Remembering the morning Marc died, January 21, 2015.
The night before Marc died I said to him, Honey, if there is any way you can be in touch with me after… Marc looked at me with dismay. Perhaps the way Jesus looked at his disciples, How long have I been with you and yet you ask such a question! That was the look he gave.
I haven’t heard a word. But I have not been abandoned. And there are a couple of things that happened the morning Marcus died that have given me solace and sustained me ever since.
Marcus rose before the sun on Wednesday January 21, 2015. He died at 7:05 am. Shortly thereafter the petals on the two-dozen multi-colored tulips HarperOne (Marc’s book publisher) had sent Marcus started dropping. One by one. Then in silent clusters. As if they were falling from my own face. In a matter of minutes they pooled together on the table where they once stood.
I had randomly picked out a funeral home about a week prior. I didn’t know one funeral home from another. We had recently moved to Central Oregon. It was new geography for both of us. In many ways. A high desert landscape. Rural. Somewhat isolated. On that Wednesday morning, my stepson made the call. To our surprise the director of the funeral home arrived accompanied by a male aide. She was in her thirties. Pregnant. Lovely. She said, “When I heard it was Marcus Borg I had to come… I took classes from Marcus,” she told us, “at Oregon State. He was my favorite professor [mine too]. I learned so much from him. He gave me a new way of seeing and understanding. He is the best teacher I ever had. I just had to come.”
There are over forty funeral homes in this area. No one knows us here, I had thought. In this unfamiliar landscape, on this day I felt lost to everything, I was located. Here, with us, someone who had experienced Marcus. I couldn’t believe it. She brought her sorrow and her own witness. She could share our immeasurable loss, a loss personal and public. (Kelly had a daughter, by the way, or I would have insisted on the name Marc.)
Along with a stretcher a patchwork quilt. Red and green squares with little Christmas trees and snowmen and a Santa here and there. A hold-over from the season that had just past. Did you ever hear Marcus talk about the patchwork quilt? I asked Kelly. She didn’t recall. At his classes at Oregon State he probably wouldn’t have mentioned this. I told her, When he traveled to churches throughout the country he was often asked: Marcus, the world is in such trouble and turmoil, it is all so overwhelming, it seems like just too much sometimes… how are we to make a difference? Marcus, borrowing an image from Sallie McFague, would say: Consider the patchwork quilt. (Perhaps we can add this to the lilies of the field.) Consider the patchwork quilt. Figure out what is yours to do and do that. Do your part, do your “patch.” And together we can create something that is more than we could have imagined or done alone.
I took handfuls of the tulip petals and sprinkled them over Marc’s body. Then we covered him with the patchwork quilt. And tucked him in.
The tulips, Kelly, the patchwork quilt… a few other things happened that morning that have sustained me. Including the sight of our Glen of Imaal terrier, Marcus’s four-legged soul mate, Henry, lavishing him with kisses… “kiss the joy as it flies,” wrote Blake, and “live in eternity’s sunrise.”
Tulips, Kelly, the quilt, Henry. When I saw them I really saw them. Borrowing from Mary Oliver, “as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.”
And from the same poem (Snow Geese): “Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! What a task to ask of anything, or anyone, yet it is ours, and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.” To love what is lovely and will not last. What a task… and yet it is ours.
“Though this body be destroyed,” writes Job, “yet in my flesh shall I see God.” Life left Marc’s body on that morning and all that I saw and experienced… God.
I still haven’t heard a word from Marc. Yet in the silence the thinnest sound. Something like, I never left you. Perhaps it is the beating of my own heart. Or the whirl of my own psyche.
I have no doubt you have had a moment or two or countless ones or glimpses of something that has sustained you in times of loss or disbelief. Or perhaps moments that for the passerby might seem ordinary but you know they are not. Share one, if you will.
