Begun March 2, 2005 (20th Feast of Stringfellow)

The decade locates me, at its outset, deeply in the midst of work as a white lawyer in Harlem, but it closes in fragile survival of prolonged, obstinate, desperate illness. It begins in social crisis, it ends in personal crisis. For me, these are equally profound because the aggression of death is the moral reality pervasive in both and, moreover, the grace to confront and transcend death is the same in each crisis. Indeed, I do not think the two episodes, which roughly mark personally the boundaries of the last decade, are essentially distinguishable. I doubt, in other words, that I could have had the capability to lately survive radical disease, unremitting pain and the shadow of death had I not spent those earlier years in the Harlem ghetto, discerned there something of the moral power of death, and learned, from neighbors, clients and Harlem inhabitants at large, something of the triumph of life which human beings can enter and celebrate despite death's ubiquity and vitality. Harlem is the scene in which I first comprehended the veracity of the resurrection ñ and that prepared me, more than any other single thing, for devastating illness and ruthless pain. (William Stringfellow, 1970)

Friends:

In her seventh year of personal crisis, Jeanie Wylie goes under the knife yet again. We're scheduled for surgery Monday, March 14 (Pray for us, Fannie Lou Hamer!). This will be an abrupt surprise to most of you (as it has been for us) since we've recently reported how well she's done this last year.

The gadolinium of a routine MRI lights up a spot about the size of an egg. There is some small chance it's necrosis (dead tissue caused by radiation ñ you may recall the medical argument we got that radiation has long term consequences, but these would be a moot point in Jeanie's case ñ well, maybe not so moot after all). Necrosis would actually be preferable to tumor, but both call for surgery. Several years ago Jeanie declared she was done with cutting and probing come what may, but she declares herself up for this nevertheless. The surgeon, a great human being who's also brilliant at this, doesn't anticipate any loss of function. Barring the usual risks, she ought to come through pretty much unfazed in the near term.

We don't know what this means for the chicken vaccine treatment. The hospital tumor board recommends ceasing and desisting ñ their premise being that things work for a while, then tumors figure a way around them, so you quit and try something else. A standard chemo as they would have it. The Hungarians who have been dissatisfied for the last year with the strength and delivery method of the dosage, would rather see it increased in potency and injected directly. I'm inclined to hang in with them for the time being.

Lydia, who's at Jonah House this week on alternative spring break from Loyola, has had the hardest time, perhaps because of coping at a solitary distance. She's hauling in poems from her depths like netloads of fish. They leap to mind whole during eucharist. All unflinching in honesty ñ I append one with permission.

Lucy seems fine, though she doesn't say much. May be working it out bodily, dancing her fears out on toepoint and tap. Pending the outcome and recovery, she still hopes to come to L.A. with me Easter week for a conference (and camping and surfing with our friends Ched and Elaine).

Apart from reorganizing my life in a pretty busy and even productive period, I'm doing alright. At the outset my emotions were near the surface and I was perpetually exhausted. We met the other evening with our discernment group or clearness committee who put good questions and prayed over us. Nothing shifted decision-wise, but it's such a relief to share the burden and know we're going through this in community. Of course, this note multiplies and confirms that sense.

And Jeanie is, well Jeanie. She's actually been having symptoms since Christmas (some she's only confessed since the MRI). For some reason she's shifted from humming to whistling - but perseveres with her musical self-treatment. I don't know if the news changes the way we look at her, but she's positively beatific. Her eyes dance and leap with sunniness. Go figure the mysteries. And give thanks.

We're at the cabin as I finish this. We venture through drifts into the clearing at midnight and look up at the winter sky. It's stunning. Everything is rearranged from what we know in summer ñ the Pleidies loom light and ready to set in the west. Lucy skates paths we've shoveled in the marsh. In front of the stove, Jeanie sits and reads the entire corpus of these update letters from beginning to end, in a packet compiled and bound by Lydia as a Christmas present. Rehearsing where we've been seems a shrewd preparation for Monday's next go round.

In New York City, one Palm Sunday I told Bill Stringfellow I was going to marry Jeanie Wylie. As we crossed Ninth Ave., he turned suddenly to me and said, "Never imagine that you couldn't live without one another."

Now as above, he reminds us of the connection between struggles personal and political. With the two-year anniversary of ongoing war at hand this Palm Sunday, we solicit prayers both for ourselves and for the people of Iraq. Indistinguishable in our hearts.

Just such lenten prayers and love,

Bill

P.S. One of Lydia's reflections below.

Miracles

March 1, 2005
By Lydia Wylie-Kellermann

Something extraordinary
Beyond the power of any creation
Not of human power
Intended by God
Amazing occurrence
Wondrous
Divine mission
Contrary to the
Established constitution

All definitions
Of miracles
But I fear there
Is something missing

We pray for miracles
We celebrate miracles
Miracles are usually seen
As only good
As a gift
As an answer

But sometimes
It is not the answer
We are looking for
Sometimes its not a gift
We want to accept

Miracles come in forms
Always unexpected
Always different than
What we had planned

No one would say
That they don't want a miracle
But there are those
Who are skeptical
Is there any truth
Is this possible

I think there is something
Missing in these definitions
Miracles do not come
And then go
Miracles are not an answer
Or an ending
Instead they are a beginning

Jesus performed miracles
He healed those who were sick
But those were healed
Did not walk away
There life was forever changed
Their lives took a new path
These miracles called them to action

I want miracles
Yes, I do.
But I know that a miracle
Is work
It is to be celebrated
And it is a gift from God
Beyond our wildest imagination
But it calls us into action

Right now, I don't know
If I have the strength to act
I don't know if I am ready
To accept a miracle
My heart wants it
So badly
But there is hesitation
Hesitation to say yes
Saying yes to God's miracle
Places us even closer
To the path of discipleship
To the path of faith
And belief
And complete surrender
To the power of God
I don't know
If I have the strength
To say yes
I need time -
The one thing
Which is also causing me the most pain