Thoughts on love, loss, meeting two of your s/heroes on the same day, and remembering what matters

This year has been a hard one, as my friends know, going back to the fall. Last November, in addition to the horror of Trump being elected, someone who I adored at work had a sudden brain aneurysm and died within three days. It hasn't been the same at HDS ever since. Things never will be the same, of course, and yes, I know: that's life. But.

But Harry Huff was one in a million , one in a million billion trillion. To know him was to love him which we all did, deeply. In the last few weeks I have described him variously this way: A musician, a teacher, and someone who I was lucky enough to sing with and call friend. Harry Huff was “Minister of Music” at Old South Church, Director of Music and Adjunct Faculty at Harvard Divinity School and just the most marvelous, funny, loving, kind man. 

 

Harry was a child prodigy with perfect pitch, who taught himself to play the piano and organ. He came from Tennessee and ADORED Dolly Parton. He could riff on Duke Ellington's sacred music as easily as he could perform Bach. Old South had a packed house for his memorial service.  He was so talented...and kind...and generous of spirit.  Others knew him better than I, but the fact is that if you were his friend, you felt like you were the *only* person on the planet who mattered to him.

So the loss of Harry was and still is inconceivable to me.

The day after he died, I stayed in bed all day crying, listening to his recording of "Will There Really Be a Morning " over and over, and created a Facebook page dedicated to his memory.  I could probably write a book about Harry but I'm already crying so I will get to my point. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cmhDDLCSI0

This past Friday and Saturday, HDS threw the biggest party of its life, as the school concluded its year-long Bicentennial celebration. Two days of programming were planned, with Saturday being a special all-class reunion for alums. There were panels and lectures, tours and toasts, an address from President Drew Faust and of course, lovely music, fancy desserts in tiny cups on trays and beautiful flowers.
We had several tents surrounding our main building to hold all the people and the activity. But the funny thing is that when the first panel discussion began on Friday morning, I didn't go. I had some financial odds and ends to take care of and as I sat at my desk running reports, I realized I just wasn't feeling like a party-girl. The end of April is the end of the academic year, the point at which even in NON-celebratory years we are just plain worn out.  And I? I was feeling like there was a cloud of exhaustion over me, and I just didn't want to party. The all-campus party was scheduled to kick off at 4, and I thought I would make an appearance then leave.

When the music began to plan, I thought about Harry, which didn't help. I thought: God, Harry would have LOVED this. He loved celebrations and this one would have blown his mind.

After lunch, I decided to go over to the garden and spend some time measuring the beds for a chicken manure delivery. The sun had come out after a cloudy morning. I pulled the tape measure horizontally down and across each bed, feeling the warmth on my back. I looked at the oregano, sage, rosemary and lemon balm and the bed of garlic that had returned from winter sleep.  The rhubarb had doubled in size over the past week. I tallied up the square footage and realized that the garden had done what it always did for me: it brought me back to life.

As I was crossing to go back to my office, I heard someone call my name. It was an alum who I'd been wanting to get to know for at least two years. I had been reading her marvelous blog: Beauty Tips for Ministers for years. Going by the moniker PeaceBang, she is a UU minister, an incredible writer and a clear-eyed thinker.  We had met once briefly and had corresponded, promising to get together for iced coffee but just hadn't found time to get together. But there she was, standing on the sidewalk. We got cold beverages and sat in the sun for almost two hours. PeaceBang was exactly the kindred spirit that I thought she would be. That was my first gift of the day.

At four when the party began in earnest, I joined the crowd under the tent. Three different people told me that a woman who we'd heard was coming to HDS in that fall as a writer-in-residence was there at the party. Terry Tempest Williams is another one of my s/heroes. She is an activist and conservationist and a beautiful writer. I had been giddy with excitement, hearing that she would be coming so I couldn't believe she was there then. It was hard to even move in the tent because it was so crowded. Just about when I was thinking I wouldn't see her until the fall, someone who knew her saw her and called me over. The person who introduced us had already shown her the garden and told her that she had to meet me because I care so much about sustainability on campus.  I am not gonna lie: I was so overwhelmed that I gushed, as I shook her hand. I have no idea what I said and I hope I didn't embarrass myself, though I may have.  It was a surreal moment. One of MY idols saying how much she was looking forward to getting to work with me next year.

