Fuzzy

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy, was he?

Fifteen years ago, on May 30, 2006, my father, affectionately known as Fuzzy, died of pulmonary fibrosis at the age of 86. He lived a long and fruitful life and taught me many lessons even on the day he died. “Thank you for being a part of my life,” he said to family members gathered around his bedside. “I love you and good-bye.”

He was never one to share his emotions like that. When he was angry, he went radio silent. We called it “The Grunge.” When he was saddened by the death of his dog, he poured himself a few hefty tumblers of whiskey, went out into the backyard, dug a hole, and buried her. When he was happiest, he loosened his work clothes, lay back on the couch, and watched his favorite movies or listened to Jazz music.

I was Fuzzy’s middle child. I remember his church youth group leadership when we climbed Stone Mountain for an overnight camping trip. Sleeping soundly through the night, I was unaware of him overseeing some of the “party-goers” that needed some adult supervision. He was a man of quiet faith, occasionally quoting scripture to me without saying so. He supported me in one way or another, especially in sports and church. When I was struggling with deep sadness over a break-up and some choices I needed to make, he stayed home from work for a few days, just to provide me with a listening ear. 

When he entered hospice care, he left his Book of Common Prayer on the coffee table, visible to all who visited him. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, he was a unique beloved child of God, and my only Dad. I still miss him.

Why do I remember Fuzzy today? Because it’s Sunday, the feast of the Resurrection, the day he died and the day he rose to new life. Because it’s Memorial Day weekend and I’m grateful for him. Because I want to end my life someday like he did, saying “Thank you for being a part of my life. I love you and goodbye.”

What Can I Do?

 Pentecost The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

The television has two instruments that control it.

I get confused.

The washer asks me, do you want regular or delicate?

Honestly, I just want clean.

Everything is like that.

I won’t even mention cell phones.

I can turn on the light of the lamp beside my chair

Where a book is waiting, but that’s about it.

Oh yes, and I can strike a match and make fire.

What I Can Do, by Mary Oliver

I love her simplicity and honesty. There are some days that I feel as if Life has become way too complicated. The religious liturgical year rolls around and today we celebrate the feast of Pentecost. This drama has two channels. One is up close and personal: Jesus breathed His Spirit into the locked room and the other is communal: a ‘violent wind’ rushes down upon those who have gathered together from all nations. 

Honestly, some days I just want the Spirit to strike a match and make a fire. A fire that burns away my dross, our dross. A fire in my belly that creates light for others to see. A fire in my brain that enlivens my life and helps my perspective. I want the warmth of a fire for comfort and the soft glow of an evening fire, where marshmallows become soft and gooey and family and friends have gathered in a circle. At any fire pit, I want to know that God’s Spirit is alive and well in our confusing world.

“What Can I Do?” I ask Mary. And she replies from that spirit world of mystery to the God of my “not understanding.” Keep it simple. Open your mind and heart and wait patiently to receive God’s Spirit. Then do something. For the love of God, do something merciful, just, and kind today.

The Celtic Wheel of Grace

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

You who are risen with newness,

Be with all those who feel old this day.

Those with weary bodies, tired spirits,

those who feel stuck in ancient patterns that never seem to shift.

Help us to trust the cycle of your healing,

spiraling like the rings of a tree, coming to the same place

but deeper and different this year round.

Age in us a stability in the freshness of your mercy

appearing anyway, morning by morning.

~ Tess Ward, The Celtic Wheel of the Year

I am a Boston Celtics fan, a season ticket holder, who is not alone in saying how disappointed I am in how the team played this year. Acknowledging the pandemic and injury challenges they’ve endured, I understand how these things can affect your mental as well as physical health. True that, for us all. And yet, while they are young, they look old and tired. Spiraling like the rings of a tree, they have gotten worse as the year progressed. Clearly they have been stuck in their ancient patterns of “iso” ball, “hero” ball, rather than playing as a team, passing the ball, elevating the play of their teammates, rather than adding statistics to their own individual scorecards. Really, has money corrupted their play? Is arguing with the refs a solution to foul play? Have they become tone-deaf to their coaches and fans, shrugging off the boos and disapproval of the faithful with arrogance? Where is that healthy pride that calls forth our best efforts, even when we’re losing?

The disciples imagined that they had lost after their fearless leader was crucified. Some of them locked themselves away in a room in the city after the crucifixion; others began their long walk back to their former lives and families. A band went fishing in Galilee. Two walked the road to Emmaus. A few went home to Bethany, where Jesus’s BFFs had gathered for dinner before his crucifixion. And then, like a half court basketball shot at the end of game, “swish”, the disciples won. Jesus “showed up” with his resurrection appearances. He met them where they were. “Do not be afraid, and do not be sad,” He said to them. “I am risen and I go before you to prepare a place for you. Until then, love as I have loved you.” 

Winners of the game show up! The faithful of every generation know that there is a wideness in God’s mercy, fresh every morning. There is stability in the ancient traditions of all faiths and cultures. Trust in the cycle of God’s healing power; the Celtic Wheel of grace turns eternally every day, and every year.

We Have Work to Do

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

        I have never liked going to the dentist. And a few of them have been good friends. It’s just that while God blessed me with an infectious smile, the teeth in my mouth have often given me problems. I don’t like pain, and drilling my teeth gets on my nerves, pun intended. As I’ve aged, I have noticed creeping crookedness in my teeth and stains that have accumulated over the years. My enamel has weakened. When I began to have some gum disease many years ago, I was introduced to a periodontist. Dental floss, toothbrushes, and novacaine have been my best friends ever since. 

Too much information? I thought that my mouth, filled with silver, gold, and porcelain crowns, would protect me from more dental work. This week I discovered that I was wrong. Despite my daily care, I learned that I needed to have a root canal and another crown. So yesterday I spent  two hours in my favorite dentist’s chair. After my root canals (didn’t know I had three of them in this one tooth) I learned that I also needed some gum surgery before I could get my new crown! I was miserable with all that news. 

     Mary Oliver knew what to do when she was miserable. She would go down to the shore.

Life is a series of ebbs and flows, isn’t it? If I’m on the Cape, the ocean reminds me of this truth. When I’m in the city, I see a helicopter negotiate heavy winds in order to land on the roof of Massachusetts General Hospital. I remind myself that my misery is just a tooth. It’s not a crisis. It could be worse. In fact, it could be so much worse, doncha know? And like our country, I need some new infrastructure. Not cheap but worth it.

Mary Oliver, nature, and the work of first responders, even dentists, always give me new perspectives. Whether I’m on the shore or in the city, “Excuse me,” the Spirit says to me in Her lovely voice. “We have work to do.” Yes, we do.

I Go Down to the Shore, by Mary Oliver

I go down to the shore in the morning

and depending on the hour the waves

are rolling in or moving out,

and I say, oh, I am miserable,

what shall —

what should I do? And the sea says

in its lovely voice:

Excuse me, I have work to do.