Hello, I am writing from St. John’s, Newfoundland & Labrador, Canada. I have just learned of the foundation & it’s work.. I have read many of Marcus’ books & they have helped me to articulate & live my faith on a daily basis. His writings are a blessing to me. His insights & courage in presenting Gos’s love for all in ways they enabled people to ask questions & live the questions helps one’s faith development. Your shared thoughts of Marcus has enhanced & deepened my gratitude that I have come to know God more deeply through Marcus’ writings. Thank you.
Bruce. Thank you for taking a moment to connect and remember Marcus. And share how he has been an encouragement. Yes, there was something about him (I can say that heartily from first hand experience) and his writing and speaking that was so clarifying and freeing. He helped make us more curious and lead us into more probing and open ended questions. And that process helped us discover more. After Marcus was diagnosed with lung cancer (he actually died of pulmonary fibrosis) he said to me, “I am unreasonably happy.” This a powerful testimony to his gratitude for life and trust in the inexorable movement toward death. I think this statement came out of his deep knowing of God….may your insights and courage give you unreasonable happiness as well! Thanks so much for finding us. And I share with you gratitude for finding Marcus. (Btw both my grandmothers were born in Nova Scotia so I am a bit of a maritimer too!)
Dear Marianne,
I sure miss you, Marcus and Henry. I hope some day our paths will cross again, perhaps with our doggies in tow. I am grateful for the impact that you and Marcus had on my life. Love, Ashley
Ashley. Good to hear from you. I sure miss Marcus and Henry too. You might know that Henry, Marc’s four legged soul mate, died December 30, 2016. The same day as Huston Smith. Henry and Huston actually met in real life. The thought of their molecules mingling gave me some solace. Losing Henry was like losing a living connection to Marc. That particular connection snapped like a stick the day Henry died. Abbey Will be 8 in April. She is my four legged soul mate. Here’s to a time with our doggies in tow. Gratitude for it all. Love to you.
Thank you! Thank you, Marianne! Blessings with fond memories and appreciation for you both!
Todd. Good to hear from you. Thanks for being part of this work….and in reading this reflection being in the room with me the morning Marc died. Yes, lots of memories. And gratitude. Be well.
Thank you for sharing your last moments. How beautiful, sad and sacred. I, along with friends, have attended Kanuga Conference Center to hear Marcus and John Dominic and was fortunate to be with your table for a Saturday lunch. I’ve been able to attend a couple more of their events and read many of Marcus’ books. They brought a “wow, finally” affirmation of my beliefs. They were so understandable and, wanting to share with others, the Episcopal church Priests where I attend, affirmed my wanting to facilitate “Living the Questions” on three different occasions. It was loved by everyone who attended. My complete admiration for both of them for being a part of such a wonderful series for many who were afraid to talk about their own questions. Your words are a blessing to me. I will not forget him.
Teresaa. I will not forget him either! For many Marcus’s Writing provided a clarity and understanding that they “already knew”. There is a wonderful African proverb: the reasons two gazelle walk side by side is to blow the dust from each other’s eyes. Marc blew the dust from our eyes and helped us see afresh, anew, to borrow a phrase, as if for the first time. So glad you experienced him at Kanuga with Dom Crossan..,they were a lively duo! Glad you brought the LTQ video series to your church….a wonderful way to continue the conversation. Thanks for your response. Deep peace.
Marianne, thank you for your lovely and loving words as you thought about Marcus’ last hours here. I like to think he is still here, not physically, but his words have become part of the lives of those who heard and read them. We thanked God for Marcus Borg. My husband, Bob, and I attended some of his workshops, and through him became closer to the Truth we’d been taught in earlier years. Bob died in September of 2014 so your writing resonated with me, I still feel his strong influence on me, too.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
Jean. So good to hear from you. You and I are in a similar time frame……three years for me feels like forever. And I can remember the days before Marc died and the day he died as though it was yesterday. They say it takes 3-5 years to move through whatever it is we move through….you and I are past midway. We made it. I thank God for marcus Borg too. And for Bob. Hard to believe they are gone. intimations of Marc flicker in my peripheral vision. I bet you know what I am talking about. Take care. Deep peace.
