I first saw this editorial in the New York Times though a tweet a friend of mine sent. Maybe that is the best thing about Twitter. It gives me a chance to see things I otherwise would miss. This tweet referenced an editorial that I was delighted to read and caused memories and some pondering. The article was entitled, “In Costa Rica, Loss in the Clouds.” It was written by Joseph Heithaus, whom I did not know. But I now know he is a professor of English at DePauw University in Indiana.
Because my friend who sent the tweet is an active Quaker, I am sure that is why I first took notice. But I also realized it was about Costa Rica, which I have visited and very much vow to return some day. As I started to read the editorial, I did not know how engaged I would be. As I began to read, I noticed the place from which the author was writing was Monteverde. I have been to Monteverde, along with my daughter, and I was eager to dive into the editorial.
Heithaus began ominously: “At the end of April, my mom to old age. At the end of May, my brother Rick to cancer. In mid-June, our next-door neighbor to a heart attack. So grief comes sometimes as the clouds do here, almost every day.” I began to relate. Monteverde is high in the Costa Rica mountains. It is located in the Cloud Forest region. It is beautiful. In fact, I knew that Monteverde in Spanish means “Green Mountains.”
After all these calamities in life, Heithaus heads off to Costa Rica to heal. But he realizes, “…the healing process can’t be hastened or willed to end. I’m realizing I’ll never really get over the people I’ve lost.” I find that thought to be profound. Indeed, the healing process cannot be hastened. We cannot lose someone or something and speed through the process of getting over or getting through it. The old adage is correct: it does take time to heal. I recognize Heithaus has chosen a neat place to engage the process.
But there is more. And the more is personal, since it involves the Quaker community in Monteverde. He continued his story by acknowledging, “We are living among a group of Quakers…” I have been to that same group of Quakers. I have worshipped with them and had meals with them. I was eager to read on. I know Quakers moved to that part of Costa Rica in the 1950s because of their calling to be pacifists. This was the time when the Cold War was beginning. And as we all know, soon Vietnam would embroil the US in its fighting and this was only the beginning of what seems like constant involvement in fighting around the globe.
It turns out Heithaus experienced a serious storm related to the hurricanes that our country witnessed. He recounts the crisis of the mudslide that cut off the little hamlet of Monteverde from the surrounding towns. They were all alone. Soon Heithaus realized his family was in trouble. No electricity meant no cooking, etc. Not long after that, his family took what little food they had a moved in with another American family who had a gas stove. He was beginning to experience hospitality unlike anything he had ever seen.
This led him to get to know the Quakers a little more. I appreciate his reflections. He describes the worship experience I know first-hand---from being in Monteverde and many other Quaker venues. “The Quakers here are having an effect on all of us. As a lapsed Catholic who became Episcopalian, I’m in a new place. Pews facing an altar traded for simple benches arranged in an oval. Liturgy and sermons turned in for an hour of plain quiet broken only by a person moved to speak. High church incense replaced by clouds slipping through an open door.” Quakers gather in silence, expecting God will show up, just like any Catholic or Episcopalian gathers in their own format. But most groups do not sit in a circle and spend much time in silence.
Heithaus begins to connect his grieving with the experience of worship. He says, “I kept thinking about the presence of absence.” In the midst of loss and landslide, he feels “the calm and steady presence of the Friends meeting, a silent, palpable resolve. A willingness to endure.” These two sentences will take some time to ponder and digest. As a Quaker, I appreciate his perspective on our gathering for worship as a “steady presence.” That is a good reason why I keep going. I can find presence there---the presence of other people and, occasionally, of that Other Presence I call God.
I like how Heithaus talks about our “silent, palpable resolve. Maybe the spiritual does offer folks a dose of resolve that supersedes what we are able to muster on our own. I like his interpretation of this resolve as a “willingness to endure.” Sometimes that is what life asks of us. Life asks us to endure loss and hardship. Sometimes it is a landslide or even death. It is better to experience these in the midst of community.
His article closes with this profound thought. “And so in trying to escape loss, I’ve found more, but in the absences here I’m learning to quiet my own presence, in order to preserve what life remains.” We are all living our lives---vulnerable to the not-yet. I am reminded of my need for community, for silence and for hope that comes from within and from without via blessed community.
