Soul Food -- Michele Marr

Michele Marr

o7 Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world

gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be

afraid. Jesus, from the Gospel of John 14:27

f7

Pastel baskets and bunnies catch my eye at every turn. The orange tree

outside my back door is in full bloom. The lilac and roses are budding.

The color, fragrance and energy of spring are everywhere and are

irresistible.

It’s hard to remember it’s not Easter yet. In Western Christendom,

today is Maundy Thursday, a day during Holy Week that commemorates the

commandment -- the mandatum -- Jesus gave to his disciples just before

his crucifixion.

“Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another

-- then everyone will know you are my disciples.”

On Maundy Thursday Easter is four days away. For the Orthodox

faithful, it’s still 32 days until Holy Week. I have tried to resist the

temptation to indulge in the meditations of the week too soon. Rushing

toward Easter can be like opening presents before my birthday. I know how

much better it is to wait.

But last week my resolve faltered. On Wednesday morning, I drove east

on Edinger Avenue to Beach Boulevard to do some errands. I passed yards

of ash from emergency flares before I pulled into the Mobil station there

for gas.

I drove around dozens of teenagers to get to the pumps. Young women

and men milled around the landscaped berm, singly and arm-in-arm. Flowers

-- bouquets, stems and one white-rose-covered cross -- covered the grass.

Votive candles lined the sidewalk. I pumped gas and watched the crowd.

A light breeze carried the sounds of muffled weeping toward me.

Suddenly a sense of what had happened, very recently, just a few yards

from where I stood, broke through my distant observations. The shadow of

death moved over the day like a canopy of clouds.

It was Thursday morning when I read that our city had lost, not one,

but three precious daughters. Jillian Michelle Baedeker, Chelsea Toma and

Nancy Le. I looked into the eyes of their newsprint portraits, three

bright faces full of life.

I thought of my sister’s 18-year-old daughter Kellen. How could we

bear to lose her? What would we do without her laughter, her wit, her

smile? “What kind of God. . .” I caught myself thinking. But I couldn’t

finish the thought.

When I read that memorial services would be held for Jill Baedeker at

St. Bonaventure and for Chelsea Toma at Sts. Simon and Jude, I began to

think about Holy Week. How could these families possibly stand to bury

their daughters in the week before Easter?

Even without a tragedy like this, Holy Week is a whirlwind of emotion.

Palm Sunday rings with triumph. Jesus rides into Jerusalem, hailed king.

On Maundy Thursday Jesus soberly prepares us for what is to come. Good

Friday drops us into shattered hopes and abandonment. The wait between

Good Friday and the day of Resurrection can seem like all eternity.

Last week I felt locked in the darkness of Good Friday.

On Sunday, I drove to the store for milk. Flares lined the street and

traffic crawled. From my car window I could see St. Bonaventure. A casket

was lifted from a white hearse parked at the curb. On Palm Sunday, the

body of Jillian Baedeker was carried into the sanctuary for her memorial

service.

“What kind of God?” I thought again. But the question went unfinished.

I thought of Mary at the foot of the cross, watching her son suffer and

die. I felt at once ashamed and comforted.

Yet on Monday morning my faith felt shaken and frail. At 11 a.m.,

without being able to explain it, even to myself, I walked to the funeral

mass for Jill Beadeker. I was looking for strength among the grieving. I

felt very small.

In his homily, Father Jarek Zaniewski reminded us that we must see

circumstances through our faith. Jill’s family prayed for her, for

Chelsea, for Nancy. They prayed for James Paul Bell, the driver of the

car that hit these three young friends.

I looked at the booklet I held in my hand. The service was titled,

“Funeral Mass of Resurrection.” From my seat in the back of the church, I

listened to Jill’s sister Emily read a poem she wrote, words meant to

speak to us as she imagined Jill would speak to us if she could.

“I have been waiting for heaven and God has opened the door,” Emily

said for Jill.

This Sunday Christians all over the world will celebrate the

resurrection of Jesus, and our eternal life through him. I will think of

Jill Baedeker who, safe with him, reminded me, “Christ is risen. He is

risen indeed.”

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer and graphic designer from

Huntington Beach. She has been interested in religion and ethics for as

long as she can remember. She can be reached at o7

michele@soulfoodfiles.com.f7