Marianne, Thank you so much for sharing this remembrance and for sharing this wonderful continuing journey with us. You have gifted us with your kindness and your eloquence. My wife and I have in years past have been fortunate to have made trips up to Portland from Southern California and Trinity Church to enjoy a weekend in your presence and in the presence of Marcus and Dom Crossan. We are most grateful. We send you much love.
Loren & Maggie
Loren. Thank you for being in touch. Yes there were many a summer seminar that left us learning more and asking more questions. Marcus and Dom were friends. They played good cop bad cop. My beloved Marcus was good cop! They were a great duo. And the interplay was worth the price of admission, dont you think? My best to you and Maggie. I hope our paths cross again.
Dear Marianne,
Thank you so much for these tender remembrances. I could just picture it so well. It felt like just exactly how Marcus would have wanted it to be. My son and I share his books. My first meeting of Marcus was at Trinity, Santa Barbara, where I lived
for many years. Then when I arrived at Trinity, Portland, in 2003, I was delighted to find him and you. You are both spoken of with such love and devotion at Trinity Cathedral. It is always a joy to see you.
I have always felt that you and Marcus were so in touch with the Holy Spirit. It shone through him and it shines through you. Going forward I wish for you more joy and peace as you share spirit with those around you.
Patty. Nice to see you!! I remember you well. I did not realize you first encountered Marc at Santa Barbara. He felt close to that community. And then to meet Marc again at Trinity. For being a Scandinavian Lutheran marcus was indeed full of spirit. And passion. And to me he shone like the sun. Continuing that metaphor he shed light on the path for so many of us. And we continue…..I miss Trinity. But I am so glad that I retired when I did. Neither Marc nor I knew how short our time together would be. Patty, I look for you the next time I come to Trinity, thanks for being in touch.
I am the oldest of 4 and my mother passed on Friday, 4/10/2015. I was with her on the previous Saturday and she was having difficulty breathing. I planned on seeing her again on Saturday 4/11/2015. I was in a movie when a text message from her caregiver said she had refused dinner. 58 minutes later, a second text announced her passing.
I have felt some guilt for not opening the first text message for nearly 3 years.
TODAY ! at a 12 step meeting on grief and loss, I was shown that it was necessary for my mother to pass without me. My mom depended on me from the time I was 6 years old until I was 54 years old. TODAY, the LORD provided a vision of my mother reaching out to HIM at her passing because I was not there to take HIS place……..
Romans 8:28
Michael. What in the moment three years ago felt like a miss has shown itself to be just and right. I am moved by your sharing not only your deep connection with your mom but the dependence she had on you…which must have some ambiguity. You were there for her. Didn’t let her out of your sight. This speaks to your strength. And such dependence is costly. How incredibly poignant that at the last she was able to find her freedom and even strength as paradoxical as that might seem and in doing so let you know that she had come to some sense of her own liberty and freed you to have yours. Your realization is remarkable. Bittersweet perhaps. In not being there you allowed her to accomplish something. A true thing. And now Michael something is loosed for you. Thank you for sharing this powerful, intimate, healing experience…..This is a door…and there is a room full supporting you. Gratitude for sharing this.
Your reflections so tender and meaningful, dear Marianne. One of my daughters, Elizabeth, (not the one who had trials in Portland) passed away Saturday, January 20th, 2018. She was in her early 50s, just gone in for an MRI to check for a pain in her stomach. She went into anaphylatic shock from the comcast dye used in an MRI and which caused cardiac arrest. They worked CPR on her for 30 minutes, but without success. She was the one in ten thousand who had a sever allergic reaction to the Comcast dye. I am at Auden’s stage, “Stop all the clocks . . . cut off the telephone . . . ”
I am sending you love that comes with memories of you and dear Marcus and all the wisdom experienced from the lectures Marcus brought to us from the Center for Spiritual Development you founded at Trinity Cathedral.