I may never meet Joseph Heithaus, but I thank him for letting me experience healing in the clouds.
Because my friend who sent the tweet is an active Quaker, I am sure that is why I first took notice. But I also realized it was about Costa Rica, which I have visited and very much vow to return some day. As I started to read the editorial, I did not know how engaged I would be. As I began to read, I noticed the place from which the author was writing was Monteverde. I have been to Monteverde, along with my daughter, and I was eager to dive into the editorial.
Heithaus began ominously: “At the end of April, my mom to old age. At the end of May, my brother Rick to cancer. In mid-June, our next-door neighbor to a heart attack. So grief comes sometimes as the clouds do here, almost every day.” I began to relate. Monteverde is high in the Costa Rica mountains. It is located in the Cloud Forest region. It is beautiful. In fact, I knew that Monteverde in Spanish means “Green Mountains.”
After all these calamities in life, Heithaus heads off to Costa Rica to heal. But he realizes, “…the healing process can’t be hastened or willed to end. I’m realizing I’ll never really get over the people I’ve lost.” I find that thought to be profound. Indeed, the healing process cannot be hastened. We cannot lose someone or something and speed through the process of getting over or getting through it. The old adage is correct: it does take time to heal. I recognize Heithaus has chosen a neat place to engage the process.
But there is more. And the more is personal, since it involves the Quaker community in Monteverde. He continued his story by acknowledging, “We are living among a group of Quakers…” I have been to that same group of Quakers. I have worshipped with them and had meals with them. I was eager to read on. I know Quakers moved to that part of Costa Rica in the 1950s because of their calling to be pacifists. This was the time when the Cold War was beginning. And as we all know, soon Vietnam would embroil the US in its fighting and this was only the beginning of what seems like constant involvement in fighting around the globe.
It turns out Heithaus experienced a serious storm related to the hurricanes that our country witnessed. He recounts the crisis of the mudslide that cut off the little hamlet of Monteverde from the surrounding towns. They were all alone. Soon Heithaus realized his family was in trouble. No electricity meant no cooking, etc. Not long after that, his family took what little food they had a moved in with another American family who had a gas stove. He was beginning to experience hospitality unlike anything he had ever seen.
This led him to get to know the Quakers a little more. I appreciate his reflections. He describes the worship experience I know first-hand---from being in Monteverde and many other Quaker venues. “The Quakers here are having an effect on all of us. As a lapsed Catholic who became Episcopalian, I’m in a new place. Pews facing an altar traded for simple benches arranged in an oval. Liturgy and sermons turned in for an hour of plain quiet broken only by a person moved to speak. High church incense replaced by clouds slipping through an open door.” Quakers gather in silence, expecting God will show up, just like any Catholic or Episcopalian gathers in their own format. But most groups do not sit in a circle and spend much time in silence.
Heithaus begins to connect his grieving with the experience of worship. He says, “I kept thinking about the presence of absence.” In the midst of loss and landslide, he feels “the calm and steady presence of the Friends meeting, a silent, palpable resolve. A willingness to endure.” These two sentences will take some time to ponder and digest. As a Quaker, I appreciate his perspective on our gathering for worship as a “steady presence.” That is a good reason why I keep going. I can find presence there---the presence of other people and, occasionally, of that Other Presence I call God.
I like how Heithaus talks about our “silent, palpable resolve. Maybe the spiritual does offer folks a dose of resolve that supersedes what we are able to muster on our own. I like his interpretation of this resolve as a “willingness to endure.” Sometimes that is what life asks of us. Life asks us to endure loss and hardship. Sometimes it is a landslide or even death. It is better to experience these in the midst of community.
His article closes with this profound thought. “And so in trying to escape loss, I’ve found more, but in the absences here I’m learning to quiet my own presence, in order to preserve what life remains.” We are all living our lives---vulnerable to the not-yet. I am reminded of my need for community, for silence and for hope that comes from within and from without via blessed community.
I may never meet Joseph Heithaus, but I thank him for letting me experience healing in the clouds.
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