I left that night, just floating on air.

On Saturday, I went back for alumni day because I had offered to give tours of the garden and our labyrinth. All morning, I had many wonderful conversations with the alums from my almost thirteen-years at HDS. So many good hearts, out doing work in the world in countless ways, trying to make a difference. But there were three in particular, three whose stories I will hold close to my heart, not because of any particular success or goal, but because they have all been through hell and are going through it still. They are persevering, working on personal issues of health -- physical and mental, and institutionalized racism, yet still holding onto forward motion, going towards the ideals that brought them to HDS in the first place. It's one of the blessing of HDS, that these stunning, creative, hopeful souls come every year.  I am privileged to be able to know them while they are with us and after they graduate. I get to listen to them and celebrate with them in their successes and then offer them tissues, tea, and M & Ms, when they come to the office in tears. I am honored to be held in their trust.

It's all one long interconnected story. That's the thing. It's about trust, community, and connection. The weekend held magic. I couldn't see it or feel it at first, but there was an amazing energy, contained in community.

This week, we will begin to interview applicants to replace Harry. It's an inconceivable task. I don't want to do it, but I will.  The story goes on and like music, it doesn't end.

And the encore for this week? It's persistence. Keep on keeping on, friends. You know I have your backs.

Why Earth Day Pisses Me Off

Today's encore is about trash -- or more specifically: landfill. The stuff that gets thrown away and ends up in our earth.

This week has been "Earth Week"; today is Earth "DAY". Don't get me started on this topic, the fact that we choose one week to try and fix the horrific actions done to the planet and then congratulate ourselves about it. I am not going there because it's so ridiculous that I'm not wasting words.

Yet.

I lead the Green Team at HDS which I enjoy because I get to obsess over the state of these issues with like-minded people. People who honest-to-God think about this stuff all the time. We planned events for each day of this week, designing them to keep up the educational push.

I know. I'm at Harvard. In Cambridge. Arguably one of the epicenters of progressive actions.

Yet. Yet it would surprise you how much doesn't get thought about. Partly this is undoubtedly due to the nature of our institution whose power source is prestige. Yes, there is an element of entitlement but certainly where I am-- the Divinity School-- there is real passion for social justice. Thank God. Thank Goddess. Thank Goodness.  Where I am, I have institutional support for this work.

Something I resent a lot is the fact that corporations make it so hard to do the right thing... or God save us...the less-harmful thing. One tiny example of this is the amount of plastic put into our world. I loathe plastic bags. But if you go into any store to buy bags for say, lunch sandwiches, the ONLY options available are plastic bags. Polyethylene bags don't biodegrade, though they do photodegrade, which means we end up with teeny tiny plastic fragments for hundreds of years. Great. The point is that there IS another, at-least-better option for your lunch: waxed-paper bags. I buy them but there is only ONE store in my town -- our local health food store, of course -- that carries them. There is a brand called "If You Care" which I think is fabulous. Talk about calling people out.

DO YOU CARE? Of course you do, only it takes someone like me, a persistent pain in the ass, to help you think about options.

My sense is that if our consumer culture is about spending, spending, spending -- then why wouldn't corporations at least care to keep life going, so they can continue to make money? Honestly, wouldn't it make financial SENSE to keep the planet healthy? How stunningly short-sighted are you when you don't even care enough to make this kind of choice -- i.e. less plastic -- commonly available?

And yes, a lot of plastic can be recycled but ONLY if a lot of people put in a lot of energy separating it and processing it. Each community has access to various processing systems and I will tell you : YES, it is complicated. I wish I could tell you that figuring out what can be recycled, what can be composted and what can't was a simple subject. I know there are complexities to it and yet, I still hope that you will care to figure it out.

The best advice? Keep it simple. Use less. Buying less stuff means less to dispose of. I think corporations should be responsible for all the excessive packaging but that's a story for another day. For today, just focus on less to go into the waste stream.