Carrying prayer for your deepest peace.
Suzanne
Suzanne. I am so happy to hear from you. And stunned by the death of your Elizabeth. January 20. You must be reeling in disbelief, numbness, overwhelm all at once….Suzanne we share deep sorrow. And dismay. Yes all the clocks have stopped….how can they not. How can they go on when Elizabeth does not. Suzanne your kindness and thoughtfulness over the years, your letters and prayers….all have been part of my being here now. And I hope that Marc’s wisdom and presence will buoy you somehow. Even though you have been felled you will not plummet. Marc often talked of the buoyancy of God. He was right. But at what price we find it’s truth. Sending you love and deep peace. Let me know how you are.
Dear Marianne –
Thank you for sharing this beautiful, breathtaking experience. Marcus was heaven-sent and heaven’s scent. The fragrance of his life lives on in his writings, as well as in the moments and memories that you share. Thank you for allowing us to be in the moments with you!
Marilyn. Your language is stirring Breath taking. Indeed. It was pulmonary fibrosis, stiffening of the lungs, that felled him. It took away his breath. But I dare say his spirit was unquencable. And heaven sent and scent. There is a verse in Corinthians about some having the fragrance of life about them. He did. And it continues to be a signature. Tanks for standing in the room with me.
That should be thanks……
Dear Marianne, thank you so much for your reflection, it brought tears to my eyes. I was fortunate enough to attend a number of his talks at the Presbyterian church in Seattle. Marcus is among the few folks who, though gone, still live vividly within me. He is largely responsible from freeing me from my rigid, scary Sunday School concept of God. Blessings, Dallas
Dallas. I have been wondering where he was! I recall his talking about the wonderful Presbyterian Church in Seattle. So glad you experienced him. And have internalized him! You are keeping good company. You recall marc describing a pastor from his childhood, the finger shaker who would sternly look down from his pulpit as if he were God. Marc became freed from that concept of God and has been part of the liberation of many others from that mistaken image. Free at last. And there is no going back. (Marc lives within me too…he is largely responsible for my formation as well.)
Dear Marianne, I am so moved by your courageous and tender writing about the morning of Marcus’s death. It is still hard for me to picture that he is gone from this earth, and I can only begin to imagine what this has been like for you. His presence was large, strong and authoritative, yet so often subtle, humorous, and embracing. He stepped so boldly into the big questions, and persistently offered the questions and his understanding to the world. Together you and Marcus exemplified the transformative power of presence and love, as well as the gifts of teaching and empowering others. I am grateful for your words and for the strength of your being in this world.
And on another note – My mom died 20 years ago, and every once in a while I smell a hint of cigarette smoke in our home (and neither of us smoke, but my mom did) and then it’s gone. Hmm…..Bless you.
Linda. So good to hear from you. You have described Marc so well…his strength, boldness, and tenderness all at once. A master of asking the open ended question….you can imagine how much I miss him. Marcus as you know smoked a pipe. There are evenings when I swear I catch a whiff of Captain Black tobacco…..even though he only smoked in his “man cave.” So I smiled and shook my head in wonder when I read your experience of a the scent of your mom’s cigarettes. And how considerate that it leaves as quickly as it came. Without a trace. Linda, be in touch next time to come to Bend. Thanks for your thoughtfulness…and being part of remembering Marc. I still can’t believe his is gone.
Thank you, dear Marianne, for sharing your memories of Marcus’ departure to his new life. My sweet Julia left her life here at Mary’s Woods Retirement Community the morning of Dec. 29, 2009. I remember her daily in my prayers and imagine her enjoying her present heavenly life. This imagination is enhanced by my upbringing with the writings of Emanuel Swedenborg, the 18th century seer who daily visited the next world and wrote 30 volumes, largely pertaining to his experiences. I hope to encounter you one of these Sundays at Trinity Cathedral!
