Clergy from left, Deacon Amy Schmuck, Deacon Cynthia Biddlecomb, retired, The Rev. Mary Ann Hill and The Rev. Lynn Finnegan. Photo by Nate Limback/ladailypost.com
By The Rev. Lynn M. Finnegan
Associate Rector
The Episcopal Church of the Holy Faith
April 2000. The Sunday school children’s class at Trinity on the Hill Episcopal Church, about ten kids aged ten and under, was busy with a project. My talented co-teacher, Betsy Lucido, had brought in cream colored muslin quilt squares and fistfuls of fabric markers. The children had free reign to design their own square, and then they would be pieced together into a quilt. Colorful creations with crosses, flowers, butterflies, and hearts emerged. We had not yet decided who the quilt was for: the class had decided to give it to “someone in need” and we would discuss it again when the quilt was completed.
May 10, 2000. More than four hundred families in Los Alamos lost their homes in the Cerro Grande Fire. My family, my husband and two small children ages four and six, were among them. Along with the entire community, we are launched into a “new normal”. Los Alamos experienced a wide range of trauma, emotions, and challenges, including (and certainly not limited to) grief, loss, anger, disbelief, “survivor’s guilt”, fear, impatience, and a whole lot of weariness.
May 18, 2000. The evacuated Los Alamos community returns. This was the first day the entire town was faced with the sobering magnitude of the fire’s destruction, and the sobering reality of the years of renewal and reconstruction that lay ahead. May 20-21, 2000. This is the first weekend after the return of Los Alamos residents and faith communities throughout Los Alamos are gathering in thanksgiving, praise, and lament. Scripture, especially the psalms, is filled with instances of “holy holding”: allowing all our God-given responses of faith to pour forth. Psalm 130 demands “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!” The writer then softens, “I wait for the Lord; my soul waits, and in his word I hope.” Lament can pave the way to gratitude, but suppressing lament with easy platitudes leads to cynicism and unrest.
The Quilt. So, whatever became of that quilt project, lovingly begun before the Cerro Grande Fire changed our lives forever? In the middle of that first church service on May 21st, I heard my name called. The Sunday school class then proudly presented the completed quilt to my family. With my eyes brimming with tears, I thought in that moment, “How is anyone getting through this ordeal without the love of a supportive faith community? How is anyone coping without a belief in a loving God and the wisdom of St. Julian of Norwich: All Shall Be Well? St. Paul spent much of his career writing to the early churches, encouraging them in just that. The Church is the continuation of Christ’s presence in the world. Its members, St. Paul wrote, are called to come together in mutual dependence and harmony, like the parts of a human body, with no member as greater or lesser. To use another metaphor: like the squares of a quilt, artfully and beautifully woven together in unity. While not perfect, this is the community of love and support a church provides, in times of gratitude AND lament.
Editor’s note: ‘All Shall Be Well’ is a column written by local women clergy including The Rev. Mary Ann Hill, Rector, Trinity on the Hill Episcopal Church (momaryannhill@gmail.com); The Rev. Lynn Finnegan, Associate Rector, The Episcopal Church of the Holy Faith, Santa Fe (rev.lynn@holyfaithchurchsf.org); Deacon Amy Schmuck, Bethlehem Evangelical Lutheran Church (deaconamy@bethluth.com); and ELCA Deacon Cynthia Biddlecomb, M.Div., retired (czoebidd@gmail.com).