My mantra comes from the Depression: "Use it up; wear it out. Make it do or go without."

I am no saint, friends -- but I do believe these are holy words.

So, my encore for today? Go take a walk outside. Take a walk in the woods, if you're near woods. Go find something green and below it, some dirt. THAT'S a real Earth Day, friends. Get out there and be in it. THAT will do you good.

A Few Words About Food Justice

"Food justice" is a fairly new term for the "radical" idea that everyone should be able to get enough healthy food wherever they live. It's a term I use but wish I didn't need to. I mean: we need a buzz word for this?  It breaks my heart to think that we have to have a mission just to be sure that everyone has access to not just something to eat but FOOD, good food -- and it's critical to social justice. If you only have access to junk food without options or hope, how can you have a life?

     

Some amazing people I know who walk the walk are the folks at Faith Kitchen, which runs out of a Lutheran Church in Cambridge, MA. (Link to the right!) Twice a month, they commit to feeding those who are hungry. No questions asked. We grow produce to help provide part of these meals.

   
   Naturally, growing the food was my entry point. I got connected with them because I had been asked to help some students start a garden, which we did, and once we figured out how to use our space, we quickly realized that we needed to do something with all the pounds of tomatoes and herbs and peppers we found ourselves harvesting.

     As someone who is compelled to garden, I jumped at the chance to make these connections. If you grow food, you know what you're getting. It's like magic. Each year, the seed and the sprout become life. It's an annual miracle. How can you not love that?

    At the end of March, I did something I'd wanted to do for several years. I brought together the  people who run Faith Kitchen with some of us who tend the HDS Garden and we had lunch. Except for the one person who comes to pick up our produce on meal days, no one from the Kitchen sees any of us from the garden, though we are all aware of our link. But on March 23rd, eleven of us spent a hour talking about the work of gardening and the work of feeding people, both bodies and spirits. The word "community" kept coming up.

   And the encore for this, in case you're wondering: I already knew how amazing each of these individuals was. The idea of bringing them together was the goal. I knew wherever our conversation would lead, it would be lively. (It was.) The challenge: how to deepen our connections.  In a word: what else can we grow?  The work of this spring has begun. I will let you know what comes next.

Below are pictures from our lunch and showing off our baby seedlings!


 

                                                       

                                                   

                                                                       

                                                           

On Taking My Own Advice

So here I am, taking my own advice. Who would have guessed?

The advice came in the form of a sermon I have given on multiple occasions, the first time in 2011 for my beloved Unitarian Universalist seminarians at Harvard Divinity School where I work. This nugget of counsel in the sermon came from my Dad in his work as a substance-abuse counselor at a V.A. in White River Jct, Vermont.

"As long as you're breathing, there's hope." he said.

He said it frequently, to remind both his patients who were struggling or who had relapsed, as well as to himself, that if they were alive, there was always possibility for change.

Because he knew that sometimes, it does come down to that: a day. An hour. A minute. Just hanging onto that hope. And for as many people as I have dutifully repeated it to over the years, it wasn't until the past few months that I became someone who needed it myself.

The curious piece is that for as many times as I offered it up, in my mind it was that word: hope that was the flag leading the parade.

HOPE, friends. I give you hope! Who doesn't want that? Go out there and hang your hat on that sweet, tantalizing possibility.

But these words, these words that I knew and repeated over and over ...weren't helping. They were great but they were just...words. Yeah, sure there was hope. Right.I didn't feel hope, didn't feel  anything.

Any then, I stopped. I stopped myself and began to meditate.

Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

I found that what I had was breath. And another. And another. Hope was never about hope. Hope was about breath. And another.

If Dad was here now, we would have a discussion about this. And I would tell him that I love his mantra, but I need a new one.

As long as you're breathing, there's hope? Maybe.

As long as you're breathing, there's breath. ----------------------------------------------


If you are curious to see what I said in this sermon, here is a link. This was recorded at First Parish, Milton, MA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdrjGOpZi6s