Forster. Many memories of Julia. And you. Swedenborg prompts the imagination. And imagination can be a winged thing transporting us. I am glad to hear from you. I hear your voice in your wonderful reading of the scripture at services at Trinity. And I remember your influencial classes on journaling. I miss Trinity. No place quite like it. I am always enriched when I come home to it again. As you know, Marc’s ashes are in the memorial garden..,I am due a visit. Deep peace to you, Forster.
Marianne,
Blessings to you for sharing this beautiful memory of the morning of Marc’s passing. What a beautiful and peaceful way to go–and the appearance of the right funeral director was such comfort, as well as wrapping him in a patchwork quilt.
Reading this message today was exactly what I needed to realize that I am still recalibrating, rewiring my brain and being to live without my beloved wife of 35 years. It still feels like I’m busy creating a new image/person out of shattered kaleidoscope glass.
Kae promised to be with me as energy moving in my body; she also appears with feathers—on the seat of the car when it’s been locked…or a little tiny white feather on “her” seat at St. Luke’s, or on the dining table.
Thanks again for the message from further along, twice as many days alone. It gives me hope and perspective.
With gratitude from your sister in Christ,
Jeanne
Jeanne. Losing our beloved is sometimes unbearable. I am so struck by Kae’s feathered touch….almost to encourage a certain lightness of being…,as you continue to move through life and the shattered pieces shape and reshape themselves..,and you too….keep on….I have a sense of what rewiring your brain might feel like. For months after marcus died I could not read I didn’t listen to music I didn’t watch tv…something was going on deep in my “brain” that felt like it’s own work and I didn’t want to I interfere with it. I didn’t need input. I needed space for whatever was reworking itself. And whatever it was was non-narrative. And I am a narrative type. I continue to recalibrate. Be of good courage and strong heart. And here’s to that lightness of being…..May it give you wings as you traverse new terrain.
Marianne:
Thank you for your poignant reflection. Marcus’ death was a huge loss to you and to all the people whose lives he touched.
2 years ago this January, I ,and my family, lost my 48 year old daughter to breast cancer. It is such a hard transition and I think none of us will ever be the same, but we go on because we have no choice. God’s grace is enough. Our family clings together for support. Especially our young adult grandchildren miss their mom, as much my husband and I do.
An oblate friend of mine said that after her husband died, she could feel his presence with her. I could feel Heidi’s presence too, especially soon after she died.. not so much now, but I have an abiding sense that she is at peace with God. I miss her everyday though. I’d sure like to be able to have her nearby again.
Please keep healing. May God’s grace go before you.
Mary. Two years ago your daughter died. It may seem like forever. And yesterday. Grief takes time. There are no short cuts…although I think we can postpone it…as you know, such a loss you will never get over. And as you so wisely say, we go on. Somehow. I would let that abiding sense that she is at peace continue to waft over you. I have no doubt it is true. The peace for us may take longer. I think the finality of death is stunning. Almost unbelievable. May I say to you, as you have so kindly said to me, please keep healing. May God’s grace go before you.
A wonderful message to a wonderful soul from a wonderful person!
Bill. Gracious. There is a biblical narrative form which insists that the middle subject of a sentence or story is most important and that what is writ on either side frames it. It is called Chiastic structure. Like a sandwich. The meat is in the middle. Your sentence is a beautiful and generous example of chiastic structure. Thank you!!
Thank you for your email. I spent one weekend with Marcus at a retreat with Billy Collins and about fifty other people. It was a special moment in my llife. I learned to appreciate Marcus’stheology. Before I was confined to JD cross an, Marcus’s good friend. What a wonderful man. Such an inspiration. I read his books often and hope I can become a better person by keeping his thought a part of my life. I hope you are enjoying your time with your good friends.
Rob. Yes the Billy Collins weekend was memorable. I think we titled it seeing with the eyes of the heart. I remember Bill Collins was a little sceptical of doing a weekend with a Christian theologian. I remember his saying to me, I have a reputation to honor. I assured him Marc’s theology and the manner of the man would not be an embarassement or category mistake. Seeing was a dominant metaphor for Marc. And as a poet Bill Collins is a master of the art of perception himself. A wonderful experience. So glad you were part of it. Spending time with Marcus, and now his Writing, I can assure you will make you a better person. And by the way, my friends have been everything.
