I’ve been reading three decades of Lenten booklets created by the Christian community where I grew up as part of my research to write a book. The first of these zines compiling quotations, artwork, and original writing was published in 1987. Dora Koundakjian Johnson, one of the editors, wrote that she had come to see Lent as “a time of amazement at Jesus resolutely moving toward the finish line—all the while knowing what the finish line was, but not knowing what was on the other side. I often wonder whether Jesus had the strong urge to turn and go another way .... Did verses from Psalm 142 go through his mind? ‘I invoke you, Yahweh, I affirm … Listen to my cries for help… Rescue me from my persecutors …’ as he moved closer to his death. Is it possible to understand a little? I sit and ponder; I try to move more closely to this person Jesus. But mostly I wonder what it means to be that resolute.”
It has been a decade since Dora died and five years since the Community of Christ ended its time worshiping together. As I remember Dora and others who made up the Community, the tangible items such as the Lenten booklets point toward all the intangible ways their shared vocation lives on. Dora’s gifts and presence shine especially brightly.
On Sunday mornings Community members were fed at the Lord’s table; at many other times they were fed at Dora’s. One could arrive at Bible study without eating dinner first, knowing not only that there would be abundant snacks, but that Dora would have noticed your favorite in previous weeks and made sure to have it again. David Anderson, another longtime Community lay leader, said that Dora taught the Community “that every meal shared is a banquet.”
The last conversation I had with Dora was in January 2012. I had been living in Chicago for several years at that point, and was in D.C. for a visit. Cancer had weakened her, but the intensity of love and attention was still there. “I want to hear all about seminary,” she said, inviting me to sit down next to her.
On a sunny day that June, I was going to the Art Institute of Chicago to celebrate the end of the school year when my mother called to say that Dora had died. When I went inside, I sought out one of my favorite paintings, “Easter Mystery,” by Maurice Denis from 1891. Women in the foreground, wearing black, bow down, one pressing her face to the earth. In the background, a group of people dressed in white are seen through the trees, headed toward a destination unseen.
As I gazed at the painting and remembered Dora, words from 1 Corinthians 15:51–52 came to me, set to music in Handel’s Messiah. In my mind, a baritone-bass voice sang, “Behold, I tell you a mystery! We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.”
A little earlier in the letter to the Corinthians, Paul compares our bodies to seeds, alluding to John 12:24–26, the Gospel for Tuesday of Holy Week. Paul writes, “What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.” That seed is not in the form that it will ultimately be; “you do not sow the body that is to be, but a bare seed,” he writes. Our work, like our bodies, is perishable, but God will transform it into a form that is immortal. Therefore our labor—all that we have done and left undone, all that we did imperfectly and all that pointed toward a wholeness it could not reach, none of it was in vain.
Gathered and Scattered book update
I swam in a sea of transcripts during my recent sabbatical. I used software to convert the interview audio recordings into text files. Along the way correcting the errors, there were plenty more belly laughs. Here are some of my favorites:
Idols on campus
“They were there as college students, so they were involved, but probably not deeply involved in the whole bronze statue.”
Picture the Ark of the Covenant and late musician Prince along with a large basket and some guy named Lonzo
“I, Lonzo, the basket with the society, the Ark and Prince gave a talk.”
Unsurprisingly, Lutheran songwriter John Ylvisaker’s name got garbled
“So it’s a giant anvil sticker.”
“Here’s another bill the soccer one.”
For the Star Trek fans
“My Tokarski of Quark’s, her history is in Mount Pleasant.”
Reading and listening
Life even more bewildering than death (Luke 24:36b–48)
“It’s bewildering and bizarre that death takes from us the physical presence of the ones we love. And we’ve inherited these stories where God shows death up by doing something even more bizarre and bewildering.”
Though Luke 24 isn’t in the Sunday lectionary this year, I’m sharing this for your post-resurrection-appearances reading pleasure. This essay is one of the very best I’ve written.
“An Increasing Role for D.C.’s Firefighters: Picking Seniors Up Off the Floor,” by Alexandra Moe, Washington CityPaper
This fascinating article gives context about how the number of fires in the U.S. has plummeted since the 1970s, but the role of firefighters as EMTs and paramedics has increased. And it quotes my friend Mark Andersen of the mutual aid organization We Are Family about the need for more home health care for seniors so that emergencies do not arise for which firefighters are called.
The song “Makin’ a Move” by Lady Bri has been on my morning playlist lately. It’s great to start the day with her saying, “Move out my way, Devil!”
Thank you. This has been the highlight of my Holy Week reading..