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Today, we welcome a guest post on our staff blog from our Rector's Warden, Pam Hill.
A few months ago I was so smug! I
had planned my visit to see our son Peter and his wife, Mandy very carefully,
in order to be in South Dakota to help out soon after the birth of their new
baby and get back here for the wonderfully exciting dedication of the
new Wellspring space. Things worked perfectly! I could join them a week after
they got home with the baby, stay for two weeks, and return in time for the
celebration. It went flawlessly until the night before I was to fly home.
Smugness turned into humility.
There’s nothing like a powerful act
of nature to remind you that you’re not in charge. And there’s nothing like the
elimination of daily props and taken-for-granted amenities to thrust you into
an unasked for “back to basics” experience. It’s one thing to plan to go
camping or to rough it on vacation, but to be “passing through” on your way
elsewhere, then stymied in transit, on your own, in a makeshift spot, and
having it suddenly become where you will remain for an unknown period of time,
brings you to an intimate present in this transitory life. These are the times
you bump into the question Jarrett raised on a recent Sunday: does creation care about me?
There was day and there was night. There were few distractions—cold, wind,
darkness, strangers, and snow. I say “present” because that’s where I was.
There were past memories of fun-filled hours from days before and a remembered
future that I would go into. But here and now was where I was without much to
do. When busyness becomes pared down like this, is that when core values
emerge? Maybe.
Survival or getting through is
supposed to be a key instinct, a value we all have. Is the value on “me” or
“us”? I think for many people at this present time, survival-in-comfort is
really the value. And comfort is tied to getting what I want, more or less when
I want it. It’s an affront when it’s taken away. In this storm trapped without
lights, heat, or escape and with diminishing food and omg, dying cell phones,
one comfort people sought was to be with others, so people gathered in small
family or friend-groups in large, chilly, public spaces. At first there was a
lot of complaining and asking questions that had no answers. Once beyond that
however, a few people ventured out and struck up conversations with strangers.
Somebody had a deck of cards; another person a set of dominoes. Games began.
People shared ideas about how to keep warm, and information or rumors they’d
heard. There were some little acts of kindness and some of appalling
thoughtlessness. People more or less maintained civility. A certain pragmatism
carried most people through. Things weren’t dire, and it would end relatively
soon. Boredom or being with yourself with nothing to do (except fret) was a
main complaint. In the midst of going someplace else we were all caught right
here. There was an underlying nervous energy, especially for a lot of the men,
to be out doing something to make it end faster. They would go out and stand in
the gale winds and blowing snow and stare at their SUV’s and trucks, and then come
back in. When the winds dropped and the snow stopped at last, they rushed out
in sneakers and flip flops with wastebaskets as shovels to free their cars,
sometimes taking the snow and dumping it on the car next to theirs. It’s a thin
space between what I need and acting in concert with broader needs.
Core values, something we’re about
to consider deeply at St. Martin’s, are shown in actions. If I think generosity
is something I value, then others should see this through acts. That’s why
identifying values has a check system that goes along with it. If I value
consideration of others, yet cut in line ahead of those patiently waiting for
food, they don’t call it consideration. I am the steward of my own actions,
even if and especially when I’m caught in the unexpected. That’s not to say
there aren’t moments of frustration, fear, huddling under the covers. (It was
really cold!) Could I say that creation didn’t care about me? Sure. And that
God didn’t care about me? Less sure. I still had stewardship over all I have
been given. My actions would still be governed by my values. No longer could I
act in smugness, though. That easily perceived yet rather thoughtless value
faded. It was an unexpected time to think and to be immensely thankful. I could
think about what I have, what I value, and what I could do. And with grace,
maybe, be a sort of good steward. God does act in very mysterious ways.
- Pam Hill, Rector's Warden