Your story about not getting an afterlife response reminds me of when my mother died. I felt like she was saying, “I taught you well. You don’t need me anymore.” I do need her sometimes, however. She did teach me well, though.
Jeanne. Your words from your mother sent chills down my spine. Even though I haven’t heard from Marc there was an evening a coiple months after Marc died when I “heard” a similar thought you sensed in relationship to your mother. I have taught you all I can. Of course, that might be a bit ambiguous! I don’t believe I ever learned enough from him. His knowledge and insights seemed inexhaustible to me. Still do. But those “words” functioned to help me continue to grow up…..without him and because of him. We have been taught well. We are fortunate.
Marianne, thank you so much for sharing. I knew this was out there but I hadn’t yet encountered it. I think often of our time together at Trinity and that bench in Albuquerque. Thank you for continuing the work with which you and Marcus blessed us. 🙂 – Kevin Day
Kevin. Yes, Albuquerque. At a Richard Rohr conference. As we sought to discern the way ahead. Memorable. I trust you continue to steep yourself in The Mysteries…..I am so blessed to have had the years and experiences I did at Trinity. They continue to shape me. Thank you so much Kevin for reaching out. It means a lot.
I was privileged to meet Marcus in Wenatchee, Wa. He was the most fully present person I had ever met. Thank goodness for his writings. Through them he still lives.
Lynn. Marcus, the most fully present person you ever met. Me too. I can assure you when marcus gave you his attention, like in Wenatchee he gave you his attention. And his attention has a lingering effect! I think Marc was a man for his time. The way he opened and deeepend Christianity for so many of us has helped us live on. And yes, he continues to speak life in his words. And lives……thank you.
Beautiful Marianne. Reaches deeply into kairos. Thank you!
My beloved Janis. Kairos. Since our meeting in 1991 time with you is always kairos. Yours and David’s love for me and Marcus continues to flow like the everlasting stream it is. Thank you.
Yes, Marianne your love for Marcus and his, your and our God expressed so well over these past 3 years has taken us to places we would not have known. We are sad in your struggles, but are happy that Marcus lives on in so many avenues traveled and to be passed. Together with your ever-growing community and with God’s presence with us always and in all ways, we continue and help others. Tx for sharing. Love, Patti and Paul
Patti and Paul. Thank you friends. Thank you for helping to ease the stunning loss with your friendship and thoughtfulness.
Dear Marianne, how lovely your memory is, in fact I paused several times as if I was there in the room. It had helped me confirm a couple of things, first a strange wind that flew around me when my Father died back in the late 1950’s and more recemtly the day of my Mother.s funeral while my sons had popped up to her cottage I asked her for a sign that she was ok, I did not really think anything would happen as we were not that close. bugt out of the kitchen window I saw a rainbow. I was so exited and as the boys came back I told them to come and see. but it vanished!!! That was Mother alright. Reading some books by Marcus helped me so much when I was searching after a long period of doubt and needing some direction, It was He that showed me a simple way, an unhurried way a way to trust. I never met Marcus sadly but i know he was a dear Man
Lilias. He was a dear man. Your hunch is spot on! An unhurried way to trust. I love that. Trust was a deep power in Marc. A trust that came from a second naïveté. After all he questioned and reencountered he had a deep trust in “what is.” He would say as the funeral rite does, whether we live or whether we die we belong to God. for Marc knowing that was enough. Something I did not mention in my reflection, I was followed by a rainbow patch in the sky for three days after Marc died. Cerulean blue spotless skies… and a patch in the sky holding the colors of the rainbow. It was there for me. It was there for you. Thanks for sharing that. A symbol we have in common.
Thank you……you have given me the strength to go on giving what I have to give to the patchwork quilt! Marcus shared himself with all of us so beautifully…..we can only emulate..
