Mark 14:32-37; John 20:11-18
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
September 26, 2021
When Fran and I were on vacation in the Adirondacks this summer, we visited the Six Nations Indian Museum in Onchiota, New York. Daniel Kaneitakeron Fadden, the current director, came in and welcomed us. He showed us around the museum his grandfather founded, a rambling structure overflowing with art and photographs and artifacts. Daniel told us about his passion for sharing the wisdom of the Iroquois confederation—the League that brought five previously warring nations together to live in peace, long before European settlers came. He mentioned a new book that just came out, which he illustrated. A Peacemaker for Warring Nations: The Founding of the Iroquois League was written by his friend Joseph Bruchac. We bought a copy. Daniel autographed it for us.
The beautifully illustrated book tells the traditional story of a Peacemaker, sent by the Creator to remind the warring nations of the lessons they had forgotten: the Creator’s instructions to treat all things with respect and to always give thanks for the gifts of life. The Peacemaker had a vision of a great Longhouse of One Family, a unified community where everyone is treated with respect, where disputes are resolved by listening, where leaders serve their people.
It is a fascinating story, filled with deep wisdom about the conditions that lead to war and the things that make for peace. Tekana:wita, the Peacemaker sent by the Creator, travels to each of the nations to share his vision. He touches their yearning for a better way. He confronts their fear and greed. He builds coalitions and sends forth emissaries.
One scene stands out for me. One of the first war chiefs the Peacemaker encounters responds to the vision with enthusiasm. He gets a new name: Ayanwatha—He who Awoke—, and he begins the work of sharing the Peacemaker’s message amongst his people.
Tragedy strikes. Already a widower, Ayanwatha faces the death of his three daughters—two from a mysterious illness, one after she is trampled during a lacrosse game. There is a malevolent force at work, seeking to derail this movement toward peace.
The description of what happens next is so beautifully written. I will read it from the book:
The burden of his grief was so great that Ayenwatha could not bear to remain in his village. He began to wander toward the west, avoiding all human contact. How could it be that this happened after he did so much to help the people? His mind was confused and he felt lost.
Finally he came to a place where elderberry bushes loaded with fruit were growing and an idea came to him. He picked some of those berries and strung them onto slender peeled saplings, making 14 strings that looked much like wampum strings made of shells. Then he thrust two forked sticks in the ground and placed a single stick upon them to make a rack.
“If someone bore the burden of grief as I do,” Ayenwatha said, “I would console them. I would wipe the tears from their eyes with a cloth made from the skin of a young fawn.” Then he hung one of the strings over the stick.
A sound came from the bushes behind him and the Peacemaker stepped into the clearing, holding a fawn skin cloth. He picked up the wampum string and spoke in a kind voice.
“Ayenwatha, if anyone was a burdened by grief as you are, I would wipe the tears from their eyes with this fawn skin so they could again see clearly.”
Then he wiped the tears from Ayenwatha’s eyes and picked up another string. One by one, using one string after another, he spoke the words that would be known as the Condolence Ceremony, clearing Ayenwatha’s ears so he could again hear the words of healing, clearing his throat so he could again speak words that were understood, lifting the darkness from his mind and spirit and telling him what must be done. When at last the Peacemaker was done, Ayenwatha spoke.
“I am better now. Truly we have found a way so that everyone may deal with their grief and continue onward.”
The Peacemaker nodded. “Now that we have found this way to comfort the nations, we must continue to make a path.”
They approach each of the warring nations, beginning by offering the Condolence Ceremony, wiping away tears of grief, unplugging ears and opening throats. As their grief is acknowledged, something happens to those former enemies. They no longer need to hold tight to their anger and fear; their hearts open to the possibility of peace. The Condolence Ceremony is not the only way the Peacemaker carves a path toward peace; it is a turning point. Ultimately all five nations join in a confederacy that enables generations of peace.
What a tender, profound and revolutionary story. Long after we came home, that part of the story has stayed with me. There are many, many barriers to peace and healing in our world; I am grateful for this reminder of one we often ignore–unacknowledged grief. There are many, many ways to work for peace and healing in our world; I am grateful for the reminder that one of them is the acknowledgement of one another’s grief.
