My two favorite reflections emerge from within the same story; the Christmas Story.
When the last Angel has spoken, the manger a vivid image of poverty shared, the indignity of shepherds proclaiming the first gospel fades, Herod’s violent rantings a wounded past and Egypt a distant memory, two simply enduring reflections remain; one of Jesus and the other, Mary, his mom.
“And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.”
(Luke 2:52 NIV)
“But his mother treasured all these things in her heart.”
(Luke 2:51 NIV)
its 7:15 AM and I’m sitting out in the community garden of our church reflecting on the layered feelings emerging from a week filled with wonder and overwhelming pain and sorrow. it was just yesterday as a Samoan elder and I were talking, weeping snd praying that Panapa passed. Sorrow upon Sorrow.
My neighbor, Walt, a fifty + year old man with a spirit of corrupt innocence and a mental age of a child comes by, as he does daily, to chat. So much for quiet moments. Within a minute or two he has covered his usual topics of choice;
”No money Terry,” he initiates sounding a bit like Eyore. I smile, adding, “I know Walt”. As if I were not there, he continues. “No money for bike parts, cigarettes or marijuana, Terry.” Once again a smile emerges as I remember an urgent call I received just yesterday from a Parishoner offended by Walt smoking marijuana out in this very same garden and assuming I would want to come immediately and kick him off the church grounds. A bit angry I asked “Why? It’s not like he’s doing something illegal.” Then I caught myself and thinking of the teens living on campus assured my Parishoner I would respond. I forgot too.
Now, I remember and tell Walt that “we will not be growing marijuana in this garden”, to which he responded. “I know, Christian told me the same thing.” Now, Christian is a young Samoan and gentle man, an educator, who together with his lady, Emily, is responsible for this garden. That he would meaningfully engage Walt was no surprise. Mentioning Christian‘s name brought me back to why I came out here this morning.
Panapa, Christian’s uncle, was the second of three, a sister and two brothers, very sick with Covid19. Panapa and Va’e have passed only days apart.
Panapa, like Jesus, simply grew and very much in favor with both God and humans. Like Walt, his was a tender child-like spirit. Unlike Walt, there is nothing corrupting about him.
In a family filled with intellectual prowess the likes of which I‘ve never seen before, Panapa exhibited intuitive sensitivity expressed through tender eyes and acts of service. There was no time I recall when love, pure and simple, did not pour out from within him. He cooked, cleaned, laughed freely, loved TV. His questions revealed a depth of thought that his words could not fully express. He was curious and open like Taio. His heart was full of acts of charity like Glendal or Honeygirl and a spirit as pure as Merina, his sister.
Whatever event or need brought me into this richly diverse familial life, it was Panapa who I almost always turned back to visit ever so briefly before leaving. Panapa was/is a presence, the glue that binds one to another. I shall miss him deeply and look forward to seeing him soon in the Kingdom coming, anticipating the day when his words catch up with his mind. On that day we will all be richer.
Until that day, I like Mary, “will treasure all these things in (my) heart.”
Terry :)
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