Yes. Marcus shared himself with us so beautifully. What a wonderful way of putting it. And so true. I miss him. Terribly. But I have been given Much more than has been taken away. And now is the time for working on our patch. We share company with countless quilters, seen and unseen….do not lose heart, we mustn’t. If Marcus were still here he would insist you press on! So I will do it for him. Press on. Here we go…together.
Marianne – I lived with my two dogs – a bichon and a big yellow lab – in Park Place. I was always thrilled to see you, Marcus and Henry walking in the neighborhood. I was an admirer from afar.
I loved reading this article and wanted to thank you. Talking about this is important to all of us. Much love, Sherold
Sherold. I am glad your note included a picture. Marc and I knew our neighbors more by their dogs names than theirs. Your recalling seeing me and Marc and Henry strolling in the ‘hood brought back a flood of memories for me. One of our stopping places was the Wells Fargo bank where Henry was famous. (Those folks didn’t know who Marc was.). They would greet Henry and let him come behind the counter to give him a treat. All due respect to yours, Henry was the cutest dog that ever was. Henry died last December 30,2016 the same day as Huston Smith whom Henry actually met. The thought of their molecules mingling gave me solace. And by the way When the funeral home folks came for Henry they covered him with a patchwork quilt as well!! Thanks for being in touch,
Marianne,
This is my third try to send a message. Your remembrance is so tender and touching, I almost fell I was there with you.
Marcus is one of my most treasured wisdom teachers – through his books, his friendship and the OSU courses I audited.
My favorite memory is of the Valentine’s Day you and he came for dinner. I asked how you two met and he told the story with sparkling eyes. When he to the part where he realized you were “the one”, he grinned and said, “The acales fell from my eyes and I could see!”
What a treasure to how you two lived out your love for one another.
Peace and Joy,
Cammie. Thank you for persisting and being in touch. I remember that valentines evening well!!! When Marc and I first met I knew he didn’t “notice” me. I give undying praise for the day the scales fell from his eyes. You might remember Marc and I courted to Van Morrison. His song When Heart is Open accompanied the scales falling…when Heart is open you will meet your lover, sings Morrison. Marc and I were blessed…eyes and heart wide open. Fond memories with you and Dave….and thanks for asking how we met and recalling it for me today.
Marianne,
Thank you so much for your beautiful and soulful reflection of Marcus’ death. It made me think of the hours just before and after my mother died. I was only 40 at the time, It was very hard for me. She had a difficult death. However, there were little things that happened that I came to believe were not just chance synchronicity. I felt it was Grace coming through., moments of “thin places” we talked about in Celtic Christianity. Those helped to sustain me in the aftermath, with wonder, and a sense of peace. There are still moments, when for no clear reason, I will have a passing thought of her, and I use that to tell her I love her. If we are souls having a human experience, our souls, I believe, we can still share love with those we miss so much..
Cheryl. So good to hear from you. Difficult death. What strikes me about your mom’s death is that even though it was hard, for both of you, yet an experience of grace pressed into the moment. I continue to marvel that such moments can soften the sting of death….there is no undoing….but somehow those moments help us accept the entirety of life experience. I like you will continue to affirm that love is stronger than death….I don’t know that marcus continues to experience my love but I am better for loving him yesterday, today, tomorrow….my hunch is the same is true for your continuing to love your mother.
Marianne: I have always loved your and Marcus’ teachings while you both were at Trinity…and I miss them. So I was happy when you began this Foundation and website, to become a supporter.
Until recently, I looked to the weekly publication of “enlightenment” writings of +John Spong. Unfortunately, while not because of death, but of ill-health, he no longer writes those weekly commentaries. I grieved the “death” of John Spong. And then you began this website.
How can I NOT see some God-like wisdom – even “intervention” of a God-like, unexplainable “hand” at work?