***
When the staff selected our Jesus in the Garden gospel readings for today, I found myself thinking back to the Peacemaker’s Condolence Ceremony. These two garden stories are all about grief. Mark tells us that Jesus is “deeply grieved.” He knows his life is about to end; he is leaving the people he loves. He asks his friends to stay with him, to stay awake, to bear witness to his anguish. They can’t.
The disciples are struggling with their own grief—exhausted from the emotion of the night, fearful of what will happen to them, desperately trying to hold on to their own denial. They fall asleep-three times. What a painful reminder of how hard it can be for human beings to be present to each other’s grief. We all grieve, each in our own way and on our own timeline. It is difficult to honor another’s pain when we hardly know how to honor our own.
Our second gospel garden story invites us to try. Mary Magdalene has lost her beloved friend and teacher. She weeps at his empty tomb. In her grief, she cannot recognize that Jesus is there with her. When he calls her name, it is as though he wipes away her tears so she can see clearly. Jesus doesn’t pretend things will go back to the way they used to be. “Do not cling to me,” he says. He doesn’t take away her grief. He acknowledges it. In doing so, he awakens her to the promise of new life.
A peacemaker who wipes away tears with a fawn skin. Friends who want to be there but fall asleep. A rabbi who calls his grieving friend by name. These stories lift up deep wisdom that we need right now.
As individuals, as a nation, as a world, we are facing layer upon layer of loss. We face the loss of too many people to COVID-19. As we are forced to confront the realities of climate change—the devastation of old growth forests, the danger of extreme weather, the extinction of species—we grieve for our planet. As we awaken to the depth of racism in our nation, we grieve lives lost to systemic violence. Some of us grieve an image of our nation that no longer fits. So many layers of grief.
Grief is a natural part of human living. As long as there is change, there will also be loss. Grief is our journey of slowly letting go of what used to be, in order to live into what can be. Grief is enormously complex, a circuitous journey through a jumbled mix of emotions. We easily become stuck in the muck, trapped in anger or despair or denial, especially when our loss is not acknowledged.
We are living in a time of complicated grief. We are also living in a time of discord and division, rage and distrust. The story of the Peacemaker leads me to wonder how those two truths are connected. How does grief—especially unacknowledged, stuck-in-the-muck grief—contribute to the discord and distrust that endanger our society? Grief is not the only factor; we know greed, abuse of power, centuries of injustice, and disillusionment with institutions are major components. Still, I wonder if grief plays a more significant role than we generally recognize.
More importantly, I wonder what role acknowledgement of grief might play in healing and transforming our society. What might change if we offered our own version—or multiple versions—of the Peacemaker’s Condolence Ceremony to one another—to neighbors and strangers and even enemies?
Last March, around the one-year anniversary of the first Framingham death from COVID-19, Open Spirit and Edwards Church created a Journey of Remembering on the Framingham Centre Common—a meandering path made from 219 blue flags—one for each Framingham resident who had died from the virus. We invited people to come, write a name on a flag, and walk the path. One afternoon, we brought candles and invited people to carry the light of hope with them as they walked.
A couple from Medfield came to the candlelight walk, and then came by the church to pick up the flag with their friend’s name on it after we had taken down the memorial. The flag, they said, would remind them that other people, people they didn’t even know, cared about their loss. Another man shared that our walk was the only memorial there had been for his mother. His family just hadn’t known what to do. Through that simple memorial, we offer grieving individuals one equivalent of the Peacemaker’s fawn skin wiping away their tears. Through that simple memorial, we bore witness to the healing power of acknowledged grief.
That experience leads me to claim that we, as a church, have a gift to offer the wider community. Our scriptures teach us that grief is real and even holy. Our traditions offer us ways to grieve—opportunities to gather to acknowledge shared pain, words to say, songs to sing, brownies to bake for the collation, cards to send. Our faith assures us that healing is possible, that joy breaks through pain, that new life emerges.
What does it mean for us to offer this gift—our willingness and our courage to acknowledge grief—for the healing and transformation of our world? There are many ways we already do this; I trust that if we are open to asking ourselves this question, we will discover more opportunities. As we continue all our efforts to be a source of justice and love in our world, I invite us to claim this gift we have to offer.
We are called to be peacemakers in a world overwhelmed by grief, stuck in despair and rage. May we honor loss. May we wipe away tears. May we see clearly the things that make for peace. Amen.