. Purple is often a statement of independence as it’s not abasic, primary color, and it’s often a sign of fusing the mundane with the innovative. Purple is also associated with bravery,"

Sounds pretty good , hunh? Well, my favorite color also has some negative traits: 

As purple lives balanced between red and blue, it can be seen as an unstable, non-traditional color. Notions of royalty and ceremony can be off-putting to more democratic sensibilities, and purple can convey feelings of arrogance and condescension"

Yup. For better and for worse, I relate to purple. 

https://www.sensationalcolor.com/meaning-of-purple/

After the year we've had of COVID-- and as we SLOWLY start to live full communal lives again, I will be mindful that life is short. If I want purple in my hair, I will have purple in my hair! 

Shalom...

~Sarah McCarren

21 April 2021

Verdict...

 

                                         

The jury came back--- quickly--- with a verdict.  

Chauvrin was found GUILTY of all three charges against in in the killing of George Floyd.

I am relieved. Yet I cannot celebrate. It does not seem like a victory to me at all.  

Yes, a bad cop and even worse person will never walk free. 

But George Floyd is still dead. No matter how the jury would have ruled today, a man died needlessly on camera.  George Floyd's life was snuffed out like a candle-- a candle that will never shine again. 

The conviction of George Floyd's killer is not cause for celebration.  Black and Brown men suffer needless violence by law enforcement every day-- and all that the Chauvrin case gives is some sort of public accountability for one man's deed.  It is my hope that cops everywhere are held to higher standards -- that ONE incident of violence against offenders of color is one incident too many. 

As a White person, I must again own the reality that cops are " safe people" for me and other people who share my skin tone. While I did not ask to be born White-- the fact is that the lack of melanin in my skin allows me to regard police as " safe". 

I am not a parent, but I am an Aunt. As my gorgeous nephew grows up, I pray for protection for him--  a protection that other Aunts need not pray for their nephews. 

I am also mindful of the wonderful Black men { and their families} who have been like brothers to me since they were freshmen in college. Their experience in America is wildly different from mine, and to pretend otherwise is not valuing Black lives. 

In an online discussion several weeks back,  someone said that Christians who are seriously working to be antiracist is a lot like living out our Baptismal promises-- each day we begin again. For sure, my own journey is one of constantly remining myself of my own privilege. 

But no one ever promised that prophetic work is easy. Changing a corrupt, cruel, outdated system is a process and an art.  Like practicing a faith, antiracism work requires constant delving into study. We White people have been conditioned by society to only look at current and historical events through the lens of Whiteness & I am a guilty as the next person . 

More than one person has asked me why I " always talk about race.". The answer is simple: in order to work for justice for ALL persons, we White people need to become mindful of other narratives.  I've been involved in antiracism work for several years-- and owning up to my own privilege never gets easier. I make mistakes. However, no one can accuse me of ' not caring" or " being silent".  In the throes of COVID life-- all many of us had as antiracism tools were words. 

Listening to others' words and using MY words to communicate my thoughts along my own journey. 

George Floyd should still be alive. He was lynched . 

Society-wide reform is needed if Americans will ever cure the cancer of systemic racism. All I can do is live out my Baptismal promise by continuing to be a voice for change. As we slowly come back to in-person gatherings, I'll be more action-oriented in my work. 

Black Lives Matter. 

Sarah McCarren

April 20 2021. 

9 Minutes 29 Seconds

 

   I did not watch the Chauvin trial. After seeing this White cop lynch a Black man -- who was only suspected of using a fake 20 dollar bill-- on live TV I did not subject myself to the images. It is not necessary--- the images of Chauvin's knee on Floyd's throat is forever seared into my mind. 

  A lynching took place, and the cell phone video made all of America privy to George Floyd's last few minutes of life on Earth. 

   Black lives matter. In the following weeks after the Floyd murder, cities everywhere gathered in protest of this state-sanctioned violence. Due to living with a medically-vulnerable person during the early COVID weeks-- I did not allow myself to participate in Pensacola's gathering of people from all around our area. My first task was keeping COVID out of our home-- so I " participated" in the Black Lives matter movement from my home .  To be honest, there was nothing more I wanted than to add my body to all the other bodies gathering peacefully at the Graffiti Bridge for two weeks after the murder. 

  As an Aunt to two beautiful multiracial children and as a Christian with Ashkenazi Jewish DNA, this was personal for me. I am not a parent, but when I heard George Floyd call out for his mother as he struggled to breathe, the nurturer in me felt sick. 

   A man was murdered on national TV over the suspected use of fake money. 

   A  man was smothered to death by a  cop. 

   NO ONE DESERVES TO MEAN THEIR END IN THIS CRUEL MANNER. 

  George Floyd was Black--- the cop who killed him on camera is White. 

   People I know have asked me " why must everything be about race?" 

   Humans of Planet Earth: this, the murder of a Black man by a White cop is nothing new. As a White person, I've had to deconstruct much of what I had been taught in school about post Reconstruction racial relations. Segregation did not end when the 13th Amendment was placed into the U.S. Constitution. 

One visit to the Equal Justice Initiative Lynching Memorial in Montgomery, Alabama will tell the entire sordid story of lynching of Black men for bogus " crimes". In the not-too-distant past, a Black man was lynched for allegedly looking at a White woman incorrectly. 

  Y'all, we need to continue to " talk about race" because it can be literally a matter of life or death to Black and Brown people. Does talking about how I-- a White woman-- have benefited from systemic racism make me feel warm and fuzzy? Hell no. It is hard work to come to terms with how Whiteness allows people with my skin tone to be raised to trust the police.  Black and Brown children, and their parents, do not enjoy this luxury. 

  I stay in this fight for many reasons. Two of my primary reasons for working to rid the world of racism and the police brutality that is so rampant are a seven and five-year-old who share my DNA and my last name. Their lives, and the lives of people with their skin tone, matter. 

  George Floyd probably has an Aunt or two who are mourning him. 

  I cannot imagine the grief and pain his family and friends have experienced as the defense vomited every mistake that Floyd had done -- as if his past choices somehow warranted his gruesome, cruel, public murder. 

   Bryan Stevenson said " Each of us are more than the worst thing we've done."

   George Floyd did not deserve to die. And he surely DID NOT deserve his last nine minutes and twenty nine seconds of his life. 

  Rest in Power-- George Floyd. 

  ~Sarah Elizabeth McCarren

    19 April 2021