There is an ancient tradition in the work of iconography, propounded by early, Christian Ecumenical Councils, that we iconographers may never show an image of “God” when creating icons. Could those ancients have also felt the impossibility of defining whom, or what, “God” is or was?
Thank you for doing this for all of us who still yearn for “believable” and not “belief-driven” enlightenment.
Chris
Chris So good to hear from you I too miss the work with Marc and the work at Trinity I think Jack Spong is focussing his efforts on writing about our current reformation. He’s not done yet!! Love the iconographer’s wisdom, the impossibility of defining God. The day we think we have done so we will have lost more than gained. Continue your good work of providing widows to the sacred. Continue to be in touch. Deep peace to you.
Thank you for these beautiful images. Marc’s true immortality is in our hearts. Comfort to you today and every day.?
Lee. True immortality is in our hearts. I am struck by the wisdom of that comment. Thank you.
Marianne, I’m so glad I followed the link in the Foundation’s newsletter and found your lovely remembrances of the morning your husband died.
Your words touched me on so many levels. My own husband died very young in 1999, and I remember asking him beforehand to find me after he died if there was any way he could. Like you, I have had no word from him, but also like you I have had experiences that seemed to me attributable to his continuing love.
It was also comforting to learn that Marcus died in the presence of someone he loved. Although I never saw him in person, his books have meant more to me than I could ever explain. They are in my personal library, well worn and marked up with my own thoughts written in the margins. When I completed reading The God We Never Knew for the first time, I put my face in my hands and cried. Marcus’s words gave God back to me.
Bless you for continuing his work!
Ann thank you so much for this. Yes, Marc was in the presence of love….his own deep sense of trust helped him cross into safety….and love showed the way. I am so glad Marcus has been a liberating and homecoming presence for you. May it continue. And our work of love, with and without our husbands. We will never get over it. But we live on. Changed.
Deep peace to you.
Thank you for sharing the remembrance of those moments.
Approaching midnight on what had always been marked as our parents’ anniversary, the end of a long illness, our mother died.
On leaving the hospital, heads lowered to the double-cold of winter and our loss… Fireworks!
It took our breath away as in that moment we heard with our hearts, ”Do not despair children, but rejoice!”
It was New Year’s Eve. We had forgotten, in that other-world of the day’s vigil.
Fireworks had always been a particular joy for Mom. And that night (timed so perfectly) they burned away our sadness as surely as her loving hugs had supported us all our lives.
Cynthia. Thank you for this. Amazing isn’t it….the timing. The perfectness of it. A symbol of celebration and release and endings and beginning….that display said more than reams. I don’t believe in a God of supernatural intervention. But the awe and wonder of this event and its deeply personal power exceeds the notion of a god of Supernatural Theism. And you don’t have to “believe” to earn such a grace. These remarkable moments happen, they arrive, we don’t construct them, we perceive them, and as Oliver writes, when we see them, we really see. Fireworks. Do not despair. Thank you.
WOW – Thank you for sharing.
Gary. In my reflection I did not use the response Wow….but the tender details of that morning emerged like stars in a deep night sky. No shadows cast. Just points of light. That held their own against a backdrop dark. Those points of light continue to shimmer for me three years hence. And have helped illumine my way. Wow indeed.
Thank you for this message. It is so needed especially now. I will pass it on whenever I can.
“When he traveled to churches throughout the country he was often asked: Marcus, the world is in such trouble and turmoil, it is all so overwhelming, it seems like just too much sometimes… how are we to make a difference? Marcus, borrowing an image from Sallie McFague, would say: Consider the patchwork quilt. (Perhaps we can add this to the lilies of the field.) Consider the patchwork quilt. Figure out what is yours to do and do that. Do your part, do your “patch.” And together we can create something that is more than we could have imagined or done alone.”
Peggy. Yes, the patchwork quilt. A wonderful image. The way you weave pastoral care and the practice of the art of prayer with your own tender and strong presence helps sustain the community you and I share. My friend, you do your part with grace. And you make a difference,. Thank you.